Debbie Mazzuca: Lord of the Isles

“What’s wrong? Is my brother gettin’ worse?” Iain asked. A tremor threaded through the deep timbre of his voice. LORD OF THE ISLES

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Ali placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Look, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he comes through this. We have a couple of things in our favor. First, as far as I can tel there’s been no damage to any vital organs, and that’s a very good thing. Second, I don’t see any signs of in

fection and that’s a big plus.”

Iain smiled weakly. “Now I ken why the—”

The older man cleared his throat, interrupting the younger MacLeod. He shot him a silencing look. Ali raised a brow, but before she could ask Iain what he meant to say, Mrs. Mac returned. Ali thanked her, sniffing the contents of the earthenware pitcher. She choked on the fumes, her eyes watering. “That should work,” she commented dryly. The woman looked relieved. “And here’d be the soap you asked for.”

Ali scrubbed her hands up to her elbows in the water from one of the buckets. “If any of you want to touch Rory you must wash your hands like I am, al right? We’l set this bucket aside for washing, but the water has to be changed often.”

They stared at her like she was from another planet, which was exactly how she was beginning to feel. Ali sighed.

“You have to do as I say. We can’t let his wound become infected.”

“Mrs. Mac, the lass says the water has to be boiled before she’l use it,” Fergus informed her.

“Och, wel , she seems to ken what she’s aboot. Come, Iain, help me with these. Fergus, you stay with the lass.” The woman gave him a meaningful look, and Ali had the distinct impression they didn’t trust her.

“What can I do, lass?” Fergus asked.

“At the moment the only thing we can do is try to con

trol the bleeding. I’l wait until Iain returns and then I’l pour the alcohol into his wound to ward off infection. Hopeful y the bleeding lessens. If it doesn’t, wel , we’l 22

Debbie Mazzuca

deal with that when the time comes.” Rory sucked in a ragged breath and Ali stroked the thick waves of hair back from his face.

“I didna’ ken you could be gentle, lass,” he murmured. She smiled down at him. “I can be very gentle, but only when my patient does as he’s told.”

“Ah, then, I promise to do whatever you want me to.”

Ali had a sneaking suspicion Rory MacLeod’s smooth tongue could be a very dangerous thing. “I’m glad to hear it. Now close your eyes and sleep.”

“Aye,” he murmured.

When Fergus cal ed out to her, Ali drew her gaze reluc

tantly from Rory’s beautiful face. He looked like a dark angel.

“Lass, I think you best have another look.”

She pushed the woolen blankets lower.

“Can you no’ leave a man some dignity?” Rory said as he watched her from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

“You don’t have to worry—you’re decent. Besides, I’m a doctor, there’s nothing you have that I haven’t seen before.”

The older man guffawed.

“I doona’ think they’re al the same, lass,” her patient said, sounding disgruntled. She shrugged. “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them al .”

Rory’s gaze narrowed on her. “Where do you hail from?”

“New—” she began before being interrupted.

“Rory Mor, do as the lass says and sleep. Yer questions wil wait.”

Ali removed the blood-soaked cloth. Replacing it with a fresh one, she applied pressure. Fergus caught her eye and shrugged. “He needs rest.”

“Umhmm, he does,” she agreed, raising a brow at the older man’s continued scrutiny.

“Sorry, I didna’ mean to stare, but ’tis uncanny how much you resemble the Lady Brianna, is al .”

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“So I’ve heard.” And seen, Ali reminded herself.

“But only at first glance. There’d be differences.”

Ali snorted. “I heard that, too.”

“’Tis what you get for hidin’ under my bed,” Rory com

mented dryly.

A chuckle rumbled deep in Fergus’s barrel chest. Ali felt the color rise to her cheeks. “ You are supposed to be sleeping.”

“How am I to sleep with the two of you yammerin’? I need a drink.”

“As soon as the water’s been boiled I’l give you some.”

“Water.” He scowled. “I doona’ want water. I want ale.”

“’Tis no’ a bad idea, lass. He’l need somethin’ to make him sleep.”

Ali looked at the blood seeping through the bandage. Sooner or later she would have to deal with it. If al they had was alcohol to knock him out, then she had little choice but to use it. Ali nodded. “Al right.”

She leaned over and adjusted the pil ows behind Rory’s back, careful not to jolt him. The plaid slipped from her shoulder, and she bit her lower lip. His warm breath heated the sensitive skin of her breasts through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Her nipples tightened in response. Please let his eyes be closed, she silently prayed.

“’Tis no’ fair to tease a dyin’ man, lass,” he said, his lips so close the material of her T-shirt rippled. Oh, for God’ssake. “You’re not dying,” she snapped, her tone more brusque than she intended. Ali stepped away, putting some distance between them.

“That’s good to hear,” Iain said, coming into the room with a mug in one hand and a bucket in the other. “And yer askin’ fer ale—another good sign.”

“Bloody hel , lass, you could have warned me you planned on gettin’ rough,” Rory growled when she placed the linens, as gently as she could, beneath his wounded side. 24

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She grimaced and reached for the pitcher of alcohol on the bedside table. “Fergus and Iain, I’l need you to hold him down for me.” Ali sighed when the three men glared at her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice. I have to make sure there’s no infection before closing the wound, and the only way to do that is to pour the alcohol on it. I won’t lie to you,” she told Rory. “It’s going to burn.”

Fergus and Iain tightened their hold on her patient as she careful y poured the amber liquid into the gaping wound. Ali clenched her teeth when Rory let out a string of exple

tives. Once she felt confident it was thoroughly cleansed, she returned the pitcher to the bedside table. “You can let him go. I’m finished.”

For the last hour Ali had kept herself busy tearing the linens into strips while they plied Rory with alcohol. She turned to look at her patient, trying not to smile in response to his crooked grin. The man had the constitution of a horse. At this rate, they were going to have to hit him over the head to knock him out. The alcohol hadn’t done any good. She pressed her palm to the side of his face, relieved there was stil no sign of fever. Tension knotted the back of her neck, and Ali rol ed her shoulders in an attempt to ease the taut muscles. She knew the cause. She had been trying not to think about it, but she had no choice, something had to be done to stop the bleed

ing. She had been optimistic when the bleeding had sub

sided, but now a tel tale circle of claret red appeared on the snowy white linen. He couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.

“Lass, why doona’ I bring you a wee drop of ale?” Mrs. Mac offered.

“Thank you, but I better not.” She checked Rory’s pulse, noting its steady rhythm. LORD OF THE ISLES

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“Wil you be wantin’ to wrap the wound now?” Iain asked.

“No,” Ali said, unable to meet the younger man’s gaze.

“But—” Iain started to protest.

“Ah, would you be stitchin’ it then, lass?” Fergus inter