Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

LORD OF THE ISLES

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He raised a brow and looked into her stormy eyes.

“We’ve had this discussion before, Aileanna. You doona’

understand.”

“That’s right, I forgot—I’m just a woman. But I’m the same woman who wil be looking after al of you when you drag yourselves half-dead from the battlefield,” she sputtered at him.

“We’l no’ be half-dead,” he muttered.

“You nearly died the last time, Rory.” She blinked, and he saw moisture gather on her lashes. “The next time you might not be so lucky and I don’t think I—” The last of her words came out on a choked sob. He buried his face in her hair, wishing he could take away her worries, wishing he could make her understand that in his time, this was the way of it. Nothing else to be done but stand up for what was right, and fight for what was yours.

“Shh. I’l come home to you in one piece, mo chridhe, I promise.”

Aileanna slapped a hand to his chest. “You can’t make promises like that.” She frowned when he stood up.

“Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just walk away from me when we’re having a fight.”

Rory bit back a smile and shook his head. “I didna’

think we were havin’ a fight, mo chridhe, but someone ap

proaches. Here, let me help you.” He reached for her hand.

“What are you talking about? There isn’t—” She rol ed her eyes when Iain cal ed out to him. Rory laughed at her disgruntled expression. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tucked her to his side. “We’l continue our talk later, in yer room.”

“Talk?” She raised a perfectly arched brow. “I’m sure we wil .”

“Aye, for a wee while we wil .” He nuzzled her neck.

“Ouch.” She grimaced, running a finger along the stub

ble on his jaw. “You’re rough.”

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“I’l see to it before I come to you.” Their wee chat was putting Rory in the mood for more than talking, and he drew her in front of him to conceal the evidence as his brother came toward them.

“Yer al right, Ali?” Iain asked, grinning at them both.

“My brother hasna’ been browbeatin’ you into givin’ him an answer?”

“An answer?” She frowned.

Iain looked from Aileanna to him. “He asked you to marry him didna’ he?”

With an unladylike snort, she said, “No. He told me I was marrying him.”

Iain gave a shout of laughter. “Wait until I tel Aidan this one—but I’m certain he’l no’ be surprised. Mayhap we should have a wee chat after the evenin’ meal, and we’l explain to you how it’s done, Rory.”

“I think I ken how it’s done, little brother.”

Aileanna leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. “I don’t know, Rory. I think it might be a good idea.” She patted his thigh, and from the look in her eyes he could tel she knew why she stood in front of him.

“Thanks fer the offer, but I have plans fer this evenin’.”

He tightened his hold on her. “Is there a reason you’ve come lookin’ for me, Iain?”

“Aye, and you’l no’ be pleased. Cyril’s back. Says he must speak to you. He’s no’ lookin’ too wel .”

Rory cursed under his breath. “Iain, help Aileanna get back to the keep fer me and I’l see to the mon.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I’l see to you, later.”

“ Promises, promises.” She grinned at him as he walked away.

“Aye, ’tis,” he said over his shoulder. Anxious to be rid of MacLean so he could return to Aileanna, he sprinted along the path. As Rory neared the courtyard, he noted several of his men gathered at the doors to the keep. LORD OF THE ISLES

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Cyril, in the middle of the crowd holding court, looked up at his approach. “Ah, here he is now. I’m certain ’tis a misunderstandin’ that can be quickly put to rights.”

“Cyril, I doona’ recal sendin’ fer you,” Rory said as his men parted to let him through, most unwil ing to look him in the eye.

“I had word the MacDonald is on the move and kent you’d be anxious to sign the papers, so I—”

“Bloody hel , what happened to you, mon?” Rory asked upon getting a closer look at Cyril. Three deep gouges slashed open the left side of his face.

Cyril raised a hand to his cheek, his face flushed. “I . . . ah . . . a branch. I was ridin’ and no’ payin’ attention to where I was goin’. Now enough aboot me—we must see to the contract.”

“Mayhap we should continue this in my study,” Rory suggested, nudging the man forward, ignoring the grum bling at his back.

“Ye may wish to set the men at ease first, Rory. They have taken a strange notion into their heads that yer plan nin’ on marryin’ that . . . that woman.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “Where on earth they got such an idea, I canna’

imagine. You, marryin’ an accused thief.” He gave a deli

cate snort and brought his handkerchief to his lips.

“She’s no thief, Cyril, and Lady Aileanna wil be my wife.”

“Ye canna’ be serious. She stole from ye, and I’ve heard whispers she’d be a witch.”

He narrowed his gaze on the man. “Tread careful y, Cyril. The woman you slander is the future Lady of Dunvegan. Al charges against her have been proven false, to my satisfaction.”

“But what of my sister? What am I to tel her?” The man had a panicked look on his face and a death grip on Rory’s arm.

“’Twas no’ a good match fer either of us.”

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“No’ a good match! Ye need us, mon, ye need us,” the man shouted, looking wild-eyed. He pointed across the courtyard to where Iain assisted Aileanna across the cob

blestones, screaming, “’Tis her! She has ye bewitched.

’Twas the MacDonald’s plan al along. She’l be the death of the MacLeods, mark my words. She’l be the death of al of ye.”

Chapter 19

Gripped by an urge to choke the raving lunatic in the center of an ever-growing circle of onlookers, Rory clenched and unclenched his fists. He shoved open the doors of the keep and bel owed, “Aidan!”

Grabbing Cyril by the col ar, Rory hauled him up the steps. “You’l shut yer mouth or I’l shut it fer you,” he growled. Cyril struggled, his mouth opening and closing like an overgrown mackerel. Rory pushed him toward Aidan, who stood in the entranceway, brow quirked. “What’s he doin’ here?”

Rory didn’t answer. He sought out Aileanna over the heads of his men. She listened to something his brother was tel ing her, but it was obvious she took no reassurance from his words. “Give him some ale, then see him on his way.”

“I think I can manage that. Looks like he lit a fire under that lot,” Aidan said before he led a sniveling Cyril away. Rory released a weary sigh and turned to face his men.

“You listen to that mon, but mayhap you should consider why he’s so anxious fer this match. And doona’ think fer one moment he’s concerned fer the clan’s wel -being. He needs my coin is al , and if any of you question me on this 228

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matter I’l no’ have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin’ under that mon. Now see matter I’l no’ have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin’ under that mon. Now see to yer families. We leave four days hence.”

None too happy, the men dispersed. Rory knew some of what he said would eventual y sink in, at least with some of them. It was not his way to denigrate another, but Cyril left him no choice, and Rory spoke the truth. The MacLeans were in desperate need of his coin, thanks to Cyril’s penchant for gambling. He strode across the courtyard to Aileanna’s side. His bel y clenched at the look in her eyes. Unconcerned his affection for her would be witnessed, he wrapped her in his arms. “You wil na’ listen to him, mo chridhe. The mon’s mad.”