Debbie Mazzuca: Lord of the Isles

He ush

ered her into the warmth of the cavernous entrance. Ali set down her bags on the slate floor and swiped her dripping hair from her face. She pul ed her wet clothing from 4

Debbie Mazzuca

where it stuck to her body and shook it out. “It’s real y coming down out there,” she said in an attempt to make conversation.

“Aye,” he murmured, giving her an odd look before closing the door.

The intensity of his stare was beginning to give her the creeps. She wondered if she’d made a mistake coming inside—she was alone and didn’t know this man from Adam. Not one to let things slide, Ali asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Sorry, lass, it’s just that . . . och, you’l have to excuse an old man for his rudeness.” He gave her an embarrassed smile. “I’m Duncan Macintosh, Dunvegan’s caretaker. Who did you say you were?”

“Ali . . . Ali Graham. I have a reservation,” she said, searching her bag for the elusive piece of paper. “Some where.” Ali grimaced and pul ed the sodden reservation from her jacket pocket. With a wry grin she handed it to him. A frown creased his brow, and he looked from her to the paper. “Lass, you’ve come to the wrong place. It’s Dunve gan Hotel you’d be looking for. You passed it a ways back.”

She looked at the paper he handed back to her, the writ

ing barely legible, but there it was, plain as day, Dunvegan Hotel. “I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. Sorry for bothering you.” Ali bent down to retrieve her bags from the puddle they’d left on the floor.

“It’s no bother, Miss Graham. I was just about to have a spot of tea. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“Please . . . cal me Ali, and a cup of tea sounds wonder

ful. Would you have something I could dry off with? I don’t want to . . . oh, no.” She groaned. “Look what I’ve done.”

The beautiful wool area rug beneath her feet was now marked with her muddy footprints. “I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled. “It’s seen worse. Don’t fret. I’l get you some towels and then you can come by the fire and warm up. My wife is off on a wee shop, but when she returns with the car I’l take you over to the hotel. How does that sound?”

LORD OF THE ISLES

5

“Terrific.”

With her jacket and mud-caked shoes disposed of, Ali fol owed Duncan. She gazed appreciatively at the woodpaneled room he led her into, noting its decorative ceilings with interest. The antique furniture was tasteful and invit

ing; muted greens and golds complemented the heavy crimson draperies and ornate cherrywood bookcases that ran the length of the drawing room.

“This place is amazing, Mr. Macintosh. You must love taking care of it.”

“Och, now, Duncan wil do just fine. And aye, it’s a wonderful job I have,” he said as he dragged a high-back chair closer to the fire and placed a forest green throw over its delicate embroidered fabric. “Sit down, lass. Dry off a bit and I’l get us our tea.”

Ali sank grateful y into the chair, then leaned forward to warm her hands in front of the blazing fire. Its woodsy aroma reminded her of a damp day in fal , even though it was only the beginning of August. Duncan reentered the room carrying a heavily laden silver tray. “Move that wee table over here, lass.”

“That’s quite a spread. I hope you didn’t go to any trou

ble on my account, Duncan,” she said as she placed the table between them. The older man settled in the chair beside her. “No trou

ble at al .” He smiled. Looking over the rim of the porce

lain teacup, he asked, “What brings you to Skye, Ali?”

“I’m doing a photo shoot for Vogue. It’s a magazine.”

“I know of it. They requested permission a few months back to take photos here. So, you’re a model, then?”

Ali laughed. “Actual y, I’m a doctor, fourth-year resi

dent. But my friend is an agent and every once in a while she passes a job my way. Helps pay the bil s,” she said, biting into a dainty sandwich.

6

Debbie Mazzuca

“I thought you residents were a harried lot. Was it not difficult for you to get the time off ?”

Ali choked and took a deep swal ow of her tea before she answered, “Not real y.” Anxious to change the subject, she pointed to a tattered piece of silk encased in glass above the fireplace. “What’s that?”

“Ah, that would be the fairy flag,” he said, gazing at the box with reverence. Intrigued, Ali asked, “Fairy flag?”

“Would you be wanting to hear the tale?”

“I’d love to. If you’re sure you have the time.”

“I always have time for this story, lass.” He made him

self comfortable; stretching out his long legs, he crossed them at the ankles.

“A long time ago, according to the legend, the Laird of the MacLeods fel in love with a fairy princess.”

“Fairy princess? You mean like in storybooks?”

“Aye. Do you not believe in magic, Ali?”

She didn’t. As far as she was concerned only children who had been loved and protected had the luxury to be lieve in magic and fairy tales. Not someone like her, who had been slapped with the harsh realities of life at an early age. But Duncan didn’t need to know that.

“Of course.” She smiled. “Now don’t keep me in sus

pense, what happened next?”

He studied her with kind eyes, then went on with his story. “The two wished to wed, but the King of the Fairies refused to grant his permission. Noting his daughter’s sorrow, he reluctantly relented, but on with one condition; after a year and a day she must return to the fairy realm.

“Within that year the happy couple were blessed with a bonny baby boy. Their time together went quickly, and too soon the heartbroken princess had no choice but to keep her promise to her father. As she tearful y left her husband and baby at the fairy bridge, she made the laird promise

LORD OF THE ISLES

7

never to leave their son alone, or to al ow him to cry. Even in the fairy realm, the sound of his sorrow would cause her great suffering,” Duncan explained.

Flames shot up from the fire with a loud crackle and pop, and Duncan leaned over, taking a poker to the logs before continuing. “Their laird was grief stricken, and his clan, want

ing to cheer him up, organized a celebration. The maid who had been left to mind the wee one could not resist the music and left the bairn alone while she went to watch the festivities. The baby started to cry, and hearing his cries, the fairy princess came back to comfort him. She wrapped him in her silk and was speaking to him in a lyrical voice when the maid returned. The princess kissed her son good-bye, then vanished.

“Years later, the lad came to his father with the story of his mother’s visit, and repeated her instructions to him. If ever the clan was in danger, the laird was to wave the silk to cal upon the fairies and their help. But the magic could only be summoned three times, and—”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Ali interrupted. “Has it . . . did the MacLeods ever raise the flag?”

“Aye, they did, back in 1570. The MacDonalds, an enemy to the MacLeods, attacked them. Severely outnum bered, the MacLeod unfurled the flag and its fairy magic. To this day no one knows for certain what happened, but the MacDonalds retreated. Some say it’s because the fairies made the MacLeod’s army swel , but others say something happened to the MacDonald’s wife and daughter that day, drawing him from the field, leaving his army in disarray.”

“Wel , Duncan, that story alone was worth getting soaked for. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” The older man glanced at her and seemed slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I was a wee bit disconcerted when you first arrived.”