Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Moira, that wil be enough,” Rory ordered. His stom

ach roiled at the image of Aileanna’s porcelain white skin flayed to a bloody pulp. He watched as the men led her toward the tower, back straight, head held high.

“Rory . . . Rory.” Moira plucked at his sleeve. “Cyril tel s me ye have no’ signed the papers as yet. Shal we retire to the study and do so now?”

“Nay, I have much to deal with, Moira. Mayhap ’twould be best if you and yer kin left until I have had sufficient time to deal with the matter at hand. Aidan wil see you to Duart. I’l send a messenger when I’m of a mind to sign the papers.” Rory knew he should just sign the agreement and get it over with instead of leaving it to hang over his head, but at the moment he had no desire to deal with it, or the MacLeans. Moira’s comments to Aileanna chil ed him to the marrow. No matter her guilt, it was not some

thing one would expect a woman to say to another. Rory had known Moira for a long time, but he was beginning to question if he truly knew her at al .

Ali smoothed her finger over the dagger Cal um had in

sisted she wear strapped to her thigh on the morning Moira MacLean had turned the clan against her. She wedged the blade between the iron bar of the window and the spot right below it where the stone had weakened. It was boring, tedious work. She had to be quiet and make sure she swept the stone dust under the narrow cot. Locked away for two days now, Rory’s only compromise had been to al ow her water. He had come yesterday morning to try to make her talk, but she hadn’t uttered a single word. She’d lain on the cot LORD OF THE ISLES

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with her back to him. He didn’t touch her, questioning her in a tightly control ed voice. The only emotion he re vealed was when, after what seemed like hours, he’d stormed from the tower, cursing the MacDonalds. Ali blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay. She couldn’t cry anymore. He believed she was a spy—that she betrayed him—and that wouldn’t change. She saw it in the way he looked at her. Heard it in the words he’d spat at her, words she wished she could forget. Felt it in the way he had touched her. She’d thought she’d been hurt before, but it was nothing compared to this.

Ali listened to the dul scrape of the blade as she chis

eled her way to freedom. Two of the bars were loose; only three remained. She didn’t know where she would go, but she knew she couldn’t remain at Dunvegan. The looks of betrayal from Mrs. Mac, Fergus, Iain, and Connor would be too much to bear.

And Rory—wel , she couldn’t think of him without her heart breaking into little pieces. Tel ing him the truth wasn’t an option. She wouldn’t betray the others any more than she already had. But no way in hel was she going to let anyone torture her. The thought of leaving Rory was no longer as difficult as it had once been. He didn’t love her. He felt nothing for her now but disgust. At the sound of heavy footfal s on the wooden staircase that led to the tower, Ali careful y dislodged the dagger. Grabbing a piece of linen, she swept the powder under the bed, then tucked both the cloth and the blade beneath the thin mattress. She heard the guards mutter something before they turned the key in the lock and the door creaked open. Iain entered, his face drawn. He carried a tray with a piece of bread and a mug of what she assumed was water.

“I thought your brother planned to starve me.”

Iain shook his head. “Why did you do it, Ali?” he asked, joining her on the bed. He set the tray down beside him 186

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and offered her the chunk of bread. She politely refused, accepting the water instead. “Yer no’ plannin’ on starvin’

yerself, are you?”

Ali smiled. “Of course not.” But she didn’t plan on making it easy on Rory either. Let him suffer thinking she starved herself. But he’d only suffer if he cared, the little voice in her head said, and he’s already told you he doesn’t.

“You stil havena’ told me—why, Ali?”

She stared at the water in her cup. “You did boil this, didn’t you?” she asked, taking a deep swal ow. Iain sighed.

“Aye. ’Tis because my brother’s marryin’

Moira, isna’ it? ’Tis what both Fergus and Mrs. Mac believe.”

Ali nodded. It was the truth. Emotion knotted her throat.

“Do you think they can ever forgive me?”

Iain squeezed her hand. “Aye, we were hurt is al . We thought you’d come to care a little fer us and your life at Dunvegan.”

Ali placed the cup on the tray and smoothed her hands over her gown. Her gaze shot to Iain, praying he didn’t notice the white dust that coated the dusky pink silk. He didn’t. She wouldn’t have been so lucky had it been Rory.

“I did. I do. It wasn’t an easy decision, Iain, and I’m sorry I disappointed al of you. I real y am.”

“I canna’ fault you, and I thank you fer no’ tel in’ my brother the truth. My only regret is it cost you dearly. But doona’

worry. Fergus and I are thinkin’ on a way to convince Rory yer no’ a spy.” He gave her a weak smile. “The wee tale you told Connor might be of some use if we can con

vince my brother you meant to protect the flag from Moira.”

Ali groaned. “What did Rory do to him?”

“Nothin’. The lad was feelin’ guilty and went to Fergus. He’s blamin’ himself fer you bein’ held in the tower.”

“Iain, you have to tel him not to feel bad. I just would have found someone else to tel me.”

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Iain grimaced, then patted her knee. “I’d best go. Rory is no’ fit to live with these days. If I stay longer than my al lotted time, he’l have my head.”

Ali raised a brow. “Sounds like he and Moira wil make a charming pair.”

Iain gave her an odd smile. “The MacLeans are no longer here. The signing of the papers has been put aside for now.”

Ali tamped down a sense of hope. Nothing could come of it. Not now. “Thank you for coming.” She chewed on her lower lip, then asked, “Iain, would you be able to get me some linens? It gets cold at night.”

He ran his hand through his tawny brown hair. “Sweet Jesu’, what have I done to you, Ali? I should just tel him the truth. You should no’ be locked away up here.”

She stood beside him and patted his arm. “It wil al work out, Iain, you’l see.”

He frowned. “Yer no’ plannin’ anythin’, are you, Ali?”

“Of course not.” She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him when she lied, wishing she didn’t have to. “I’l leave that to you and Fergus.” They didn’t have a chance where Rory was concerned, and she wouldn’t al ow herself to be locked away for however long it suited him. The only one she could depend on was herself: a lesson she’d learned re peatedly growing up, and one she should’ve remembered.

“Good. We’l no’ let you down,” he said, leaving with a promise to send Mari to her with the linens. In the early morning hours on the fourth day of her im

prisonment, Ali wiggled the last of the bars free. Her time before the keep came to life was limited, and she had to hurry, no matter how tired she was. She lifted the rope of linens from the chair and knelt on the cold, hard floor, winding the rope through the bedframe. As quietly as she 188

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could, she dragged the bed beneath the window, stopping every few minutes to listen to the rhythmic snoring of the guards stationed outside the door. With a silent prayer, she dropped the makeshift rope over the edge of the casement. Standing on the mattress, she lifted first one leg and then the other over the ledge. She closed her eyes. The second rope dug into her stomach as she lay in the window, the wind whipping the gown around her legs. She gritted her teeth and began her careful descent down the sheer face of the gray stone wal . Her foot slipped, and she swal owed a panicked cry. Despite the chil in the air, sweat beaded on her forehead. Tightening her grip, she lowered herself several more feet until she came to the knot that warned the rope was about to end. Careful y, one hand over the other, she twisted until she faced outward. The wind lifted her damp hair, cooling her flushed face. She forced herself not to look down at the yawning, twelve-foot gap, knowing she had to get over it if she was to land on the slanted roof of the empty guards’ room.