Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Like hel you wil . Put me down.” She slapped him on the back and gave him another kick for good measure.

“Eh, Fergus, watch yer bol ocks, mon.” Someone laughed, and Ali was certain it was Rory’s cousin. Whack.

“ Fergus!” she yelped, covering her behind.

“That’s enough.” Big hands locked on her waist and hauled her from Fergus’s shoulder to set her upright. “Now one of you wil tel me what is the meanin’ of this?”

Ali glared at Fergus, who glared right back at her. She pushed the hair from her face with an angry swipe of her hand Ali glared at Fergus, who glared right back at her. She pushed the hair from her face with an angry swipe of her hand and met Rory’s unamused gaze.

“I’m waitin’.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest,

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showing no sign of what had passed between them the night before.

“Ali, what happened? You have blood on yer gown?”

Iain asked, concern in his voice as he pushed past his brother.

Rory’s gaze racked over her as though he searched for a wound.

“It’s not mine.” She stepped around Iain. “You made me a promise, Rory, and I’m holding you to it. I have a com plaint against Moira that must be addressed.”

“What is it that yer sayin’ aboot my sister?” Cyril cried in a high-pitched voice.

“She threw a goblet at Ina, one of the serving girls. She needed stitches and was lucky she didn’t lose her eye. Lady MacLean threatened to kil her if she went to anyone about it.”

Cyril looked from her to Rory. “’Tis no’ but an accident. Yer jealous and tryin’ to make trouble fer my sister is al .”

Her gaze locked onto Rory’s. The muscle in his clenched jaw pulsated. “You promised.”

“Aye,” he grunted, drawing his attention away from her at the sound of Moira’s and Mrs. Mac’s voices headed in their direction. He jerked his chin, and Fergus and Iain took hold of her arms.

“No!” she cried, struggling to free herself. “If you don’t do something about this, I’l never forgive you.”

The object of her fury came to stand beside her brother, looking the picture of innocence in her pretty pink gown. Mrs. Mac, who trailed behind, cast a startled glance at Ali.

“What’s goin’ on, Rory?” Moira asked in a soft, gentle voice.

“Cut the crap, lady. Everyone knows what you’ve done. And if you so much as touch a hair on one of those girls’

heads again, you’l answer to me,” Ali yel ed over her shoulder as Fergus and Iain dragged her toward the stairs. 176

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Ali craned her neck in an attempt to see over Iain’s shoulder. She was determined to catch Rory’s eye before she was dragged away, but he turned his back on her, order

ing Moira and her brother to his study. Ali had the satisfac

tion of seeing Moira’s mouth drop. Aidan caught Ali’s eye, and gave her a reassuring wink.

“Ali, he’l take care of it. I’l add my promise to his. She’l no’ harm another,” Iain said, angrier than she’d ever seen him. “I canna’ believe he’s goin’ through with the be

trothal.”

“I thought you wanted the match.”

“Nay, Aileanna, I want to see my brother happy. ’Tis al I’ve ever wanted.”

Ali listened to every footfal , every creak in the hal out

side Rory’s room. She timed her search of his chambers to when they’d be dining in the hal . Mrs. Mac had unhappily informed her that a new agreement was being drawn up and would be signed after the evening meal. With luck, Ali figured she had several hours to look for the flag. But there had been several delays before she had the chance to sneak unseen from her room.

Mari and Connor had come to check on her and report on Ina’s progress; Fergus, to apologize for smacking her behind, although he informed her it was wel deserved; and Iain, to share what had taken place between his brother and Moira. He said Rory told Moira in no uncertain terms how he felt about his servants being abused, and accident or not, he would not constitute it happening again. And al

though she’d be lady of Dunvegan—Iain had shuddered as he said the words—Mrs. Mac would see to the staff and oversee the keep much as she did before. Ali had tearful y thanked him, saying a silent good-bye as she had to al of them. No one commented on her tears,

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and Ali figured they assumed she grieved because Rory was going through with the betrothal. They were right, but her tears were for them, too. They’d become the family she never had.

Ali sniffed and wiped the moisture from her cheek. She kept her gaze averted from the bed, but the memories refused to be kept at bay. Rory’s hand on her naked body, his mouth on hers—him lying there wounded and in pain, but stil man

aging to tease. Every little detail of their time together flashed before her. How could she leave . . . how could she not? It was only when Ali relegated al she stood to lose to the recesses of her mind that she had the strength to move ahead with her search.

The wall. He said the wall.

She placed both palms alongside the doorframe and slowly worked her way around the room. It seemed like hours had passed. Her arms ached from stretching and pressing every inch of the wal s, stone and paneling alike. Painstakingly she checked for signs of wear. Knowing she had little time left, and half the room stil to explore, she had al but given up. Then the panel creaked beneath her palm. She tapped lightly—it was hol ow. She was tempted to use the knife she wore strapped to her thigh—the one Cal um had given her—but was afraid to damage the wood. A tremor of nervous excitement ran through her as she slid her nails along the edge. The wal moved. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as inch by inch she worked it open. Behind the panel she discovered a closetlike space. On the dusty floor sat a black trunk. Ali knelt beside it, closing her eyes when it squeaked open, her nerves scraped raw, every sound magnified a hundred times. Slowly she opened her eyes. On top lay the cream col ored square of silk. Her search was over, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She clutched the flag to her chest. Aware she didn’t have much time, she began to 178

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push the panel back into place, but it was stuck. Ali leaned her shoulder into it. With a long, drawn-out creak, it shuddered closed.

A deep voice rumbled over her. “What are you doin’, Aileanna?”

Chapter 15

“Aileanna, I asked you a question. What are you doin’?”

Rory hesitated, slowly closing the door behind him, not sure he could withstand the temptation of being alone with her. He had come to his chambers for a moment’s peace before he put his name to the agreement. Aileanna’s accusations against Moira had not helped matters, nor did her entreaty that he hold true to his promise. His head stil ached from Moira’s hysterics in his study, and her constant attentions in the hal . Aileanna turned toward him, her face flushed, hair in dis

array, and a look of panic in her bonny blue eyes. Wariness crept over him. He noted her hands behind her back and un

wil ingly his gaze went to the hidden chambers. A dul , knife-like pain twisted in his gut. The wooden panel had been tampered with, the seal at the top broken. Al evidence pointed to Aileanna, and anger raged within him. She was a spy.

She betrayed him.

Moira and Cyril had been right al along. Ruthlessly, he shoved aside a niggling of doubt. “What do you have behind yer back?” He kept al emotion from his voice.

“Nothing.” Her eyes searched his and her smile faltered. 180