Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

LORD OF THE ISLES

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The man was a legend. Let’s see him talk himself out of this one, she thought.

“’Tis no’ the point,” he grumbled. “I bedded you, I’l wed you.”

Ali’s hand clenched into a fist, itching to strike the ar

rogant look from his face. “In my time, it doesn’t matter, so you’re off the hook. Marry Moira MacLean. I know you, Rory MacLeod. It’s kil ing you to give up on a union you think wil save your clan. Just do it. I don’t have any thing to offer you.”

He shuttered the emotion in his eyes, and Ali’s stomach lurched. She was right. He’d marry her, but at what cost?

He’d resent her. She would be the reason there could be no al iance between the MacLeans and the MacLeods.

“There wil be no union with the MacLeans. You and I wil wed. ’Tis the end of the discussion.” He lifted her easily into his arms and strode to the door, jaw set. Ali wanted to fight him, to leap from his arms, but he was too strong, and she was too sore, too tired, too devas

tated by the turn of events.

Once they were inside her chambers and Rory had placed her careful y on the bed, he looked down at her, running his fingers through his hair. “I doona’ understand you, Aileanna, but I tel you we wil wed.” She could hear the steel in his voice.

“No . . . we won’t.” Ali thumped her pil ow and turned her back to him.

“Yer bloody stubborn, lass,” he grumbled. She heard his frustrated sigh as he padded across the floor. There was a clunk, like he threw something, and then the sound of the fire roaring to life. The smoky smel of peat perme ated the room.

The bed dipped when he sat at her side. He stroked her back and she was barely able to contain her shiver at his 214

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gentle touch. “Wil you no’ tel me why yer fashed, Aileanna?”

She shook her head, misery twisting her insides. Rory blew out a ragged breath. He leaned over her to kiss her forehead. “We’l talk on the morrow, Aileanna, but mark my words. You wil be my wife.”

Chapter 18

Arms crossed, Ali watched from the bed while Mrs. Mac flitted about her room, doing her best to ignore her. Unable to bear the frigid silence any longer, Ali asked, “Are you never going to speak to me again?”

Mrs. Mac avoided meeting her eyes. Hands on her wel rounded hips, she surveyed the room. “Och, now, I’m busy is al .”

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Mrs. Mac. I didn’t know what else to do,” she offered quietly. The older woman nodded. “I ken how you felt, but ’twas hard you tryin’ to leave without a good-bye. I . . . we thought you cared for us a wee bit, you ken.”

“I do, and I don’t think any of you understand how hard it was for me to think of leaving you al .” Ali blinked back tears at the memory of just how difficult it had been. None of them knew how much they’d come to mean to her.

“Och, wel , yer here for good now. Al wil be as it should be,” Mrs. Mac stated succinctly. Ali narrowed her gaze on her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” If Mrs. Mac thought she was marrying Rory any time soon, Ali planned on setting her straight. 216

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“’Tis like I said. The fairies meant you fer our laird, and

’tis how it wil be. He’l no’ marry Moira MacLean now.”

“He’s no’ marrying me either. I mean not . . . I’m not mar

rying him—no matter what he thinks.”

A wide grin split Mrs. Mac’s lined face. “Ah, so he came to his senses and asked, did he?”

“No.” Ali scowled. “He didn’t ask—he told me. But I won’t marry him, Mrs. Mac, so you can wipe that sil y grin off your face.” She flung back the covers in an attempt to get out of bed.

“Och, no you don’t. Yer to stay in bed. You need yer rest.

’Tis what the laird has ordered.”

“He’s the bossiest, most aggravating man I’ve ever met,”

Ali said, flopping onto the pil ows.

“Aye, he is, but he’l make you a good husband, of that I’m certain.”

“Yes, if al you want is someone to protect and take care of you.”

Mrs. Mac frowned, making herself comfortable on the side of the bed. “You doona’ want someone to look out fer you?”

“Of course I do, but he only wants to marry me because of those damn fairies. He feels responsible for me, guilty about what happened. But in the end he’l resent me, Mrs. Mac, for his not being able to marry Moira. The welfare of the clan is more important to him than anything else.”

“Ah, I see the way of it. You want his love, to hold his heart.”

“Aye—oh for God’s sake, yes, that’s what I want.”

Mrs. Mac stood and gave a reassuring pat to Ali’s leg.

“Take it from a woman who kens the lad wel —he loves you, Lady Aileanna, of that I’m certain. I ken what yer sayin’, but you’l see, everythin’ has a way of workin’ itself out.”

Ali wanted to believe Mrs. Mac, she real y did. She knew Rory loved her, but not enough. He only wanted to LORD OF THE ISLES

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marry her out of a sense of obligation, and for her that was no reason.

“If yer wantin’ a bath, I’l have Connor get started on it. Och, I almost forgot to tel you—Mari and Connor ken about the fairies and who you’d be.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “How? Who told them?”

“’Twas no’ that someone told them exactly. When the laird brought you to his room they fol owed us in, worryin’

aboot you, they were. They overheard Iain tryin’ to explain to the laird what happened. No one realized they were there until it was too late. But doona’ fash yerself, they’l no’ be tel in’ anyone. They ken it would be dangerous fer you if word got out.”

Mrs. Mac, Connor, and Mari stared at her in openmouthed astonishment. Face flushed, Ali blew out an exas perated breath. So maybe she’d let her temper get the better of her, but she couldn’t stand being in bed any longer. Or to listen to the three of them insist she had to fol ow the laird’s orders. She wasn’t dying, she had a sprained ankle for God’s sake, and it felt much better, at least good enough for her to go out and get a breath of fresh air.

“The laird wil be none too pleased with you, Lady Aileanna,” Mrs. Mac warned as Ali hobbled toward her chamber door.

“I’m sure I’l hear about it.” If Ali was honest, she’d admit at least some of her anger was due to the fact Rory hadn’t bothered to check on her himself. It was late after

noon and the man hadn’t come near her. Yesterday he’d made love to her, told her they would marry, and yet today he couldn’t spare her a single minute of his time. Just thinking about it made her mad.

“He’s a wee bit busy, so mayhap you’l be lucky and he’l no’ ken what yer aboot.”

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Ali harrumphed. “Busy playing his war games, is he?”

“’Tis no game, or won’t be. Laird Aidan arrived back early this morn from escortin’ the MacLeans home. He brought word the MacDonalds are on the move. The laird’s been shut in his study most of the morn, and the men are gatherin’ in the hal .” At this point Mrs. Mac avoided her eyes, and Ali’s heart pinched.

“They’re going to pressure him to marry Moira, aren’t they?” She wasn’t prepared for the wave of utter despair that washed over her. No matter that she had told him to go through with the betrothal herself, she didn’t think she could bear it if he did.

“Aye, some do, but he wil na’ do it. He’s promised him

self to you, and he’d no’ go back on his word.”

“And when men die in the battle, I’l be the one they blame.” There was no way around it; she lost either way. The three of them looked at one another, obviously unable to dispute the truth of what she said. When she opened the door, Ali was met by the sound of men’s voices raised in anger. Taking a steadying breath, she limped from the room.