Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Oh, I thought maybe it was a . . . a wedding feast,” Ali said, the relief in her voice obvious; unable to deny, at least to herself, that she didn’t want Rory to marry Moira MacLean. And it had nothing to do with her wanting him, Ali reassured herself. She just couldn’t imagine him being happy with that woman. LORD OF THE ISLES

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“Nay, but I fear ’twil no’ be long before ’tis.”

“Why . . . why would you say that?” Ali grabbed ahold of Cal um’s arm as she stumbled over the same rock she’d warned Jamie about and cursed inwardly. Cal um shrugged as they came to the clearing. With no trees to shield them from the sun, the searing rays beat down upon them. “The laird has no choice, my lady. He has to make a decision verra soon. ’Twas al the talk in the hal this morn.”

“Was that before or after the discussion of me being a spy?”

Cal um chuckled. “’Twas after.” Shaking his head, he clapped a big hand on Jamie’s shoulder as the boy picked up his pace. “Nay, yer no’ gettin’ off that easy, laddie. ’Tis to yer mother ye go.”

The boy wiggled out from beneath Cal um’s hand and stomped through the wildflowers, pul ing the heads off those he didn’t manage to tromp.

Ali picked a bel flower that managed to escape Jamie’s wrath and sniffed its fragrant petals. She twirled the flower between her fingers, then returned her attention to Cal um, who kept a close eye on the boy.

“Are you happy about the match between the MacLeans and the MacLeods, Cal um?”

“Fer the clan, aye. Fer the man, nay.”

Ali pushed her hair back from where it lay plastered to her cheek. “Why?”

He gave her a long, considering look. “I ken we’re in need of the men the match would provide, but I doona’ think ’tis fair our laird should sacrifice a chance at happiness.”

“You don’t think he’l be happy with Lady MacLean?”

Cal um cocked his head to study her. “Nay, I ken there’s another who interests him. One who would be a true part ner to him.”

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“Real y.” Ali cleared her throat. “I didn’t think Lord MacLeod would ever love again.”

He grinned. “I think you ken wel enough, my lady. I’m no’ blind.” Cal um didn’t give Ali a chance to respond—

not that she could. He’d struck her dumb. You could knock her over with a feather. What had she done to make him think she was in love with Rory? She must have misunder

stood. He couldn’t possibly mean to imply Rory was in love with her.

Rattled by his comment, she stumbled through the long grass after him until they were within a few feet of the kitchens. The heavy oak door flung open at their approach. A woman Ali recognized as Jamie’s mother came into view, her face flushed, her gray gown flattened to her body. She leaned against the wal for support. As though only then becoming aware of them, she squinted past the sweat rol ing off her forehead.

“Jamie Cameron, what have ye gone and done now?”

Wearily she pushed herself off the stone wal , wiping her sleeve across her brow. Cal um placed a steadying hand beneath the woman’s elbow. “Doona’ fash yerself, Janet. We met up with him on the path is al .”

Janet looked from her son to Cal um. The boy, who had paled at his mother’s question, now beamed at the blond giant as though he was his savior. Which Ali was fairly certain he was. Janet Cameron might be smal , but the woman seemed fierce. Cal um gave Jamie a furtive wink. The young boy winked back, but his mother caught him, and no matter how many times he blinked to cover it up—

the game was over.

“Nay . . . nay.” Janet shook her head, dark spiral curls escaping from beneath her white cap. “I’l have the truth, Cal um.” She rounded on him, her chest heaving.

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The big man held out his hands in surrender. “Janet,

’twas nothin’. The lad wanted to go to the glen is al .”

“Oh, that’s al , is it? He only wanted to go to the glen and play at makin’ war with the rest of ye fools. Is it no’ bad enough I’ve lost his da, now I’m to lose him, too,” the woman said on a broken sob, burying her face in her hands.

“Hush, Janet. I’l no’ let anythin’ happen to wee Jamie. I promise ye that.”

Cal um awkwardly patted her on the back while her young son looked on. Jamie’s face was beet red, his hands bal ed into smal fists at his sides. Ali could see he tried his best not to cry, and her heart went out to him. Janet pul ed away from Cal um and brought her greasespattered apron to her face and wiped at her tears. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’m tired is al .”

“Please, don’t apologize. I understand how you feel, real y I do. Not about your loss by any means, but your sentiments.” She took a hesitant step toward Janet and squeezed her arm, steeling herself for the rebuff she was sure would fol ow, but none did.

Janet patted her hand in return. “Thank ye,” she said quietly. “Now ’tis back to the kitchens fer me. Her lady ship has ordered a feast and a feast there’l be, even if it kil s us,” she remarked dryly. “And, Jamie, me lad, ye best be right here when next I take a wee rest.”

“Janet, you’re exhausted. Go home with Jamie and I’l help Cook in the kitchens.”

The three of them looked at Ali as if she’d grown two heads. She grimaced. “What?” Glancing toward the kitchens, she lowered her voice. “Do you real y think Cook would try to kil me if I go in there?”

Janet and Cal um shared a laugh. “Nay, but ’tis no’ right ye bein’ in the kitchens, ye bein’ a lady and al .”

Ali cut her off with a wave of her hand. “For the moment, I think it’s the best place for me.” It was true. Ali knew if she 138

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went anywhere near Moira MacLean she’d tel the woman exactly what she thought of her, and none of it was good. She waved good-bye to Jamie and Janet, and final y to Cal um. It took five attempts before she was able to reassure him that she real y did want to work in the kitchens. And no, she wasn’t suffering from heat stroke. And yes, she was sure she’d be safe enough—unless you included Cook and his kitchen knife. Upon opening the kitchen door a blast of hot, humid air sucked Ali’s breath from her. She grabbed hold of the doorframe before venturing down the three stone steps into the kitchen. The sweltering heat and smoke-laden air caused her eyes to sting.

Cook sat on a stool, slouched over the heavily scored wooden table. He turned his head to look at Ali, his face gray, his lips parched. “Dear Lord, I doona’ ken what I did to deserve this much punishment in one day.” His words were slurred.

Ali ignored his comment and hurried to his side. She re

moved the knife from his hand. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“Nay.” He shook his head, eyes drooping. Ali knelt at his side, pul ing his lower lid down. “Come on,” she said, tugging him to his feet. “You have to get out of here before you drop dead.”

“Nay.” He tried to fight her off, but was too weak. “We are no’ done preparin’ the feast.” He waved limply at the two open flames where four young girls tended to a huge caul

dron and a spit that held a pig. They didn’t look as though they fared much better than Cook. She tightened her hold on the man and nudged him forward. “Girls, you come, too. Out you go,” Ali said as she managed to get him up the last step. The young maids exchanged worried glances. Their hands twisted in their aprons. It was then Ali recognized three of the four. They were the girls that had abused Mari

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in the courtyard. Ali tamped down her anger. It was the first time she’d seen them since that day. Mrs. Mac had assured her they’d been punished, and Ali guessed this was it.