Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Aileanna, you ken as laird to the MacLeod clan ’tis my duty to see to their protection.”

She took a steadying breath, her breasts rising within the confines of her gown. Pul ing his gaze back to her face, he sighed. “Look at me, Aileanna.”

She stiffened. Raising her chin, she took a step away from him. “I’m not a danger to you or your clan, Lord MacLeod, if that’s what you’re implying. In fact, quite the opposite. I think I’ve cared very wel for al of you.” A flash of temper flared in her eyes as she held his gaze.

“Aye, you have, and I thank you for that. I was remiss not to thank you earlier, but it seems someone decided to knock me out.” He tilted his head, looking down at her. She rol ed her eyes. “So, Iain was right. He said you wouldn’t be happy about that.” She shrugged her shoul

ders. “I had no choice. You were thrashing about and other than tying you to the bedposts, which probably wouldn’t have worked anyhow, it was my only option.” Her gaze traveled the length of his body, a delicate flush of pink tint ing her cheeks.

“No man likes to be drugged, lass, especial y a man re

sponsible for others.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “And what do you think you could have done in the condition you were in?”

“More than most,” he answered truthful y.

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“Right—king of the castle and al that.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Yer speech is verra strange, lass.”

“So is yours,” she grumbled, a stubborn set to her chin.

“Are you finished with me now?”

“You said you were a Graham?”

“I did. What of it?”

“There’s no need to get prickly, lass.”

“I’m not prickly,” she snapped. “I’m just tired of being treated as though I’ve done something wrong. I haven’t.”

“Which Graham?” He fought back a smile, finding her temper amusing.

“I’m from the borders,” she said through clenched teeth, stabbing her finger into his chest. He wrapped his fingers around hers. “Now—” he began, frowning when he saw the raised welt on the palm of her hand. “What’s this?”

She tried to pul her hand from his. “Nothing.”

Rory tightened his hold on her. “’Tis from the dirk, isna’ it?”

“Yes. Now wil you please let me go?”

Holding her gaze with his, he pressed her palm to his lips, trailing light kisses along the reddened mark. “I’m sorry you were hurt while you cared fer me.”

She swal owed, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “It was nothing compared to what I did to you.” Her voice had gone soft and breathy.

“Ah, but you meant to save me, Aileanna, no’ hurt me,”

he said into her palm.

“Umhmm.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

He tugged her closer, pressing himself against her lush curves. “Aileanna, what were you doin’ in my bed that night?”

he whispered in her ear before lowering his lips to her neck.

“Sleeping,” she murmured. A soft moan of pleasure 50

Debbie Mazzuca

escaped from her parted lips. She tilted her head back, granting him access to a creamy expanse of skin. With a low chuckle, he accepted her invitation. Bending his head, he kissed his way across the top of her ful breasts, delving beneath the gown’s fabric with his tongue. He tugged her neckline lower, ignoring the sound of the cloth tearing. He freed her breasts to his hungry gaze. Lust pounded in his veins.

“Nay, you weren’t sleeping, lass.” He tweaked her nipple between his fingers before taking it into his mouth.

“Dreaming . . . I thought I was dreaming.” She moaned. Rory cupped her breasts, kneading, squeezing, watch ing the play of emotions on her angelic face. “’Twas no dream, lass. ’Tis no dream now,” he said against her lips. He’d slowly maneuvered them toward the bed and care

ful y lowered Aileanna onto the mattress. Her eyes sprang open and she gasped, tugging at the bodice of her gown. He eased himself onto the bed. Lying down beside her, he stopped the frantic movements of her hands, pul ing her against him when she struggled to sit up.

“Calm yerself, Aileanna.” He stroked the hair from her face.

“We . . . we can’t do this,” she stammered.

“Why? We’ve done it before,” he reminded her, trailing his finger along the soft swel of her breasts. He didn’t want to talk. Al he wanted to do was feel her, warm and wil ing, beneath him.

She shivered, stil ing his hand with hers.

“I told you, I thought I was dreaming that night. And you . . . you thought I was your wife.”

Rory didn’t stop her when she struggled to rise from the bed. She was right. He had thought she was Brianna, but not now. He knew who she was, and he wanted her more than he thought he’d ever want a woman again. He scrubbed his

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hands over his face. Bloody hel , what was wrong with him?

What had Aileanna Graham done to him?

“Did I . . . did I hurt you?” She stood at the end of the bed, clutching the front of her gown, her hair spil ing over her shoulders in wild abandon.

“Nay.” He winced as he sat up.

“Good.” She gave a brisk nod of her head, then turned to walk away.

“Where are you goin’, Aileanna?”

“To my room.” She hesitated, her hand on the latch to the room that adjoined his. His wife’s room. She looked at him over her shoulder. “It’s where I’ve been staying. Mrs. Mac put me in there. If you’d prefer, I can take a room elsewhere.”

He stood, adjusting his plaid. “Nay, that’l be fine, lass. Aileanna, I’m—”

She shook her head, closing the door firmly behind her. Rory cursed. He ignored the burning pain in his side as he wrenched the door to his chambers open. He barely ac

knowledged the greetings of his men gathered at the bottom of the staircase as he made his way to the study. Once inside, he rummaged through the desk for a piece of parchment and his quil . Finding what he required, he sat down to compose a letter to Angus Graham inquiring into the identity of one Aileanna Graham.

Chapter 5

Ali rested her forehead against the rough wood-planked door, softly cursing the man on the other side and her reac tion to him. His tender kisses and heated caresses had turned her into a quivering mass of boneless desire. Her brain had stopped working, and she was lucky he hadn’t prodded further with his questions. She slapped a hand to the door, pretending it was his broad, muscular, and total y gorgeous chest. Typical man; seducing her with his tempting kisses only to get the answers he wanted. It would serve him right if she told him the truth. But Ali couldn’t, not without break

ing her promise to Iain, and his only crime was that he loved his brother. She envied them that. No, she wouldn’t reveal his secret. She’d find the fairy flag on her own and no one would be the wiser. Until the MacLeods are in danger and need the fairies’ help, the an

noying voice in her head reminded her. Ali grimaced at the thought of the MacLeods’ suffering because of what she planned to do. But it couldn’t be helped. She had to find a way home. To what? Charges that could ruin your career, and all because a man you thought you loved made a mis

take that cost a young mother her life and left you to take the 54

Debbie Mazzuca

blame, the voice in her head taunted. A man who professed to love you while he slept with how many other women?

Al right, so her personal and professional lives were a mess. But at least she’d be back where she belonged. Belong? When have you ever belonged, Aileanna Graham?