Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“ Would you just shut up,” Ali muttered.

“My lady?”

Ali whirled around to face Mari, who hesitated in the doorway to her room, a wary expression on the young maid’s face. “Ah, hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The young girl dipped her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didna’ mean to disturb ye.”

Ali waved off her apology, hoping Mari hadn’t been there long enough to witness her hitting the door and talk ing to herself. “You didn’t.” She smiled in an attempt to ease the young girl’s discomfort. Mrs. Macpherson had persuaded Ali to take Mari on as her maid. She’d resisted at first; she didn’t have any idea what she was supposed to do with a lady’s maid and didn’t plan on being here long enough to find out. But the older woman was nothing if not tenacious. And Ali had given in, once Mrs. Mac explained that because of Mari’s appear ance, and the clan’s superstitious tendencies, the girl would have a difficult time of it if she didn’t. Ali knew how it felt to be on the outside looking in, and she wasn’t about to al ow Mari to suffer the same fate. Not if she could help it.

“Come in, Mari. Is Mrs. Mac looking for me?”

“Nay, she said to tel ye the last of the men have been seen to and ye can have yerself a wee rest.”

“Wel , I don’t know about taking a nap.” She wouldn’t. Now was the perfect opportunity to search the castle. Too busy during the last week seeing to the men of Dunvegan, Ali hadn’t had a chance to look for the fairy flag. With LORD OF THE ISLES

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Mrs. Mac occupied, and Rory MacLeod tucked away in his room, she could search at her leisure.

“My lady, what have ye done?”

Ali fol owed the direction of Mari’s stricken gaze. “Ah, this?” She touched the tear in her gown. Her face flushed, remembering who put it there. “I caught it on . . . on the chair when I was seeing to Lord MacLeod. Do you know how to sew, Mari?”

“Aye, my lady. I’l take care of it fer ye. I’l find ye an

other gown,” the girl said. She bent over the trunk and pul ed out a gown of robin’s egg blue. “’Twil look bonny on ye, my lady.” Mari held up the dress, a wistful expres

sion on her young face.

Ali’s heart clenched. She couldn’t help but notice the sharp contrast between the beautiful gown Mari held out to her, and the threadbare brown woolen dress the girl wore.

“I don’t know, I think the color would be perfect on you, Mari. Why don’t you try it on?”

Mari gasped. “Nay, my lady. I canna’ do that. ’Tis no’

right.”

“Don’t be sil y. Mrs. Mac said you’re my maid, so there’s no reason you can’t wear what I want you to.”

“’Tis verra kind of ye, my lady, but ’tis no’ my place.”

Ali took the dress from the girl’s trembling fingers.

“Let’s just see . . .” She frowned. “I guess I’m quite a bit tal er than you, and . . .” Looking at Mari’s slight frame, she remembered the comments about how tiny the laird’s wife had been. “I have an idea. I’l be right back.”

Returning after a brief conversation with Mrs. Mac, Ali smiled at Mari. “Wel , it’s al settled. Mrs. Mac has agreed, so no argument from you.”

The girl watched her warily from where she knelt rear

ranging the contents of the trunk.

Ali opened the wardrobe and pul ed out a lemon yel ow gown, holding it up for Mari. “Come and try it on.”

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The girl hesitated before rising to her feet. “Are ye certain?”

“Of course I am.”

Mari looked at Ali; moisture clung to the girl’s auburntipped lashes as she gently caressed the fabric. “’Tis bonny, my lady,” she whispered reverently.

“It is. You’l look beautiful, Mari. The color wil show off your gorgeous red hair.”

Mari lowered her hand, shaking her head. “I doona’ think I can accept it, my lady, but I thank ye fer yer kindness.”

“Don’t be sil y—of course you can. Mrs. Mac said it was fine.”

“Aye, but folk might think I doona’ ken my place.”

Ali blew out a frustrated breath. “Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“I do, my lady,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Mari, of course you do. I understand how you feel.” And she did, only too wel . “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“I ken what yer tryin’ to do, and I appreciate it. ’Tis just with my eyes and my hair, I stick out enough as ’tis.”

“You’re very pretty, Mari. You’l always stand out from the others.”

The young girl giggled. “Yer verra funny, my lady. Pretty.” She repeated the word and laughed again, shaking her head.

“It’s true, Mari, whether you believe me or not. Now, I want you to take the dress and try it on later, when you’re on your own. Maybe you’l change your mind. No arguments.”

She wagged her finger at the girl, placing the gown in her arms despite her protests. Mari looked up at Ali with a shy smile. “My lady, once ye’ve changed gowns ye must let me see to yer hair. ’Tis a bit of a fright if ye doona’ mind me sayin’.”

Ali shrugged, self-consciously touching her head. “I forgot to comb it after—” She let the rest of her sentence LORD OF THE ISLES

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drop. It’s not like she could say after the laird ran his fingers through my hair to the girl. With her young maid’s help, Ali changed into the robin’s egg blue gown. Her poking and prodding complete, Mari held out a chair for Ali. She took a seat and Mari began combing the tangles from Ali’s hair.

“Sorry,” she apologized when Ali cried out, the comb catching on another knot. When al the tangles were combed through, Ali leaned back in the chair. “Mari, do you like it here?”

“Aye, my lady, ’tis blessed I am to be yer maid.”

Ali snorted. “I’m sure.”

“’Tis true. Yer verra kind to me.”

“Thank you, but I’ve been worried you might be miss

ing your mother.”

“My mam’s verra busy with the others. There are eleven in my family, my lady.”

Eleven. Ali shuddered. “What about friends?”

“I doona’ have friends. I’m too busy helpin’ me mam.”

“You’l have time to make friends here at Dunvegan. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ali asked, turning side ways in the chair to look at Mari.

“Aye.” The girl sighed, a wistful expression on her face. Ali reached back and patted her hand. “I’m going to make sure you do.” And she meant it. Something about the young girl touched her deeply. Perhaps Mari reminded Ali of herself a long time ago, a time when she wished some

one had been there for her. She promised herself before she left Dunvegan, she’d see that Mari was safe and happy.

“Mrs. Macpherson and Fergus have been verra kind—

the laird, too.”

“You met Lord MacLeod?”

“Aye. He’s the bonniest man I ever did see.” The girl sighed.

Ali wrinkled her nose. “I guess.”

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“You doona’ think he’s bonny, my lady?”

“Aye.” Oh, for God’s sake, now she was starting to talk like them. “I mean, yes, he’s very handsome. But you know, Mari, it’s more than good looks that make a man.”

“I ken it wel , my lady, but everyone kens the laird is a good man. He’s kind and generous, and verra powerful. No one man can take our laird down.”

Ali snorted. “Wel , someone almost did.”

“Are ye talkin’ aboot his wound? ’Twas five against one, my lady—no’ a fair fight.”

Five . . . one man against five. Ali didn’t know why she was surprised, not when she thought of his rippling mus cles and the strength of his hands—hands that could crush a man, or bring a woman to the edge with a gentle caress. Ali’s stomach clenched at the memory, and she shot out of the chair. “Okay, perfect, that’s wonderful, Mari.”