Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, unwil ing to continue the conversation about Rory MacLeod’s many attributes any further. “Thank you. Now I’d better see if Mrs. Mac needs me for anything. Would you like to spend some time out side? It’s a lovely day.”

“Thank ye, my lady, but I’l see to yer gown.”

“Al right.”

Standing in the long narrow corridor outside her room, Ali contemplated her best course of action. Deciding to begin one floor at a time, she headed for the stairs and almost col ided with the laird himself when he slammed out of his chambers.

“Lady Aileanna, I’m sorry.” He reached out to steady her.

“No harm done.” She took a step backward, putting some distance between them. “You know, Lord MacLeod, just because you’re feeling better doesn’t mean you should resume your daily activities right away.”

He arched a brow; the corner of his mouth twitched.

“And what do you consider my daily activities, lass?”

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She waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know—laird things.”

“Laird things?” He grinned. “I’l keep that in mind, Aileanna.”

He walked down the curved staircase beside her, match

ing his long stride with hers. “’Tis a verra bonny gown you have on, my lady. As bonny as the one you wore this morn.”

Ali stopped and stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that. It is not very gentlemanly of you to remind me of this morning,” she muttered.

He leaned into her. His heated breath fanned her cheek.

“I’m no’ a gentleman, Aileanna.”

“You’re tel ing me,” she huffed. Anxious to get away from him, she fairly flew down the stairs, catching her foot on the underskirt of her gown.

“Lass, be careful you don—” His hand shot out, and he grabbed her before she tumbled headlong down the stairs.

“Thank you,” Ali murmured, feeling her cheeks flush.

“I’m fine. You can let me go.” She tried to pul away from him, but he held her firmly against his chest.

“Mayhap I doona’ want to, lass.” Heat flared in moss green eyes that ensnared her. The sound of raised voices broke the spel , and she jerked her gaze from his. “Let me go.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Aye, I wil , lass, as soon as you tel me where ’tis you’d be goin’.”

Ali’s eyes widened, panic inching its way up her chest at the thought he knew what she was up to. “Why? I didn’t realize I was your prisoner, Lord MacLeod.”

He arched a brow. “Yer my guest, Aileanna, and as such, under my protection. I only meant to suggest as yer unfa miliar with the lay of the land, Connor should accompany you. I would do it myself but I have things I must attend to.”

“No,” she blurted out. “I mean, thank you, but I won’t wander.”

“See that you don’t, Aileanna.” His voice held a warning, 60

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and Ali didn’t want to think what he’d do to her if he knew what she planned. She felt his gaze fol ow her as they parted company at the bottom of the stairs. Two hours later, Ali abandoned her search. She’d man

aged to investigate only three rooms, spending most of her time in the drawing room where the flag had resided in her time. She searched every nook and cranny, but to no avail. It didn’t help that Mrs. Mac kept popping in and out, and if not her, Connor seemed to show up at the most inoppor

tune times.

Frustrated, Ali closed the door of the drawing room with a little more force than she intended.

“There you are, lass. I’ve been lookin’ fer you. Dinner is bein’ served.” Mrs. Macpherson gestured for her to fol ow. Ali’s stomach grumbled. She was starving, but after witnessing the filth of the kitchens, she’d been unable to eat anything for the past few days other than the freshly baked bread.

She stepped aside to al ow the servants to pass into the dining hal . Their arms were laden with heavy trays con taining steaming platters. The smel of roasted meats made Ali’s nostrils twitch. She fol owed Mrs. Mac into the cav ernous room lined with long wooden tables. Torches lit the interior, casting a golden hue on the tartan banners that hung from the gray stone wal s between the narrow win

dows. The room was crowded—at least twenty people hunkered down at each table, mostly men, and the servants scurried about trying to accommodate them al at once. At the table on the raised dais, she spotted Rory. He came to his feet when he saw her. The loud chatter quieted as the diners watched her walk by. Their curiosity was one of the reasons she’d taken to eating her meals in her chambers.

“Mrs. Mac, maybe it’s better if I eat in my room,” Ali suggested, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. LORD OF THE ISLES

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“Och, no, the laird wanted you to join him and so you shal .”

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to upset his lordship.”

Mrs. Macpherson shook her head, making her now fa

miliar tsking sound.

“I’m glad you’ve joined us, lass,” Rory said when Ali reached them, indicating the vacant chair to his left, beside Iain.

“I didn’t think I had a choice,” she muttered, nodding at Iain, Fergus, and Connor as she took her seat.

“Ah, stil prickly I see.”

Before she could respond, two platters were placed on the table in front of her. She eyed them with trepidation; fish of some sort on one, lamb on the other. Relieved when a basket of fresh bread was placed to her left, she smiled at the girl who put it there.

“Thank you.”

The girl bobbed her head.

“You canna’ live on bread alone, Aileanna,” Rory said, with a hint of amusement in the low rumble of his voice.

“Cook took yer suggestions to heart. I’ve checked on the kitchens myself. ’Tis safe to eat.”

Even if that was the case, Ali wasn’t sure she could. She didn’t know how. Not without a fork or a knife to cut the meat. There was only a spoon beside her wooden plate. She glanced surreptitiously down the tables to see how everyone else was managing. Iain, obviously aware of the problem, took his dirk and sliced off some mutton for her. Everyone was so busy eating they no longer watched her, and she took a tentative bite.

“So, Aileanna, did you find what you were lookin’ for?”

Ali choked on the piece of meat and both Rory and Iain pounded her back simultaneously.

“I’m al right,” she managed, knowing if they didn’t 62

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stop with their forceful slaps, she wouldn’t be. She took a deep swal ow of wine from the goblet in front of her. Clearing her throat, she said, “I wasn’t looking for any

thing in particular, Lord MacLeod. I just wanted to see more of Dunvegan, since I’ve spent most of my time caring for your men.”

“Did it meet with yer approval?” Goblet in hand, he swirled the liquid, looking at her over the rim.

“Yes, it’s lovely.” She bent over her plate, pretending to be absorbed with her meal, ignoring the suspicious look Fergus shot at her across the table and the one she felt coming from Iain. Ali had a sneaking suspicion she would be watched closely from now on.

She drained her wine.

Rory refil ed it for her. “I’m sorry I didna’ have the time to show you aboot myself.”

She shrugged. “You were busy.”

“Aye, and I’ve learned, thanks to you, Aileanna, that my men fared much better than I anticipated.”

“Aye, and next time we meet the MacDonald, we’l be ready for the sneaky old bastard,” Iain said. Men al along the tables heard his comment and pounded their fists against the scarred wood. A loud chorus of ayes fil ed the room. Ali couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Please, tel me you aren’t serious. My God, you were almost kil ed. Several of your men died.” An image of a battlefield like the one she’d seen on the tapestry the day she arrived flashed before her. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Rory in the midst of that slaughter. He shrugged. “’Tis the way of it, lass. We have no choice.”