Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“I doona’ ken, my lady. The laird wil be none too happy if I leave ye on yer own.”

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“I’m not on my own. I have Connor. Don’t worry, I’l deal with Lord MacLeod.”

When Cal um hesitated, she said, “The biggest threat to my safety is Cyril, and since you sent him back to Dunve gan it might be best if that’s where you were so you can keep an eye on him.”

Cal um looked at Connor, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Go,” Ali said, giving him a light push in Jamie’s direc

tion.

“Aye, I’l go, but have a care.”

Ali smiled. “Don’t worry about us. We’l be fine.”

“Thank ye, my lady,” Jamie cal ed out to her, waving happily as he hurried after Cal um. Upon their approach to the Chisholms’ thatched cottage, Ali pointed out a tree standing off from the stand of firs to Connor. “I won’t be too long. Why don’t you have a rest, and I’l ask Maureen for a tankard of ale for you.”

“Thank ye, my lady.” Connor grinned.

Ali spent an enjoyable hour with Maureen Chisholm and the baby. In their short time together she came to the conclusion women were no different in the sixteenth cen

tury than they were in the twenty-first. The important things remained the same: love, family, and friendship. And Ali felt as though she and Maureen were going to be good friends. It left her hopeful that other members of the clan would soon warm to her.

When Maureen tried to stifle a yawn, Ali decided it was time to leave. With a promise to visit again soon, she headed out the door. She expected to find Connor napping under the tree, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Connor,” she cal ed out, scanning the area. Leaning on the stick, she limped to where she’d last seen him.

“Connor, where—” A big hand clamped over her mouth.

“Doona’ make a sound or the lad dies.”

Chapter 20

Gasping for air, Ali struggled to pul the dirt-encrusted hand from her mouth.

“Did ye no’ hear me?” He jerked her head back. “The lad gets it if ye doona’ do as I say.” Her captor ripped the walk ing stick from her hand and flung it against a tree. One half of it rol ed on the pine-needled forest floor to where Connor lay bound and gagged.

The man with the misshapen head stood above him, dagger in hand. “Let’s stick him, Gordie. He’s of no use to us.”

Ali struggled, whimpering beneath her captor’s hand. Her stomach roiled at his stench and her fear for Connor. “No .

. . no.” Her cries were muffled beneath his sweaty palm.

“Nay, I’m thinkin’ he’l make this wee piece behave.”

The man guarding Connor licked his thick lips. “Give ’er to me. I’l make ’er behave.”

“Nay, Mungo. Himself says the MacDonald wil pay fer her return, and I’l no’ risk his anger by returnin’ her to him sul ied by the likes of ye.”

Ali swal owed the bile that rose in her throat. The man that held her pushed her forward and she stumbled. A sharp pain arched up her leg. Her knees buckled, and 240

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Gordie sent her sprawling to the ground. She crawled to Connor, touching his pale face. He was unconscious and the hair at the back of his head was matted with blood.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded, anger over

coming her fear.

“Ah, Gordie, just a wee taste is al I want.” Mungo groped at his crotch, leering at her.

“Shut yer mouth, Mungo, and ye, too.” He jerked Ali’s hands behind her. The rope he bound her with cut into her wrists. He planted his foot on the smal of her back and shoved her, face first, into the ground, tying her ankles to gether. He stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth and hauled her to her feet. “Put him on yer horse and I’l take her.”

“Nay, I’l take her.” Mungo lurched toward Ali. His tongue flicked out and he licked her cheek. Ali shuddered, turning her face. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed, but Gordie slapped his hands away.

“Cut it out, Mungo. Yer wastin’ time. Himself said to make fer Portree. ’Tis the direction the MacDonald was last seen headed fer. If we ride hard we can get us our coin before morn.” Gordie shoved him back.

“I doona’ ken why ye won’t let me have a bit of fun with

’er,” the man muttered, glaring at his friend.

“I’m savin’ yer neck, ye fool. Both the MacLeod and the MacDonald wil have yer head if ye touch her.”

A sense of hopelessness smothered Ali. She couldn’t do anything to put Connor in danger. They’d kil him if she didn’t do as they said. Her only chance was to cooperate, and to stay as far away from Mungo as she could.

“Help me,” Mungo groaned as he tried to lift Connor.

“Doona’ move,” Gordie ordered as he strode toward his companion. Together they tossed Connor over the back of the shaggy brown horse.

Ali’s gaze darted through the shadows of the forest, but there was no one in sight. They wouldn’t be looking for her, LORD OF THE ISLES

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not for a long time yet. Rory, Fergus, and Iain were too busy preparing for battle—battle with a man who would in al likelihood hold her as his prisoner. A pawn to be used against the MacLeods. What would Rory do if the MacDonald of

fered her in exchange for the rights to the land? Ali blinked back tears, certain she knew the answer. Gordie dragged her along behind him. Her foot throbbed as she tried unsuccessful y to keep her weight off it. She bounced when he threw her onto the horse. The saddle dug into her stomach, and the breath she sucked in pul ed the cloth deeper into her mouth. Panicked, Ali worked on it with her tongue, determined not to die. If she did, Connor didn’t stand a chance, and she couldn’t let that happen. It was because of her he’d gotten caught up in this mess. With each jarring movement, her stomach was pum

meled by the stiff saddle. Rory, she cried inwardly. She needed him and his powerful arms wrapped around her to give her strength. How could she live without him?

Keep sucking that cloth into your throat and you won’t have to worry about it. That thought alone was enough to make her try again. She pushed, prodded, and then breathed out as hard as she could until a smal edge of the cloth dan

gled from her mouth. Ali turned her head into the saddle and caught the rag on a jagged piece of leather. She wrenched her head in one direction and then the other. The cloth fel to the ground and she sucked in deep gulps of air. Tilting her head back, she fil ed her lungs, ready to let loose a cry for help, until she remembered Connor. The scream died in her throat. She couldn’t risk his life in the hopes someone would hear her pitiful cries. The towers of Dunvegan had already faded in the distance. Blood pooled in her head, and she felt like she faded in and out of consciousness. She was unaware of where they were, or the landscape that sped by. Al she saw were the horse’s hooves as they pounded on, the ground blurring 242

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beneath them. Gravel and dust kicked up behind them. For the most part she kept her eyes closed, overwhelmed with dizziness when she didn’t.

“Mungo,” Gordie cal ed to the man who fol owed behind them. “The horses need to be watered and rested. We’l stop at that copse of trees over yonder. I ken there’s a loch nearby and we’l be wel hidden.”

Ali almost groaned with relief, but her relief was quickly replaced by dread when she realized her captors would see she was no longer gagged.

They reined in the horses and Gordie dragged her from the saddle. He tried to stand her upright, but she sank to her knees. Her muscles cramped. She had never felt such pain in so many places. Her ankles and wrists were chafed by the ropes. “Untie me. I won’t run away. I wouldn’t leave Connor,” she croaked. Gordie swept his unkempt hair from his face and glared down at her. “When did ye get rid of the gag?”