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to the extreme, he’d made it clear that given the slightest bit of encouragement he would jump at it—or her.

“Iain, would you walk with me to the Chisholms’ this morning? I promised to check in on Maureen and the baby, and after . . .” She let her voice trail off and hoped the events of yesterday would make her little act as a distressed female believable. Trying her best to come across as helpless, she didn’t realize Rory had joined them until she heard the scrape of his chair as he dragged it back from the table.

“I thought you meant to miss breakin’ yer fast. Is yer wound actin’ up?”

“Nay, I didna’ have a chance to speak with Cal um and rectified the matter this morn.” Rory directed his answer to Fergus, but his gaze lingered on Ali. “Good morn, Aileanna,” he said quietly. She gave him a cool nod, but kept her gaze trained on Iain, who looked from her to his brother before answering.

“Aye, Ali, ’twil be my pleasure.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it, Iain.”

Rory eyed her over the rim of his mug. “And what does my brother have the pleasure of helpin’ you with, Aileanna?”

Although asked pleasantly enough, there was no mistaking the edge of steel beneath his question.

“He’s agreed to accompany me to the Chisholms’.” She poked at the oats with her spoon. Iain, as though he felt it necessary to explain, added,

“After yesterday Ali is understandably nervous to be on her own.”

Rory quirked a brow in her direction. “Is that so?” He kept his gaze trained on her while he took a mouthful of porridge.

Ali cursed Iain’s unerring need to explain his actions to his brother. She hoped he hadn’t triggered Rory’s suspi cions. He was one man she wouldn’t be able to fool. And 110

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the one man that for the life of her she couldn’t keep her eyes off of. Fascinated despite herself, she watched the movement of the powerful muscles in his throat as he drank his ale. With a concerted effort, she dragged her gaze away, wishing, not for the first time, he’d been cursed with some deformity. He was too damn gorgeous for his own good—and hers. “If you’l excuse me, I’l meet you in the courtyard in a few minutes, Iain. Fergus, Lord MacLeod.”

She nodded in their direction.

“Aileanna—” Rory paused, waiting for her to acknowl

edge that he’d spoken to her.

She sighed and turned to face him. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the back of her chair. The corner of his mouth twitched and amusement glinted in his eyes as he looked at her. “You’l be ridin’ to the Chisholms’.”

Ride? Her brow furrowed. Good God, he wanted her to ride a horse. “Thank you, but I’d prefer to walk.”

“Nay. You’l ride.”

What the hel was she supposed to say? Was there a woman in this godforsaken time that wouldn’t be perfectly at ease in the saddle? “I . . . I can’t ride. I’m al ergic.”

“Al ergic? I’ve never heard of the word.” He narrowed his gaze on her.

Damn, she’d done it now. She glared at Fergus and Iain. It was their fault she was in this predicament. But did they come to her rescue? No, of course not. “Horses make me sneeze.”

“’Tis al in yer head,” he scoffed. “A horse canna’ make you sneeze. And you wil ride, Aileanna, or you wil no’

go to the Chisholms’. Yer feet are no’ yet healed.”

She leaned across her chair to glare at him. “You can’t tel me what to do, Rory MacLeod, and don’t you forget it.”

He sat back, arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes

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locked onto hers. “Yer wrong, Aileanna. I can, and I wil . Now, if yer scared of ridin’ a horse, that I would understand.”

“Of course I’m not scared.” She waved her hand offhandedly.

“Good. I’l meet you at the stables after I’ve eaten.”

“No . . . no, I’m not going with you. I’m going with Iain.”

She silently pleaded with Iain to intervene. His answer—

a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

“If you plan on goin’ to the Chisholms’ you’l meet me at the stables.” That said, Rory went back to eating. Her fingers itched to dump the mug of ale on his arro

gant head.

Head bent, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“I wouldna’ try it, Aileanna. You wouldna’ like the conse

quences.”

“Achoo, achoo.” Aileanna sneezed again and again. She stood just inside the stable door, as far from the horses as she could get. Sunlight played in her unbound hair, turn

ing it to burnished gold. None too gently, she rubbed her eyes and nose. “I told you I have al ergies. Do you believe me now?” She sniffed dramatical y.

Rory pushed away from the rough-hewn boards of the stable wal where he’d watched her put on her wee show.

“Nay.” He brought his face within inches of hers and tapped his finger on the tip of her reddened nose. “I doona’

believe you, Aileanna, but you’d do wel on the stage, lass.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Look at my nose, my eyes.” She pointed at each of the parts she referred to.

“Aye, and if I rubbed at mine as much as you, they’d be the same.”

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“You’re insufferable.” She tossed her hair and turned to walk away.

“Oh, no, you doona’ get away that easily.” He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her toward him. “What, no sneezes? Achoo. ” He mimicked her dainty sneeze, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. Her mouth dropped. She punched him in the arm, making him laugh harder than he had in a long time. “You’l have to do better than that if—” He took hold of the hands she’d bal ed into fists before she could fol ow through with her threat. “Now, why canna’ you just admit yer afraid?”

Aileanna struggled to free herself. She tugged her hands from his at the same time he let go. She stumbled and fel with a resounding thud onto the hard-packed, hay-strewn ground. He reached down to help her and she slapped his hand away, glaring up at him.

“I didna’ do it on purpose, Aileanna,” he said, biting back a smile.

Her eyes flashed deep violet. “Hah, as if I believe that!”

She sat there and shook out the dirt from her dark blue gown. He crouched at her side. “Let me help you.”

“No, I think you’ve helped enough.” She squinted up at him. “And don’t you dare laugh at me.”

He grinned. “Come now, you must admit yer wee per

formance was funny.”

She dipped her head, lips curved in a slight smile. He helped her to her feet and brushed off the back of her gown. His movements were light and brisk so as not to touch the rounded curves of her delectable behind.

“Thank you,” she murmured and took a step away from him.

“Wil you tel me now why you wil na’ admit yer fears, Aileanna?”

She shrugged. “Why should I? I think you’ve been

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entertained enough for one day.” Her attention was drawn to Lucifer, his black stal ion—a beast of a horse that even now pawed the ground in his stal .

“No one is without fears, Aileanna. I wouldna’ laugh at yers.”

She tipped her head to look at him, her eyes taking his measure. “I doubt you have ever been afraid of anything, Rory MacLeod.”

She was wrong. He was afraid of her and what she made him feel. She awakened emotions he thought he’d buried with Brianna. He cleared his throat. “Come.” He motioned for her to fol ow him. “Doona’ worry, I’l choose a docile mount for you.”

She moved across the hay-strewn floor with a dis