Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (26 page)

The door to Rory’s chambers creaked when she turned the handle. Closing her eyes, she waited for Alasdair to fly into the hall. But there was no sound coming from his room. She slipped inside Rory’s chambers, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Shadows cast by the fire danced on the wall, and on the man in the bed. Rory lay with an arm behind his head. He watched her hesitant approach with a wary eye.

“Do you need somethin’, Aileanna?” His tone was abrupt. The expression on his beautiful face was hard and unyielding.

“You,” she answered honestly.

A slow smile curved his full lips. He held the covers back for her to climb in beside him, revealing his powerful, naked body.

Ali laid her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, his chest hairs tickling her lips.

“What was that? I couldna’ hear you, mo chridhe.”

There was a hint of laughter in his deep voice and she scooted up, bringing her face level with his. “I know you heard me, but I’m not too proud to say it again. I’m sorry.” She brushed her lips over his. “You were right. I didn’t try to see it from your perspective. I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve never had anything worth fighting for. And I’m scared, Rory. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or anyone else for that matter.” She rested her head against his shoulder and ran her fingers over the hard, muscular planes of his chest.

“I ken that, Aileanna.” He kissed the top of her head, wrapping her in the warmth of his arms. “’Tis no’ a question of a desire to do battle, but an obligation to one’s clan and at times to one’s country.”

“Rory?” Ali didn’t want to talk anymore. She needed to forget what he would face on Lewis and lose her worries and fears in him. Tracing ever-widening circles on his chest, she trailed her fingers lower to give him a hint of just what it was she wanted.

“Hmm.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

“Do you…well, don’t you want to make love to me before you leave?”

“I thought we’d just hold each other, lass, like this.” His muscles rippled as he held her firmly in his embrace.

She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze on him, but before she could respond he had her on her back, his warm breath caressing her ear. “I want to love you, mo chridhe, but I’m no’ certain you can be quiet. Yer a verra noisy woman. And thanks to you, we have a meddlin’ old goat as a neighbor, and he’d be none too pleased that I have you in my bed.”

She lightly slapped his chest. “I am not
that
noisy.”

“Aye, you are.” His hand skimmed over her leg until his fingers lingered at her throbbing core. “When I touch you here.” He lowered his head and took her pebbled nipple deep into his hot, wet mouth, suckling her through the fabric of her shift. “Or here,” he said as he thrust two fingers deep inside her. He smothered her gasp of pleasure with his mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said, “I’m glad you came to me, mo chridhe. If I could, I wouldna’ spend even one night away from you.”

She pressed her palm to his roughened jaw and held his emerald green gaze with hers. “I wish you didn’t have to, but I do understand, Rory. I love you.”

He covered her hand with his. “I love you, too, mo chridhe. And the moment I come back from Lewis I intend on makin’ you my wife. Even if I have to drag you kickin’ and screamin’ to the altar.”

“You can’t—” Her protest ended on a moan as he swept her away on a tide of passion and desire.

“You canna’ be mopin’ already, my lady. He’s no’ been gone but a few hours.” Mrs. Mac gave a shake of her head as Ali knelt at the edge of the fragrant garden, carefully pulling at the herbs and dropping them into her basket.

“I’m not,” she said, but she was. Rory had promised to love her long and hard, and made good on his promise ten times over. The fullness between her legs, the dull ache that matched the one in her heart, were lasting reminders of what had passed between them. She had slept the sleep of the dead, missing the chance to tell him good-bye, and she was sure he’d done it on purpose.

“I wish someone would have woken me before Rory and Alasdair left,” she groused, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.

“Och, well, the laird didna’ want you to be disturbed. As for Laird MacDonald, we did try to wake you, but it did us no good. He said he’d be checkin’ in on you in a day or so, on the trek back to Armadale.”

“Good, I—” She turned her head at the sound of someone yelling off in the distance. As the shouts grew louder, she heard the panic in their voices and dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. Ali came quickly to her feet and hurried after Mrs. Mac to the far side of the keep. Cook, the girls from the kitchen, and several of the men Rory had left behind, raced in the direction of the loch.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mrs. Mac yelled to them.

“’Tis wee Jamie. He’s fallin’ into the loch.”

“Always into mischief that one is,” Mrs. Mac grumbled as they quickened their pace.

A woman’s anguished cry rent the air and an icy chill slithered down Ali’s spine. Standing on the rocky ledge above the loch she saw Janet Cameron being held back by two men while old lady Cameron and members of the clan formed a protective ring around the hysterical woman. A dark-haired man Ali didn’t recognize waded to shore with the lifeless body of the little boy in his arms. She scrambled down the bank and shouldered her way through the throng of people, young and old alike.

A gnarled hand grabbed her by the arm. “There’s nothin’ ye can do, my lady. He’s gone.” A heavy sadness quaked in the old man’s voice.

Janet Cameron collapsed, screaming, tearing at her glossy black curls.

Pushing aside her personal feelings, Ali shook off the man’s hand. She had to reach Jamie. Once she did, she quickly placed her lips to the little boy’s blue-tinged mouth and puffed in a rescue breath. Ignoring the gasps of horror at her back, Ali wrenched the unconscious child from the man and lowered him to the ground.

She rolled Jamie onto his stomach. Gently turning his head, she pressed firmly on his back several times and watched in relief as water gushed from his mouth. Turning him on his back, she checked for his pulse. Not finding one, she tried to remain calm and began CPR. Between breaths, she yelled, “Bring me a blanket! We have to get him out of these clothes.” Janet was quickly at her side. With trembling hands she removed her son’s sodden shirt and pants.

After what seemed like hours to Ali, but was in reality only minutes, Jamie’s slight body arched and he threw up. His lids fluttered open and he let out a soft moan.

Ali wrapped him in a blanket and motioned for one of the men. “We have to get him to the keep.” When the man simply stared at her open-mouthed, she shouted,
“Now.”
Jamie was alive, but she didn’t want to lose him to hypothermia.

His mother sobbed, and Ali tugged her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her. “He’s going to be all right, Janet. I promise,” she murmured as the man lifted Jamie into his arms. Ali prayed it was a promise she could keep.

“Thank ye, my lady, thank ye,” Janet repeated over and over while the crowd stood motionless in stunned disbelief.

Connor reached for Ali and helped her and Janet up the rocky embankment. Behind her she could hear voices rise in excited whispers. “He’s alive, wee Jamie lives.”

And then the ominous word echoed in her ear. “Witch.”

Not more than a mile from Dunvegan, the threatening skies Mrs. Mac promised would amount to nothing, opened up. Ali pulled the MacLeod plaid over her head, and scowled at the woman who rode beside her through the teeming rain.

Mrs. Mac chuckled. “Och, well, a little water never hurt a body. Besides, yer a highlander now—best you get used to it.”

The older woman’s words warmed Ali’s heart, but didn’t do much for her frozen fingers clutching Bessie’s reins. She wished the rest of the clan felt the same way, but saving Jamie had destroyed what progress she thought she’d made. At least the little boy was well on the road to recovery and, in the end, that was all that mattered.

Mari, riding ahead with Connor, glanced over her shoulder. “Do ye wish to return to the keep, my lady?”

Ali forced a smile, determined not to put a damper on Mari’s excitement at visiting her family. And the last place Ali wanted to be right now was wandering the halls of Dunvegan, missing Rory. “Och, well, a wee bit of rain never hurt a body,” she mimicked.

Connor’s snort of amusement was lost in a loud rumble of thunder. Ali pulled back on Bessie’s reins, realizing it wasn’t thunder after all, but the pounding of horses’ hooves that caused the sound, and the ground to tremble. Four men on horseback tore up the narrow path, and she dug her heels in Bessie’s side to get her to move before they were bowled over.

The man in the lead brought his mount to an abrupt halt, and his big bay whinnied in protest.

“’Tis the sheriff,” Mrs. Mac muttered.

The auburn-haired man with the full beard, the one Mrs. Mac identified as the sheriff, gave his full attention to Ali. She tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of her stomach at the suspicious look in his pale blue eyes.

“Are ye Lady Aileanna Graham?” His aggressive tone scraped her nerves raw.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Connor attempt to bring his mount to her side, but two men who rode with the sheriff blocked his progress. Grabbing him roughly by the arms they held him back.

Her heart sped up. A shiver of dread ran down her spine. “I am. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Ye’ll have to come with me. A charge of witchcraft has been brought against ye, and yer to stand trial on the morrow.” He leaned over and jerked Bessie’s reins from Ali’s hands. The strip of leather bit into her numb fingers.

“Nay…nay!” Mrs. Mac and Mari cried.

A roar as loud as the pounding surf filled Ali’s head, and she clutched Bessie’s mane to hold herself steady. “Who…who brings these charges against me?”

“Ye’ll meet yer accusers soon enough.” He shot a menacing look over his shoulder as Connor struggled to break free of the men. “Try that again, lad, and ye’ll regret it.”

Ali saw a flash of steel and screamed. “Connor, no, please, please, do as he says,” she begged him.

Connor’s shoulders bowed as he raised his hands in surrender. Ali released a shuddering breath when the sheriff resheathed his sword.

“Let them go. It’s me you want. They have nothing to do with this.” She swallowed her fear long enough to control the tremor in her voice.

“Nay, I’ll no’ leave you, my lady.” Mrs. Mac clung to her hand.

Ali squeezed, then withdrew her hand. “Please, Mrs. Mac, go home.” With her eyes she pleaded with the older woman, tilting her head in Mari’s direction.

Mrs. Mac gave a quick nod, indicating she understood what Ali tried to tell her. If the priest was behind this, and Ali was almost certain he was, she didn’t want Mari anywhere near these men.

She met the sheriff’s implacable stare. “Please, let them go.”

“Aye, but doona’ attempt anythin’ foolish, my lady, or yer companions will suffer the consequences.”

Ali choked back a hysterical laugh. What did he think she could do against four heavily armed men? The sheriff must truly believe the charges against her held merit.

Mrs. Mac leaned over and gave her a fierce hug. “Doona’ fear, my lady. We’ll be there on the morrow to see justice is served.” She drew away from Ali and turned on the sheriff. “Ye would do well to remember ’tis Laird MacLeod’s lady ye bring these charges against.”

A spark of emotion flared in the man’s eyes, and his jaw clenched. “She will receive a fair trial no matter who she is.”

“Will I be given an opportunity to defend myself?” Ali barely got the words past the tight knot in her throat.

He gave her a long, considering look, as though he knew there was no one else who would come to her defense. “Aye, my lady. Now ’tis time to be on our way.”

Mrs. Mac moved her horse aside to allow Mari a chance to say good-bye. Ali held on to Bessie’s mane with one hand, reaching over to put an arm around her sobbing maid with the other. She whispered in her ear, “Mari, I don’t want you at the trial. Promise me you won’t come.”

A hot tear rolled down Mari’s cheek to splash on the back of Ali’s hand. “I’ll pray fer ye, my lady. I’ll pray our laird comes back in time to save ye.”

Oh, God,
she couldn’t think about Rory, not now. Ali nodded, unable to speak, her vision blurred.

Connor, free of his guards, reached for her hands. “Doona’ worry, my lady. I’ll find him. He’ll come fer ye. Ye ken he will and we’ll send word to Laird MacDonald at Portree.”

Ali covered her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Her chest ached from trying to hold back her emotions.

“Enough. All of ye take yer leave before I change my mind,” the sheriff said impatiently.

Raising a hand to her brow, Ali squinted in the dull, midday sun, her eyes unaccustomed to even the dimmest of light after a night spent in the windowless cell beneath the squat building she now exited. The guard shoved her down the rickety wooden staircase, and she fell to her knees.

“On yer feet,” he growled.

Using the bottom step for leverage, Ali hauled herself up, her legs trembling. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs. Her beautiful sky blue gown was torn and streaked with dirt. She heard the din of excited voices, and self-consciously touched the tangled mess of her hair, lowering her hand at the sound of the man’s derisive laughter.

He grabbed her arm, his grimy fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arm. He dragged her around the corner of the building—the marketplace was jammed with people. They lined the walls of the surrounding buildings ten deep.

“There’s the witch! There she is!”

A rock whizzed by her ear and struck the wall behind her. Ali fought against the same sense of defeat that had all but consumed her during the long, cold night on the mud-packed floor without blankets or food. Her resilience, her strength to face whatever they might do to her, had slipped from her then.

As she did in her cell, she called on her memories of Rory, and her love for him, to give her the strength to fight. She had too much to live for to give up now. Ali lifted her chin and walked defiantly into the center of the square.

Someone shouted out her name, and Ali searched the angry faces of the crowd. Her gaze froze on the wooden stake just beyond the fringe. She forced herself to look away, then spotted Mrs. Mac, Cook, Janet, Maureen, and several of the girls from the kitchen, relieved to see Mari was not among them. Their kind, caring faces blurred before her, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

The guard jerked her arm and hauled her in front of the sheriff, who sat behind a small wooden table. He kept his eyes glued to the piece of parchment on the desk. “We await yer accusers.”

One by one the onlookers’ heads turned and Ali looked to see what drew their attention. A small contingent pushed their way through the curious spectators, and Ali’s mouth dropped when she saw who led the way—Moira MacLean. But of course, what did she expect? The priest, the one who’d accused Mari and Ali once before, followed close behind.

The sheriff rose to his feet with a smile of welcome and assisted Moira to her seat on the narrow bench. She thanked him, batting her eyes at the man. He looked bemused as he walked back to his stool, and Ali groaned.

Moira shot her a haughty look. “Yer circumstances have changed much since last we met,
Lady
Aileanna.” Brushing a dainty hand over her magenta gown, Moira’s upper lip curled in a sneer she made certain only Ali would witness.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ali saw Cook and Janet hold Mrs. Mac back. Ali knew how her friend felt. Her own fingers itched to wrap around the little witch’s neck. Anger battled with fear, and won.

“The truth will win out, Moira, and I’ll be anxious to see how you explain your part in this to Rory.”

The other woman’s composure slipped, but was quickly replaced with a disdainful smile. “I’m certain he’ll understand given the evidence. In all good conscience, I had to come forth.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. “Lady Graham, yer brought here on charges of witchcraft. How do ye plead?”

She held his gaze until he lowered his. “Not guilty, and as all are innocent until proven guilty, I ask you, Sheriff, what is your proof?”

The sheriff blinked and looked from Moira to the priest. His voluminous gray robe swirling, the little man jumped to his feet. “She struck me down in defense of a witch.”

“Those charges were addressed by Lord MacLeod and all were dismissed.” Ali didn’t look at the priest, giving her full attention to the sheriff instead.

He stroked his beard. “Is this true?” Although he had brought her there to stand trial, Ali was beginning to think the man at least would be fair. A glimmer of hope flickered to life inside her. All she had to do was stay strong and hold her ground.

“Aye, but the trial wasna’ fair.”

“Ye had yer chance, Priest. The only reason ye bring charges against Lady Aileanna is because she shamed ye in front of the people fer stonin’ an innocent child,” Janet Cameron cried out.

“Aye…aye.” Several of the others from Dunvegan agreed loudly.

“Quiet! Did ye stone a child?” the sheriff asked.

“She was no’ innocent with her red hair and eyes of two colors. ’Tis the sign of a witch.”

“The sheriff has red hair. Are you accusing him of being a witch?”

The priest glared at Ali. “Ye see, ’tis what she does. She twists the truth. ’Twas the same at Dunvegan.”

The sheriff blew out an impatient breath. “Sit down, Priest.”

Moira patted the distraught man’s hand and rose to her feet. “Although it pains me to say, Sheriff, there is no doubt this woman is a witch. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, and crocodile tears slid down her flushed cheeks. “I was to be married to Laird MacLeod, and this woman, she bewitched him. Cast her wicked spells on him, she did. I was a witness to it all.”

“No, Moira, what happened is Rory finally came to his senses and saw you for who you really are. You’re more of a witch than I’ll ever be.”

For a brief moment all the hate Moira MacLean felt for Ali shone in her eyes, but she was quick to conceal it. “I have other witnesses, Sheriff, if you’ll allow them to speak.” Not waiting for the man’s response, she motioned to someone in the crowd behind her. Two men and a woman stepped forward, unwilling to meet Ali’s eyes, and her heart sank. They were gaunt, their legs thin and bowed with obvious signs of starvation, and Ali knew they would do anything for money.

“Say yer piece.” The sheriff waved his hand and ordered, “Speak up.”

“I…I saw ’er dance naked under the moon with the devil himself.”

There were gasps of outrage, and Ali would have laughed if not for the fact they appeared to believe the woman.

“Aye, ’twas what I saw as well,” one of the woman’s companions said. “And ’twas after that my cow dropped dead.”

“Aye, and the water in the well turned blood red.”

“Do ye have anythin’ to say fer yerself, Lady Aileanna?” the sheriff asked, his expression grim.

“I’d like to question the witnesses.”

Moira and the priest looked at each other in obvious distress.

The sheriff scratched his head. “’Tis an unusual request, but I’ll no’ have Laird MacLeod sayin’ ye were no’ given a fair trial.”

“Thank you.” Ali turned to her accusers. “You do realize when you give evidence at a trial you’re swearing to God to tell the truth?” She paused to let her words sink in.

The priest once again jumped to his feet. “What right does she have to invoke the name of the Lord?”

“I wasn’t. I’m simply stating a fact, is that not true, Sheriff?”

“Aye.” He gave her a tight nod. “Ye may go on.”

“Did Lady MacLean offer you money for your test…to speak against me?”

“Nay,” the oldest of the three was quick to say.

The other two bowed their heads.

“Tell him,” Moira shrieked. “Ye tell them I gave ye no money or—”

The sheriff came to his feet and shot an angry look at Moira and the priest. “I doona’ like to be played fer a fool. ’Tis my findin’ that Lady Aileanna Graham is inn—”

“Nay…nay.” A young dark-haired man pushed his way through the crowd. “I saw it with my own eyes. She brought a wee lad back from the dead. He’d drowned in the loch.”

Ali closed her eyes. Now how was she supposed to explain that?

“She’s no witch. She’s an angel. Saved my son, she did.” Janet Cameron’s cries were drowned out by the sound of horses’ hooves pounding on the hard-packed earth. The ground shook beneath Ali’s feet. Dust billowed and choked the onlookers.

When the cloud cleared, she looked up to see Alasdair MacDonald. Like an avenging angel, he urged his white steed forward. The people fell over themselves to get out of his way. At least a hundred men rode with him—fierce, angry men.

“Are ye all right, my pet?” he asked.

Ali nodded. Bemused relief washed over her.

“What is it ye charge my daughter with?”

“Yer daughter? I didna’ ken she was yer daughter, Laird MacDonald.”

“Speak, mon! What are the charges?”

“Wi…witchcraft, my lord.”

“Yer chargin’
my
daughter with witchcraft?” he bellowed, bringing his horse within snorting distance.

“Nay…nay, they are.” The sheriff stumbled backward, pointing to Moira and the priest. “But…but I was just about to declare her innocence when this lad says she brought a child back to life.”