Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (20 page)

Rory laughed at her disgruntled expression. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tucked her to his side. “We’ll continue our talk later, in yer room.”

“Talk?” She raised a perfectly arched brow. “I’m sure we will.”

“Aye, for a wee while we will.” He nuzzled her neck.

“Ouch.” She grimaced, running a finger along the stubble on his jaw. “You’re rough.”

“I’ll see to it before I come to you.” Their wee chat was putting Rory in the mood for more than talking, and he drew her in front of him to conceal the evidence as his brother came toward them.

“Yer all right, Ali?” Iain asked, grinning at them both. “My brother hasna’ been browbeatin’ you into givin’ him an answer?”

“An answer?” She frowned.

Iain looked from Aileanna to him. “He asked you to marry him didna’ he?”

With an unladylike snort, she said, “No. He
told
me I was marrying him.”

Iain gave a shout of laughter. “Wait until I tell Aidan this one—but I’m certain he’ll no’ be surprised. Mayhap we should have a wee chat after the evenin’ meal, and we’ll explain to you how it’s done, Rory.”

“I think I ken how it’s done, little brother.”

Aileanna leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. “I don’t know, Rory. I think it might be a good idea.” She patted his thigh, and from the look in her eyes he could tell she knew why she stood in front of him.

“Thanks fer the offer, but I have plans fer this evenin’.” He tightened his hold on her. “Is there a reason you’ve come lookin’ for me, Iain?”

“Aye, and you’ll no’ be pleased. Cyril’s back. Says he must speak to you. He’s no’ lookin’ too well.”

Rory cursed under his breath. “Iain, help Aileanna get back to the keep fer me and I’ll see to the mon.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I’ll see to
you,
later.”

“Promises, promises.” She grinned at him as he walked away.

“Aye, ’tis,” he said over his shoulder. Anxious to be rid of MacLean so he could return to Aileanna, he sprinted along the path. As Rory neared the courtyard, he noted several of his men gathered at the doors to the keep.

Cyril, in the middle of the crowd holding court, looked up at his approach. “Ah, here he is now. I’m certain ’tis a misunderstandin’ that can be quickly put to rights.”

“Cyril, I doona’ recall sendin’ fer you,” Rory said as his men parted to let him through, most unwilling to look him in the eye.

“I had word the MacDonald is on the move and kent you’d be anxious to sign the papers, so I—”

“Bloody hell, what happened to you, mon?” Rory asked upon getting a closer look at Cyril. Three deep gouges slashed open the left side of his face.

Cyril raised a hand to his cheek, his face flushed. “I…ah…a branch. I was ridin’ and no’ payin’ attention to where I was goin’. Now enough aboot me—we must see to the contract.”

“Mayhap we should continue this in my study,” Rory suggested, nudging the man forward, ignoring the grumbling at his back.

“Ye may wish to set the men at ease first, Rory. They have taken a strange notion into their heads that yer plannin’ on marryin’ that…that woman.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “Where on earth they got such an idea, I canna’ imagine. You, marryin’ an accused thief.” He gave a delicate snort and brought his handkerchief to his lips.

“She’s no thief, Cyril, and Lady Aileanna will be my wife.”

“Ye canna’ be serious. She stole from ye, and I’ve heard whispers she’d be a witch.”

He narrowed his gaze on the man. “Tread carefully, Cyril. The woman you slander is the future Lady of Dunvegan. All charges against her have been proven false, to my satisfaction.”

“But what of my sister? What am I to tell her?” The man had a panicked look on his face and a death grip on Rory’s arm.

“’Twas no’ a good match fer either of us.”

“No’ a good match! Ye need us, mon, ye need us,” the man shouted, looking wild-eyed. He pointed across the courtyard to where Iain assisted Aileanna across the cobblestones, screaming, “’Tis her! She has ye bewitched. ’Twas the MacDonald’s plan all along. She’ll be the death of the MacLeods, mark my words. She’ll be the death of all of ye.”

Gripped by an urge to choke the raving lunatic in the center of an ever-growing circle of onlookers, Rory clenched and unclenched his fists. He shoved open the doors of the keep and bellowed, “Aidan!”

Grabbing Cyril by the collar, Rory hauled him up the steps. “You’ll shut yer mouth or I’ll shut it fer you,” he growled.

Cyril struggled, his mouth opening and closing like an overgrown mackerel. Rory pushed him toward Aidan, who stood in the entranceway, brow quirked. “What’s he doin’ here?”

Rory didn’t answer. He sought out Aileanna over the heads of his men. She listened to something his brother was telling her, but it was obvious she took no reassurance from his words. “Give him some ale, then see him on his way.”

“I think I can manage that. Looks like he lit a fire under that lot,” Aidan said before he led a sniveling Cyril away.

Rory released a weary sigh and turned to face his men. “You listen to that mon, but mayhap you should consider why he’s so anxious fer this match. And doona’ think fer one moment he’s concerned fer the clan’s well-being. He needs my coin is all, and if any of you question me on this matter I’ll no’ have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin’ under that mon. Now see to yer families. We leave four days hence.”

None too happy, the men dispersed. Rory knew some of what he said would eventually sink in, at least with some of them. It was not his way to denigrate another, but Cyril left him no choice, and Rory spoke the truth. The MacLeans were in desperate need of his coin, thanks to Cyril’s penchant for gambling.

He strode across the courtyard to Aileanna’s side. His belly clenched at the look in her eyes. Unconcerned his affection for her would be witnessed, he wrapped her in his arms. “You willna’ listen to him, mo chridhe. The mon’s mad.”

He met his brother’s concerned gaze above her head. “Mayhap you can make her understand ’tis no’ her fault,” Iain said.

She leaned back to look Rory in the eye. “The man is as crazy as his sister, and I’m glad you won’t be married to her, Rory. But you have to see, the clan will hold me to blame if you lose this battle.” She loosened his hold on her and attempted to walk away, cursing when inadvertently she put weight on her injured foot.

Rory swung her up and into his arms. “Yer a stubborn wench, Aileanna Graham, and you have a mouth as wicked as a mon.”

Her slight smile turned into a frown when she looked toward Dunvegan. “I don’t want to go inside, not if he’s there.”

“I’ll no’ let him bother you, and he’ll no’ be here fer long.”

Iain squeezed her arm. “Doona’ fret. I’ll go in and distract him.”

“Iain,” Rory called after his brother, “I’ll see Aileanna settled and then meet with you, Aidan, Callum, and Fergus. We have much to discuss.”

“When do you leave?” she asked, plucking at the laces of his shirt.

“In four days. We’ll make our stand at Skeabost.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Rory entered the keep with an eye out for Cyril. He tightened his hold on Aileanna when he heard the man ranting in the hall. “I canna’ say,” he said, looking into her troubled eyes as he made his way up the stairs.

“Could you not at least try to speak to the MacDonald?”

“Aileanna, there’s no talkin’ to the mon. He’s a stubborn old fool who willna’ listen to reason. He disputes our claim to Trotternish. ’Tis a long-standing feud that only ended when Brianna and I married and he used it as part of her dowry, but it was no’ his to begin with. Now he means to have it back.” He shook his head—the man was as mad as the one seated in his hall.

“How much property do you need? Aren’t the lives of your men more important than a useless stretch of land?” she muttered as he opened the door to her chambers.

Laying her on the bed, he set a hand on either side of her head and lowered his face to hers. “Do you no’ think if there was a way out of this I wouldna’ have found it? You doona’ ken me if you believe I’d put anythin’ above the lives of my clan.”

“I know you don’t,” she whispered. “Not even me.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Aileanna…
What?
” he bellowed at whoever was rapping on the chamber door. Aidan entered the room with a surreptitious glance at Aileanna. “Sorry to disturb ye, cousin, but I think ye should come to the hall.”

Rory rubbed his hand along his jaw. “Aye, I’ll come.” He hesitated before leaving Aileanna, troubled by her words. He wanted to make her understand why he did what he did, but he was needed elsewhere. Touching her cheek, he said, “Rest.”

“How’s yer lady?” Aidan asked when Rory joined him in the corridor outside her room.

“No’ verra happy with me. She thinks I should find a way to make peace with the MacDonald.”

Aidan shook his head. “Women, they doona’ ken the way of it.”

“Aye.” And Aileanna less than most. But how could she understand when she was not from their time? Rory feared she never would. “What’s goin’ on in the hall?”

“I doona’ think we’re goin’ to get rid of MacLean so easily. The mon’s terrified to face his sister, and I wouldna’ be surprised to learn ’twas her who marked him.”

Rory frowned. “I didna’ consider that.”

“I ken the mark a woman leaves, and it has the look of it.”

“Familiar with it, are you?” He grinned. His cousin’s exploits with the ladies were legendary.

Aidan’s gray eyes glinted with humor. “Aye, but of a different kind—on the back, ye ken.”

Rory ignored his cousin’s quip, wondering how he’d been blind to what Moira MacLean had become. He shuddered to think he’d almost married her. But then again, she’d been a means to an end, a way for him to protect his clan. Now with the match out of the question, it was up to him to find a way to win the battle with the least amount of lives lost. “I’m thinkin’ I’m well rid of that one.”

“Aye, I ken ye are, especially considerin’ the woman yer replacin’ her with.”

Ali sat on her bed and wrapped the strips of linen around her foot, wincing when she pulled too tight. She was determined to get to know the people of Dunvegan, and it wasn’t going to happen if she stayed shut up in her room. She had to go out amongst the people and somehow gain their trust.

Ignoring the age-old fear of rejection that knotted her stomach, she prepared for a visit with Maureen Chisholm and anyone else who would let her see to them. Considering Cyril MacLean’s ranting on the front step of the keep yesterday, she doubted there would be many. She brushed the thought aside, wishing she’d asked Mari when she’d brought her breakfast if Cyril remained at Dunvegan.

Ali looked up when the door to her chambers creaked open to see Rory standing there. He looked tired, and the dark shadow on his jaw heightened his dangerous good looks. She shivered. He was dangerous—not someone you’d want to cross—but she didn’t fear him. He wouldn’t hurt her physically, at least not intentionally, but he could break her heart.

“You’re tired,” she said, watching as he prowled toward her. The white shirt he wore contrasted with his deeply tanned skin, accentuating his powerful broad shoulders and the corded muscles beneath.

He sat beside her. “Aye, ’twas a long night and promises to be a longer day. I’m sorry I wasna’ able to come to you last eve. ’Twas late, and I didna’ wish to disturb yer sleep.” His heavy hand came to rest on her thigh.

She’d missed him, and tried not to resent the time he spent away from her. “That’s all right. I don’t expect you to spend all of your time with me. I know you’re busy.” Her voice sounded petulant, even though she hadn’t meant it to. Ali didn’t add
playing at your war games,
however tempted she was. It wasn’t the time. This was no game, and she couldn’t make light of it.

His reaction was fierce and swift. He had her backed against her pillows before she had time to blink. “Do you no’ think I’d rather be with you?” He speared his long fingers through her hair, trapping her with his body. His muscles rippled beneath the fine fabric of his shirt.

“Rory, I—” He crushed her protest with a demanding kiss.

Heat spiraled through her, pooling between her thighs. His tongue probed between her lips, dueling with hers for supremacy. Her breathing quickened, and she clutched at his shoulders.

Rory lifted his mouth from hers. “I want you now, mo chridhe, but this time I willna’ be rushed.” He chuckled when she moaned in frustration, giving her a hard, fast kiss. “This night I’ll love you long and well.”

She brought her palm to his roughened jaw. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He gave her a lecherous grin before his gaze went to her wrapped foot. “Mayhap ’twould be best if you stayed abed, Aileanna.”

“Why, is Cyril still here?”

“Aye. The mon is no’ in a hurry to take his leave.”

“I can’t say I blame him. But I don’t want him here, Rory. There’s enough bad feelings over me without him adding to it.”

He sighed. “You doona’ understand, lass. I canna’ just toss him out. ’Tis no’ a highlander’s way. I’ll keep an eye on him and you’ll take Callum and Connor with you if you’ll no’ stay in yer room.”

“Is it so bad I have to take both of them?”

“Fer now, but ’twill pass.” His gaze softened as though he sensed how difficult it was for her to have so many of his people despise her.

“No, it won’t, Rory, not if you lose men in the battle. It’ll just get worse, and I don’t think I’ll be able to…” He didn’t understand how hard it was for her to know she would be held to blame, distrusted and disliked. He couldn’t know the painful memories it resurrected.

“Aileanna, we go nowhere with this, and I willna’ discuss the battle with you.”

“Because you won’t listen, you—” Once more he silenced her with a hard kiss.

“Nay, I won’t, so save yer breath. I have much to do and willna’ see you until later this eve.”

“Busy planning your war strategies, are you?” As soon as Ali said it she knew she shouldn’t have, but his easy dismissal of her made her angry.

“Aileanna.” His voice was rough, tempered steel.

“Well, maybe I’ll be busy, too. If I’m not in my room…” Her tone was flippant, and she raised a shoulder to make her point. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before she could stop him, he had his hand beneath her gown. She gasped when he shoved aside the heavy layers of fabric. “What do you think you’re doing?” she sputtered, but it didn’t take the heated look in his eyes to tell her what he meant to do, and still, her struggles were halfhearted. Her anger melted along with the rest of her as his fingers caressed the inside of her thigh, grazing her where she was swollen and throbbing for his touch.

He teased her. Over and over again, he stroked her slick folds only to trail his fingers back down her thighs. Groaning in frustration, she fisted her hands in the sheets, tilting her hips toward him, her body begging for more.

He watched her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Nay, mo chridhe, you’ll be here waitin’ fer me, of that I’m certain.” His deep voice caressed her ear, and he twirled his tongue in the delicate whorls. When he plunged his strong fingers deep inside, her hips rose from the bed. “Yer so hot, and wet.” His words brought her to the brink as much as his touch.

She bucked against his hand as he increased the tempo of his stroke. “Come fer me, mo chridhe,” he rasped against her ear, putting pressure on her swollen nub. Under his passion-filled gaze she shattered, and he swallowed her moans of pleasure.

“Aye, I think you’ll be here, doona’ you?” he murmured against her lips before he rose from the bed.

Ali’s face heated. “You’re such a conceited ass, do you know that?”

Rory grinned as he headed for the door. “I doona’ think you’ve called me that one before.” He ducked when she flung a pillow at him.

Callum and Connor trailed behind Ali while she hobbled along the narrow path, leaning on the stick they had provided for her when she insisted on walking instead of riding Bessie. Even with a sprained ankle she was faster than the horse; not that it mattered. It wasn’t like she had any pressing engagements, unless she counted Rory and his promise to love her long and hard tonight. Muscles low in her stomach tightened at the thought, and no matter how much she denied it, she knew she wouldn’t make him wait. It wouldn’t be fair—to her.

Connor took the lead and Callum brought up the rear. Lost in thoughts of Rory, Ali hadn’t noticed the three men blocking the path until Connor stopped short and she slammed into him. She fought back the urge to run. She wouldn’t get very far, and she’d be damned if she’d let Cyril MacLean think he frightened her. Callum and Connor wouldn’t let him near her, but the man didn’t need to physically touch her to hurt her. His words did enough damage on their own.

“Stand aside and let us pass,” Callum growled.

Cyril rolled his eyes and flicked a handkerchief at his two men. They moved off the path. The cold, condescending look he gave Ali was full of malice, his upper lip curled in a sneer. His companions leered at her, and she quickly averted her gaze. One was almost as tall as Callum, but without the muscles. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks; his shaggy, light brown hair fell well past his shoulders, and his teeth when he smiled at her were rotten. His sidekick’s head was misshapen, and he barely met his friend’s shoulder. The man licked his lips and palmed his crotch when Ali walked by. She held her breath, afraid their rancid smell would cause her to lose her breakfast.

“Lady Aileanna,” Cyril MacLean’s high-pitched voice called after them. “Are ye off fer a wee walk?”

Ali gave a curt nod without looking at him.

“Best have a care then. The woods can be a verra dangerous place and I’m certain Laird MacLeod wouldna’ want anythin’ to happen to ye.”

Her attention diverted, she tripped on a raised tree root and one of his men snickered. She heard Callum’s heavy footfalls and turned to see him step in front of them. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

Cyril raised his hands defensively. “’Twas a friendly warnin’ is all.”

“Take yerself back to the keep and bring yer companions with ye.”

“Now, see here.” Cyril puffed out his chest.

“Laird MacLeod’s hospitality to ye extends only so far, and if ye doona’ want him to send ye packin’, then I’d suggest ye do as I say.”