Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  As Rory listened to Aidan question his men, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. "Rory, what's happened?"

  He drew Aileanna aside. "Lewis has been attacked. The adventurers burnt down a vil age."

  "Oh, no," she cried, and Rory saw the moment the realization of exactly what that meant hit her. Color drained from her face. "You're going, aren't you? No, don't say anything." She tugged her arm from his grasp. "There's nothing you can say to make me understand." Turning away from him, she lifted her skirts and fled from the hal as fast as her injured foot could carry her.

  "Give her time, Rory. She'l come to understand."

  "Do you think so, brother? Because I doona'," he said wearily as he watched her leave.

  "She's frightened is al . Afraid somethin' wil happen to you."

  "I ken that, but right now I doona' have time to al eviate her fears. We head out on the morrow with Aidan. Fergus, ready the men." Once his cousin's men left, Rory approached him.

  Aidan scrubbed his hand over his shadowed jaw. "I saw yer lady. She didna' seem verra happy."

  "Nay, but 'tis the way of it, somethin' she wil have to get used to."

  "I'm sorry ye'l no' be spendin' much time with her. I wish I didna' need yer help in this, Rory, but I do."

  He waved his cousin's concerns aside. "'Tis a good thin'we settled with the MacDonald, is al . How's Lan?"

  "I didna' think it would happen this soon or I wouldna'have left my brother on his own. He's too young for the responsibility."

  "He's got Dougal and Torquil with him, doesna' he?"

  "Aye, he does, and fer al that he's young, he's canny and strong as wel ."

  Rory threw an arm over Aidan's shoulder. "He'l be fine. We'l be by his side before long. Doona' fash yerself."

  By the time Rory had assured himself al was at the ready the hour had grown late. He paused before entering Aileanna's darkened chambers. The fire had died down, and a lone candle flickered by her bed.

  "I know it's you," she said, her voice husky. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from her face, kissing her tear-swol en eyes.

  "Why do you have to go?" she asked.

  "Aileanna, do you think if it wasna' necessary for me to be there that I would be goin'?"

  "Yes. I've seen you, Rory MacLeod, playing with your men. You love the fight, the thril of the battle."

  At one time she would've been right, but no longer. He would give anything to stay at Dunvegan with her, but he couldn't abandon his cousin. "Would you have me leave Aidan and Lachlan to battle the adventurers on their own? They doona' have the men, and the ones they do have are no' trained as wel as mine."

  "It's not fair, Rory. I thought . . . I thought with the truce signed there wouldn't be this threat hanging over us. The ink is barely dry, yet you're off to fight another battle."

  "We doona' face an enemy like the MacDonald, mo chridhe. 'Twil no' be the bloodbath that would've been."

  "But you're stil going to fight, and let me guess--no one even tried to negotiate with these men."

  "'Twas sanctioned by King James. There wil be no talks. The MacLeods of Lewis have held the island for centuries, yet the king means to depose them. Do you see the fairness in that, Aileanna? Would you no' fight if you were in their place?"

  "Can't they go to the king?"

  "They did, and it did them no good. There's no other way but to fight for what is theirs. I'm obligated to assist, and I wil ."

  "There has to be--"

  "Nay, stop. I wil na' battle you as wel ." His words were terse, angry at her stubborn refusal to understand. "Wil you no' let it go?"

  "No." She shook her head. "I can't. If you would just try, I'm--"

  He held up his hand. "Nay, you refuse to see reason. You doona' trust that I ken what is necessary and what is no', and I wil na' spend my last night with you battlin' over this. Good night, Aileanna. I leave at dawn. I wil see you on my return." He scanned her face for some sign she'd relent. Finding none, he took his leave, even though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. Ali's eyes widened at the sound of the closing door, stunned Rory had walked away without a backward glance. He was furious with her, but she didn't think he would leave without one last kiss. What if he didn't come back to her? As soon as the thought entered her head she shoved it aside. A night that had been fil ed with joy and hope had turned into a nightmare. With her presentation of Trotternish to Rory she felt she'd made some progress with the clan. At least they no longer looked at her with suspicion--wel , most of them didn't. She might not have gained total acceptance, but it was a start.

  Was Rory right to insinuate she was too stubborn to understand, unwil ing to see how things real y were? Why didn't he try to see it from her viewpoint? She was a doctor. How was she supposed to come to terms with the taking of human life for the sake of pride, for the thril of the fight? Ali squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong with her? Knowing Rory as she did, how could she for even one minute think that's why he fought? He was one of the most honorable, caring men she'd ever met. And even though she'd only been at Dunvegan for a short time, if the MacLeods were threatened, she would leap to their defense. Ali thought of the burnt-out vil age, the look of anguish on Aidan's face when his men reported the incident to him. Incident, she scoffed inwardly. It was murder. Swal owing her pride, she slipped from the warm cocoon of her bed and left in search of Rory. The torches cast an eerie glow along the corridor. Ali wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the damp chil and a heavy sense of foreboding. The keep was quiet, and she hesitated outside of Alasdair's door, tiptoeing past as best she could with her injured ankle. Rory was right. She should never have sug gested they put Alasdair in the room next to his. The door to Rory's chambers creaked when she turned the handle. Closing her eyes, she waited for Alasdair to fly into the hal . 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 wal , 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 ful lips. He held the covers back for her to climb in beside him, revealing his power ful, 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 be cause 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 ques tion 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 . . . wel , 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, careful y pul ing 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 ful ness between her legs, the dul 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 tel 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, wel , 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 yel ing 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 yel ed to them.

  "'Tis wee Jamie. He's fal in' 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 chil 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 col apsed, 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 rol ed 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 yel ed, "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 al 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." Chapter 25

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

  Mrs. Mac chuckled. "Och, wel , 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 wel on the road to recovery and, in the end, that was al 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 hal s of Dunvegan, missing Rory. "Och, wel , 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 pul ed back on Bessie's reins, realizing it wasn't thunder after al , 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 ful beard, the one Mrs. Mac identified as the sheriff, gave his ful 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'l 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 fil ed Ali's head, and she clutched Bessie's mane to hold herself steady. "Who . . . who brings these charges against me?"

  "Ye'l 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'l 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 swal owed her fear long enough to control the tremor in her voice.

  "Nay, I'l 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 plea
ded with the older woman, tilting her head in Mari's direction. Mrs. Mac gave a quick nod, indicating she understood what Ali tried to tel her. If the priest was behind this, and Ali was almost certain he was, she didn't want Mari any where 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 wil 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'l be there on the morrow to see justice is served." She drew away from Ali and turned on the sheriff. "Ye would do wel 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 wil receive a fair trial no matter who she is."

  "Wil 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 de fense. "Aye, my lady. Now 'tis time to be on our way."

  Mrs. Mac moved her horse aside to al ow 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 rol ed down Mari's cheek to splash on the back of Ali's hand. "I'l pray fer ye, my lady. I'l 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'l find him. He'l come fer ye. Ye ken he wil and we'l 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. Al of ye take yer leave before I change my mind," the sheriff said impatiently. Raising a hand to her brow, Ali squinted in the dul , midday sun, her eyes unaccustomed to even the dimmest of light after a night spent in the windowless cel beneath the squat building she now exited. The guard shoved her down the rickety wooden staircase, and she fel to her knees.