Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“He never said anything.” He’d been in pain and now she’d made it worse. Ali shot a nervous glance at the ad joining door. “I should check on him.” She pushed off the bed and rose on her heels to protect her sore feet.

“Nay.” Mrs. Mac gave her a gentle nudge, forcing her to 100

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sit back down. “Iain has already suggested he let you tend him, but he refused.”

“Oh.” Once again she felt the heat rise to her face. He didn’t want her anywhere near him. Aware of what he could do to her with just a look, a touch, she thought maybe it was for the best.

“Och, now, doona’ fash yerself, lass. He doesna’ doubt yer abilities. ’Tis on account he doesna’ like to be fussed over is al .”

Ali returned her attention to Mrs. Mac and waved off her explanation. “That’s fine. I understand how he feels.”

She raised a brow to make her point.

“Och, yer two of a kind.” She held out the linens to Ali.

“If you doona’ need me I’l see to Mari.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Gingerly, Ali hopped off the bed.

Mrs. Mac shook her head. Steel gray curls bounced as she pointed to Ali’s feet. “If you doona’ stay off those fer a while, they’l never heal. As fer Mari, there’s nothin’ time and a little kindness wil na’ cure.”

“Of course, I’l do whatever I can. I stil can’t believe what they did to her. I don’t think it’s something I’l ever forget.”

She shuddered. Mari was the one reason she’d de

layed her search for the flag. She had to be sure her maid would be al right before she left.

“I’m thinkin’ we should be a mite careful with the type of kindness we give her from now on.”

Ali’s gaze narrowed on Mrs. Mac, certain the woman held something back. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Mac released a weary sigh. “I’m hearin’ the lasses turned her over to the priest on account of the yel ow gown. They thought she was reachin’ above her station and were a wee bit jealous.”

Ali pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her cry of dismay. “It’s my fault. Everything she suffered was because LORD OF THE ISLES

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of me.” Remembering the scene in the courtyard, bile rose in Ali’s throat. She felt dizzy, overcome with guilt. “My God, look at what I’ve done. I can’t stay here any longer, Mrs. Mac. Please, you have to help me,” she pleaded. The older woman patted her shoulder. “Hush now. You ken I canna’ do that, Lady Aileanna.”

“Lady!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “I’m no lady. You know who I am. I don’t belong here. I never know what to do, what to say, and now look—someone almost died be

cause of it.” Mari. Sweet, innocent Mari had nearly died because of her. The connecting door flew open and Rory stood framed within it, fil ing the entryway with his broad shoulders.

“What the bloody hel is goin’ on in here?”

Mrs. Mac quickly placed herself between the two of them. “There’s nothin’ goin’ on, my laird. Lady Aileanna is a mite overwrought is al .” She waved him off. “No need to trouble yerself. I’l see to her.” Mrs. Mac sent a plead ing look over her shoulder to Ali when Rory strode toward them like a panther stalking his prey. Ali could barely raise the effort to care. Al she wanted to do was crawl in the bed, bury her head, and pray the night mare would end. She’d wake up in New York and everything would be okay. Other than the malpractice suit and the fact you could lose your job, you’re right—everything will be just peachy, the voice in her head jeered. Ali didn’t think she could take much more. What had she done to deserve this? Waves of despair threatened to drown her and her anguish broke free. Body-quaking sobs racked through her body.

Rory tried to step around Mrs. Mac to reach Aileanna, but the woman placed herself in front of him, putting her hands up. “Nay, ’tis no’ proper. I’l see to her.” Determina

tion marked her stance.

He moved to the left and once more Mrs. Mac blocked 102

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his advance. Rory growled in frustration, lifting her bodily out of his way. “I doona’ give a damn if ’tis proper or no’.”

Before he could take the crying woman into his arms, Mrs. Mac whispered urgently in her ear. Whatever she said caused Aileanna’s sobs to intensify. Rory drew her toward him. He was at a loss as to what had broken the woman he cradled in his arms. She hadn’t shed a tear during her ordeal with the priest. Yet now, she soaked his tunic with her tears.

“Leave us be,” he ordered Mrs. Mac, ignoring her dire warnings as she closed the door behind her with a resound ing click.

“Shh.” Rory stroked hair the color of moonbeams from her bonny face. His fingers combed through the silken tresses he’d denied himself the pleasure of touching ear

lier, for fear he’d be unable to stop himself from going fur

ther. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. Unwil ing to release her, he sat with her on his lap, al the while trying to quiet her with words of comfort. Her gown had worked its way over her thigh, revealing long, shapely, bare legs. She was pure temptation; the reason he’d left her to Mrs. Mac’s care. The memory of her heavylidded, passion-fil ed eyes sent a bolt of heat to his shaft, and it jerked against the soft curve of her behind. She shifted, and the friction made him throb.

“Al right now. You wil tel me what has upset you, Aileanna,” he said, his voice gruff with pent-up frustration.

“I wan . . . I want to go home,” she sobbed. Rory buried his face in her honeysuckle-scented hair.

“Aye, Aileanna, we’l find a way to get you home.” It was a decision he’d come to only moments before he’d walked from her room. So why now did he feel a hol ow, empty ache at the thought of her leaving Dunvegan? She sniffed and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. Rory patted the far end of the bed and found the linens he saw there earlier. He handed the cloth to her.

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“Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Is that why yer cryin’, Aileanna? You miss yer home?”

“No . . . yes.” She hiccupped.

Rory held her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forc

ing her to look at him. Eyes the color of the loch after a storm met his. “Which is it, lass?” With tenderness, he stroked his knuckles over her tearstained cheek.

“It was my fault, Rory. Oh, God, I didn’t know.”

“Aileanna, I doona’ ken what yer talkin’ aboot.”

“Mari.” She clutched at his shirt. “Don’t you see? It was my fault the girls gave her to the priest.” She burrowed her face into his neck, sniffing back fresh tears.

“No, I doona’ understand, Aileanna. Tel me.”

She murmured her answer into his neck. The feel of her soft lips moving against his skin and the warmth of her breath fanned the flame of his desire. He bit back a groan.

“Aileanna, sit up, lass. I canna’ make out what yer tryin’

to tel me.” He held her upright with a firm grip on her forearms.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just thought it would be nice if Mari had something pretty to wear.” She looked at him from beneath long lashes spiked together with tears. “Mrs. Mac said it was al right, but that was why . .

. that was why the girls gave her to that madman. They were jealous, and it was al my fault. Oh, my God, I can’t believe what I’ve done.”

He framed her face with his hands and brushed away the moisture with his thumbs. “You were bein’ kind, Aileanna, that’s al . And when Mari needed you most you were there fer her. Yer braver than any woman I’ve ever known, and Mari is lucky to have yer friendship.”