Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (27 page)

“Aileanna?” Alasdair raised a brow.

She gave a frantic shake of her head. “He wasn’t dead. He swallowed a lot of water and the loch brought his body temperature down too low, that’s all.”

“I saw her. She blew into his mouth.”

“Yes, of course I did. I had to replace the air he’d been deprived of. I’ve seen it done before.”

“My daughter is a healer. She’s no witch, and if I hear another spout lies against her, they’ll answer to me.” He reached for Aileanna’s hand and pulled her onto the back of his horse. “Do ye declare my daughter innocent?”

The sheriff’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Aye, my lord, aye.”

Alasdair brought his horse around to face Moira and the priest. “I warn ye, doona’ ever threaten my daughter again or ye’ll be verra sorry ye did.” Color drained from their faces. “Fire the stake,” Alasdair roared. “And make certain I see no other raised in its place.”

Those that had come from Dunvegan cheered, rushing toward Ali. “We’ll see you at the keep then, my lady,” Mrs. Mac said with tears in her eyes.

After returning their happy smiles and good wishes, Ali slumped against Alasdair’s broad back, too weary to do anything but. “Yer safe, my pet, yer safe.” He patted her leg.

Rory leapt from the boat, leaving the men that accompanied him to pull it onto the rocky shore. Soaked through to his skin from rain and sweat, but he barely noticed, too intent on rescuing Aileanna. They’d crossed The Minch in the middle of the night, thankful for the winds at their back.

Racing along the path to the courtyard, Rory called out to the men on the parapet. “I need four of you to accompany me to the village.”

If his men were surprised to see him, they didn’t show it. Cedric shot him a sympathetic look. “We willna’ make it, my laird. The trial is already underway.”

“Nay, I will make it on time. There’s a chance she’ll be proven innocent.”

Byron shook his head. “It doesna’ look good, my lord. I ken she’s innocent, but after Jamie’s accident…” The man gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

“What…what happened?” Connor had been so exhausted on his arrival at Lewis that Rory had been unable to get more than a few words from him.

“The lad drowned in the loch. He was dead, my lord, I swear it, and yet she brought him back to life.”

Rory had never felt more helpless than he did at that moment. He raged inwardly at his inability to save her, to protect her. With evidence such as that, there was no question in his mind she’d be found guilty. Heart pounding, he raced for the keep before it was too late. He knew what had to be done. There were no other options available to him. He couldn’t allow her to die.

Rory threw the door to his study open and pulled the books from the shelf to get at the secret compartment behind them. His hand shook as he withdrew the fairy flag. Closing his eyes, he clenched the piece of silk in his fist and slammed it into the wall. The books from the shelf above crashed at his feet.

Rory took the stairs to the tower two at a time, knowing he had no choice but to use the clan’s last wish. All he could think of was Aileanna. He had to save her. His chest grew so tight he thought it would explode. His throat ached from choking back the emotion, the pain of losing her.

A rush of cold air whipped at the flag as he raised it. “Good-bye, mo chridhe, my love.”

Rory strode from the keep. “Back to the boat,” he barked at the men who awaited his command in the courtyard. As they prepared to set sail for Lewis, Rory took one last look at Dunvegan and the fairy flag on the tower fluttering in the wind. She was lost to him forever, and he cursed the fairy flag and the superstitious fools who had forced his hand.

Haunted by images of Aileanna—her beautiful face, her laughter and her strength—he wanted to be as far away from everything that meant anything to him as he could get. He’d lost the only woman he truly loved. And not even Dunvegan or thoughts of his clan offered him peace.

As the distance between Ali and the village grew, the tension inside her eased. Exhausted, she clung to Alasdair.

“’Twill no’ be long, lass, and I’ll have ye back at the keep.”

Ali smiled, raising her head as the tower of Dunvegan beckoned in the distance. A cream colored piece of fabric fluttered at the very top. Ali gasped.
No, it can’t be!
She rubbed her eyes, praying she was mistaken. She held her breath as once more she raised her gaze to the tower. Her heart shattered. Rory had raised the fairy flag.

Her breath came in short panicked gasps and spots dotted her vision. A prickly heat flooded her limbs and she clutched at Alasdair’s shirt to keep from falling off the horse. How could he do this to her? How could he send her back to a place she no longer called home, to no one, to nothing?

Alasdair, as though sensing her distress, twisted in the saddle to look back at her. “Aileanna, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Take me to Armadale with you, Alasdair. Please,” she choked out on an anguished sob.

“Aye, my pet, whatever ye wish.” He took one last look at her before he waved his men on. “We ride fer Armadale.”

The men cheered. The raw beauty of the landscape blurred before her eyes. Ali didn’t know how long it would take for the fairy magic to work, but she couldn’t be at Dunvegan when it did. To spend whatever time she had left surrounded by the people she loved, only to disappear, would be unbearable. They were lost to her forever.

“Wake up, lass, we’re home. There sits Armadale.” Alasdair pointed proudly to the fairy-tale castle perched on a sloping hill with a loch below.

Ali shook off the last remnants of sleep, glancing at her hands and the landscape to reassure herself the flag’s magic hadn’t worked—at least not yet. “It’s beautiful,” she finally managed to croak.

The horses clomped across the cobblestoned courtyard. Servants rushed to greet them. Noting Ali’s presence, they held back, their jaws dropping in open astonishment. A lovely looking woman, her auburn hair lightly streaked with gray, stepped through the massive oak doors with a warm smile on her face. Catching sight of Ali, she clapped a hand to her mouth. Her cry of dismay brought several servants to her side.

Alasdair sighed. “That would be Fiona, my wife’s sister. After Anna left with the babe she remained to care for Brianna.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “Your wife’s name was Anna?”

Helping her from the horse, his brow furrowed. “Aye.”

“My…my mother’s name was Anna.”

Alasdair stared at her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he gave her a little shake. “Do ye see it now, lass? ’Tis the truth—ye are my daughter.”

Ali shook her head. “No, it’s a coincidence, Alasdair, that’s all. I can’t tell you why I’m so sure, but I am.” If she told him the truth, he’d think she’d lost her mind. Unable to escape on the long journey to Alasdair’s home, she had to find a way to leave Armadale without raising his suspicions, or he’d find a way to stop her. She didn’t know where she’d go to wait until the magic sent her back, but she couldn’t be with Alasdair when it did. The man had suffered enough.

“Ye’ll tell me, Aileanna. I must ken, or ’twill eat at me until the day I die. Can ye no’ understand, my pet? I need to ken.”

“Aileanna? Alasdair, is it truly she?” The woman stood plucking at his sleeve. Luminous brown eyes brimmed with tears, and Aileanna felt a fleeting sense of recognition.

“’Tis. Whether she will admit to it, or no’,” he said, his voice tight with anger.

“Alasdair, I don’t mean to hurt you, but I can’t pretend to be your daughter when I know I’m not. No matter how much both of us wish it was true.”

He shook off the woman’s hand and dragged Ali after him. “I ken ’tis true, and I’ll show ye why.”

“Alasdair, can this no’ wait? The child is obviously exhausted.”

“Nay, I’ve waited over twenty-seven years to find her, and I’ll no’ wait a moment longer.”

Ali stumbled after him, past the gaping servants. He led her up the curved stone staircase and opened a door to a long, narrow room lined with portraits. “There.” He pointed. “Now, tell me yer no’ my daughter.”

“Alasdair, I know I look like Brianna. I’ve seen her portrait be—”

“Nay, that one.” He held her by the shoulders and directed her gaze to the portrait on the right of Brianna’s.

Ali stared at the painted image of a woman with the topaz eyes and hair the color of spun gold. Her breath quickened, and her heart stuttered in her chest. Faded memories rushed at her in a swirling torrent. The room spun, and her knees buckled. She was so terrified it was the fairy magic she could barely breathe. But it wasn’t—it was shock, the shock of looking at her mother’s beautiful face.

She clutched Alasdair’s arm. “How…how can it be? I’m not from…” Her voice trailed off, unable to tell him the truth.

Fiona dragged over a chair. “Here, sit, my dear. There, there.” She patted Aileanna’s shoulder. “Ye should ken better, ye old goat. The child is dead on her feet.”

Alasdair scowled at the woman. “I need to ken once and fer all. Ye of anyone should understand, Fiona.”

“Aye, I do.” Her voice was gentle as she knelt at Ali’s side. “I ken ye’ve had a rough time of it, and I doona’ want to add to yer troubles, but when yer mo—when my sister had the babies she sent fer me. I helped with the bairns, until…until.” She let out a shuddering breath. “If ye allow me, I can tell ye fer certain whether or no’ yer Aileanna MacDonald.”

“But I can’t be…you don’t understand.”

Alasdair shot Ali a ferocious glare before he turned to the other woman. “What are ye sayin’, Fiona? How would ye ken?”

“The bairn had a birthmark, Alasdair, a wee crescent moon just below the hairline at the back of her neck.”

Before Ali could respond, Alasdair lifted her hair. She heard Fiona gasp, and let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Alasdair. I tried to tell you.”

He pressed his big palm to her cheek and turned her to face him. His sky blue eyes were bright with unshed tears. “The wee moon is there, my pet. There is no doubt, ye are my daughter.”

Ali stared at him in shocked disbelief. She shook her head. Heart racing, she managed to say, “But I can’t be. I’m not from—”

“Tell me, Aileanna. Tell me why ye canna’ believe ’tis true.”

“I can’t.” She bowed her head. Ali understood his frustration when so much of the evidence seemed to validate his claim that she was his daughter: the portrait of a woman who looked like her mother, had the same name, and now to learn she bore the identical birthmark as the daughter he had lost all those years ago. Good Lord, she’d almost believe it herself if not for the fact she was from the twenty-first century.

He moved to stand in front of her, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Aye, ye will.” Jaw set, he skewered her with an unbending stare.

Seeing the glimmer of moisture in Alasdair’s eyes, Ali couldn’t keep the truth from him any longer. To try to help him understand why there was no way she could be his daughter was the least she could do. She didn’t want him to suffer more than he already had, and she knew he’d keep her secret. He’d never allow anyone or anything to hurt her.

“All right, I’ll tell you, but I think you had better sit down and close the door.”

He frowned, but did as she asked. Once he and Fiona had brought their chairs round to sit in front of her, she began her story. She told them everything she remembered of her mother and life growing up without her, without anyone.

At times she depended on the memories of the old neighbor she’d tracked down on one of her many searches for her family, to fill in the blanks. It was how Ali learned about the man her mother married when Ali was too young to remember, a husband who had been abusive, and abandoned them less than a year after the marriage. Her mother had cleaned houses, barely managing to eke out a living. But most painful of all was the memory of the car accident that had taken Anna’s life and left Ali an orphan.

Alasdair sat stiffly in his chair, the expression on his face unreadable. Absently he handed Fiona his handkerchief.

Her aunt sniffed as she asked, “How is it ye came to be a Graham, Aileanna?”

Ali closed her eyes before answering. “After the accident I was put in foster care. Just before my seventh birthday, I was adopted. The family’s name was Graham.”

“But ye didna’ remain with them?”

Ali shook her head, determined not to cry. She’d buried that particular hurt a long time ago. “No, Mrs. Graham died eighteen months after I was adopted, and Mr. Graham sent me back to foster care. He…he said he couldn’t manage to care for another child, especially as I wasn’t his own. He hadn’t wanted me in the first place.”

“My poor wee poppet,” Fiona cried.

Ali cleared her throat and told the rest of the story, about the fairy magic, and how she came to be at Dunvegan. She hesitated before she said to Alasdair, “Rory raised the fairy flag the day you took me from the trial. That’s why I asked you to bring me to Armadale. I couldn’t bear to be there waiting for the magic to take me away. And now when it does, I…I’m going to cause you more pain, and you don’t deserve that.”

“Nay, no one will take ye away from me again,” he said fiercely.

Ali gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think there’s any way to stop it, Alasdair. But now, despite all the coincidences, can you see how it’s just not possible that I’m your daughter?”

“They aren’t coincidences, my dear. Ye are Aileanna MacDonald. Think on what ye’ve told us. What Duncan Macintosh told ye that day at Dunvegan. The MacLeods raised the fairy flag in fifteen seventy and defeated the MacDonalds.” Fiona held her gaze with a gentle confidence.

“They won because yer mother and ye went missin’, Aileanna. I was too busy searchin’ fer ye to lead my men into battle.”

“’Twas over twenty-seven years ago, Aileanna. How old are ye?” Fiona asked.

“Twenty…I’ll be twenty-eight on my birthday.”

Alasdair pulled her from the chair and folded her into his warm, protective embrace. “Aileanna, ye can doubt it no longer. I’ll no’ let you go, my pet. They’ll no’ take ye from me.”

Fiona and Alasdair were right. There was no denying the facts. The MacLeods’ fairy flag had stolen Ali and her mother from their home over twenty-seven years ago, only to return Ali on the day Iain raised the flag to save Rory. It was true, all of it. She had a father, a family, and she didn’t know what she’d do if the fairy magic took her away from them again.

“I don’t want to leave, Alasdair. I can’t tell you how much I want to stay. How can I go back when everyone I love is here?”
Dear God, please don’t let them take me. I don’t think I could bear it.

He cupped her face between his hands and gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Shh, yer no’ goin’ anywhere, and ye’ll call me Alasdair no more. Ye’ll call me father from now on, or da, whichever ye prefer.”

Fiona gave an unladylike snort, swiping at her own tears. “And at times ye’ll call him an old goat like I do.”

Ali laughed, then hiccupped. “That’s what Rory calls him.”

A wave of intense pain arched through her body at the thought of Rory. She wanted nothing more than to go to him, but didn’t have the strength to be ripped from his arms. It hadn’t taken her long to come to the realization Rory raised the flag to save her. And she wouldn’t make him suffer with the knowledge there’d been no need for him to do so.

She’d managed to save herself. Although in the end, her father’s presence had swayed the sheriff more than she ever could. In his attempt to save her life, Rory had destroyed their one chance for happiness.

“That one has a lot to answer fer, and the first question will be what possessed him to raise the bloody flag in the first place. A man who professes to love ye then sends ye away to be lost to him forever,” Alasdair growled, tightening his hold on her.

“’Tis because he loves her, Alasdair. Mayhap he thought ’twas the only way to save her. Did ye no’ say it was the last wish, Aileanna, and he’d no’ send ye back because it was all his clan had left?” Fiona went on, not giving Ali a chance to respond. “I’d say the mon loves yer daughter above all else, wouldna’ ye, Alasdair?”

He muttered something under his breath before he kissed Ali on the forehead. “Yer aunt will show ye to yer chambers. Ye need yer rest, fer this night we celebrate my daughter’s return.” His eyes welled, and Ali’s heart ached as she tried to imagine how he felt. He might have her back, but he’d lost his wife, and now, after finding Ali, he could turn around and she’d be gone again. But for now, she’d put the thought from her mind, and let them both enjoy what little time they had left together.

Rory stood in the grand hall at Lewis and begrudgingly accepted the mug of ale his brother offered him, but refused to take a seat with them by the fire.

Aidan released a weary sigh. “I ken yer in a bad way, cousin, but ye canna’ solve anythin’ by stayin’ here and fightin’ like a mon possessed.”

“I’m no’ in a bad way, and I thought by fightin’ the adventurers I was helpin’ you save yer home.” Rory scowled at him.

“Brother, ’tis time fer us to leave. Aidan and Lachlan can handle those that survived, without our help. The men are anxious to return to Dunvegan and their families.” Iain eyed him warily. “I miss her too, Rory. I ken no’ as much as you, but I do miss her,” he finished quietly.

Rory glared at Iain, angry he talked of her. Since the day he had returned to Lewis after raising the fairy flag, he had allowed no mention of her in his presence. The pain hadn’t subsided. If anything, it grew worse. Like a piece of him was being cut away each and every day, and soon there would be nothing left of him. The last place he wanted to be was Dunvegan, where the memories of her were bound to taunt and torture him.

His cousin Lachlan watched him carefully. Chewing on his bottom lip, he shot his brother Aidan a worried glance. The lad was the youngest of the MacLeods, but one day he would surpass them all in height and strength. “Rory, did ye think mayhap there was a way to contact the fairies and ask them to return yer lady to ye?”

With barely contained rage, Aidan glared at his brother. “Are ye daft, Lan? The fairy flag was passed to the MacLeods centuries ago. ’Tis a myth, is all.”