Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Ye havena’ drowned on me, have ye, lass?” Lord Mac

Donald’s deep voice jolted her from her musings.

“Nay . . . no, I’l be right there.” Ali paddled to shore. She quickly dried off and began to dress. She pul ed the 264

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crisp white shirt over her head—it fel to her knees. She wrapped the red, green, and blue plaid around her as though it were a sari, quite pleased with herself until she walked toward Lord MacDonald and saw the look in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Nay.” He patted her cheek. “The resemblance is un

canny is al .”

She sighed. “To Brianna?”

“Nay, to my wife. Come, I . . .” He looked down at her feet encased in the light suede boots. “I forgot to bring ye some linens to wrap yer wee foot.”

“I’m fine. The boots are a little snug, but it does the same as wrapping it would.”

“I wonder what the lad wil think when he gets a look at ye dressed in the MacDonald colors?” A wide grin split his handsome face.

Ali arched a brow. “I have a feeling you’d like to see that for yourself.”

“Aye, I might just.”

“You’d take me back—yourself ?” Ali couldn’t suppress her joy at the thought she could bring the two men together and find some way to avoid the battle, to save Rory and his clan, and maybe the man at her side.

“Now, doona’ be gettin’ yer hopes up. We’l no’ be leavin’

til the morrow. Ye had a rough go of it. I’l make my deci

sion then.”

Although Ali was disappointed she’d have to wait another day to see Rory, her backside was relieved. She wouldn’t be bouncing on a horse for one more day, and what better way to use her time than working on Lord MacDonald?

Ali fidgeted on the horse she shared with Alasdair MacDonald. “’Tis no’ much farther, my pet. Would ye like us to stop and give ye a wee rest?”

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Connor let out an exasperated sigh as he rode beside them with one of the men-at-arms, and she bit back a grin. She didn’t blame him. Lord MacDonald insisted they stop every few miles for Ali’s benefit, and she was sure they’d doubled the length of time it took to get to Dunvegan be

cause of it.

“No, I’m fine, Alasdair. You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, cal ing him by his name—something he had insisted upon the night before as they sat by the fire shar

ing stories, Ali weaving her own experiences growing up with a made-up childhood along the borders. In two short days together they’d grown close. It was as though they’d known each other forever and adopted each other: Ali a substitute daughter for the one he had lost, and he a substitute father for the one she had never known. Because of the bond that had developed between them, Ali knew he would try to come to some sort of truce with Rory, although no promises had been made. But he didn’t rule it out either. For Ali it was a start. If she could just get the two men in the same room, some good had to come of it. It couldn’t get any worse, and she’d be damned if she’d let the two of them kil each other over a stupid piece of land.

“I ken yer gettin’ yer hopes up, lass, but he’s a stubborn one,” Alasdair said, as though he could read her mind. Ali snorted. “That’s what he says about you.”

“Harrumph. Are ye certain ye wouldna’ rather come to Armadale with me?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor stiffen. “I told you, Alasdair, I’m happy at Dunvegan. I’ve made friends, people I care about. The others wil have to warm up to me sooner or later.”

“Good—I doona’ like to think of ye bein’ unhappy.”

“I won’t be.” She patted his hand and smiled back at him. “And if Rory makes me mad, I’l just come visit you.”

Alasdair chuckled. “I’m certain that wil please him to 266

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no end. Ye do ken, my pet, ’twil no’ be easy. The lad was verra young when he was forced to become laird, no older than this one.” He jerked his chin at Connor.

“I didn’t know. That couldn’t have been easy for him.”

“Nay, I ken it wasna’, but he had no choice. His father was mad with grief over the loss of his wife. I ken how he felt. I lost my wife and daughter, but ye have to go on fer those left behind, those who depend on ye, and he couldna’

do it. He took his own life. ’Tis said ’twas Rory who found him. Bad enough that, and on top of it his father had left them in dire straits. They were practical y starvin’.”

Ali’s heart ached for Rory. No one should have to go through what he did. But she welcomed the insight, and in some ways she thought the trials he had faced created the very characteristics that drew her to him, made her love him as much as she did.

“Sounds to me like you admire the man.”

Alasdair gently tugged her hair. “Minx. And ye’l no’ be usin’ that against me.”

“I can see by the end of it I might be knocking your two stubborn heads together to make you both see reason.”

Alasdair’s amused laughter brought a smile to his manat-arms’s face. It was obvious his men were fond of their laird and glad to see him happy.

Over the next rise, Ali spotted the towers of Dunvegan. Bathed in gold, they gleamed as the sun set behind them. Excitement tingled from the tips of her toes to the top of her head and she wanted to urge the horses to pick up their pace.

“Hoist the flag, Gilbert,” Alasdair directed the man Connor rode with.

Ali nudged him. “I don’t think that’s real y necessary, do you?”

“Aye, my pet, I do. Look to the men linin’ the wal s.”

She looked to where he pointed and swal owed hard.

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Bows were aimed in their direction. “No, there must be some mistake. Rory would never al ow it.”

Rory walked the parapet. Aidan, Iain, and Fergus fol

lowed in his wake. Even though Aileanna and Connor rode with the MacDonalds, a show of force was necessary. As the contingent broke through the line of trees he couldn’t help but smile. In a short time he would have her in his arms again. But his smile quickly faded when he saw who rode at her back—Alasdair MacDonald, and the old goat had dressed her in his colors.

“Yer lady looks as bonny as ever. His plaid suits her,”

Aidan said, a hint of laughter in his voice. Rory shot him a quel ing look over his shoulder. “Lower yer bows,” Rory commanded down the line. The show was over. He wouldn’t al ow Aileanna to be wounded by an archer with a twitchy finger.

“Do ye think his presence means he’s amenable to ne

gotiations?”

“With Aileanna, anythin’s possible, but doona’ get yer hopes up, Aidan. He’s a stubborn old goat.”

Aidan chuckled as they crossed the courtyard. “I’m thinkin’ ye may have to give as wel , cousin, or yer lady may no’

be as welcomin’ as ye hoped.”

Fergus, Iain, and his cousin shared a laugh, but al fel silent as the drawbridge lowered and the sound of the horses’

hooves clattering on the wood heralded their arrival. Before Rory could reach Aileanna, the MacDonald had her off the horse, her hand tucked beneath his arm, and they shared a smile. Rory clenched his hands into fists at his side.

“Easy, lad,” Fergus murmured.

His anger was forgotten the moment Aileanna turned 268

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her bril iant blue gaze upon him and smiled a smile that he knew was meant for him alone. When he reached her side, he brought a hand to her cheek. “Yer wel , mo chridhe?” he asked quietly, fighting the urge to take her in his arms, knowing it would be in poor taste considering the man at her back was his former father-by-marriage.