Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Not yet I’m not.” She grinned.

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“Aye. Yer mine, and wel you ken it.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and took her lips in a deep, slow kiss, savoring the taste of her.

“Rory,” she said against his mouth. He pul ed back to look at her. “I don’t think Alasdair . . . my father wil be too happy if you don’t join him in the salon.” He heard the laughter in her voice, saw the mischievous light in her eyes. He gave her one last hard kiss. “Yer as stubborn as he is. I shouldna’ be surprised if you truly are his kin.”

“Rory,” she cal ed to him as he strode to the door. “I’m glad to be home.”

Her words touched Rory deeply, and it made him more determined than ever to make her his wife. “No more than I am, mo chridhe.”

Ali took her place on the dais between Rory and Alas

dair, saying hel o to Aidan, Fergus, and Iain, who looked like they shared a good joke no one else was privy to. She narrowed her gaze on them, and looked to the two men on either side of her. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nay . . . nay, my pet, everythin’s fine. Shal I fix yer plate fer ye?”

Rory scrubbed his hands over his face and the other three men laughed into their mugs. Ali patted Alasdair’s hand. “I can manage, but thank you for the offer.” She nudged Rory and he raised a brow, looking down his nose at her. Fergus said something to Alasdair and drew his atten

tion from her.

She leaned into Rory and asked, “What’s put you in such a bad mood?”

He took a deep swal ow of his ale before he answered.

“You’l find out soon enough, and you have only yerself to blame.”

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“What are you talking about? Blame for what?”

“Aileanna, eat before yer meal grows cold,” Alasdair chided.

“But I—”

“Nay, eat, and then we’l talk,” Alasdair said firmly, tap

ping his spoon against her plate.

She heard Rory’s low chuckle and turned to him. He shrugged. “’Tis yer own fault.”

After her third mouthful, Ali couldn’t take it anymore.

“Is someone going to tel me if you came to an agreement or not?”

Alasdair leaned around her to look at Rory. “Wil ye tel her, or shal I?”

Rory tipped his mug at the man at her side. “By al means, do the honors.”

“Aileanna, we’ve agreed to a truce.”

“Oh, thank God.” She blinked back tears, placing a hand over her heart. A deep sense of relief flooded through her.

“You might no’ want to thank him just yet,” Rory mut

tered.

“Aye, I’ve signed Trotternish over to ye, Aileanna, as part of yer dowry when ye wed Rory.”

Chapter 24

“But . . . I’m not . . .” Oh, dear Lord, what has Alasdair done?

“Here.” Rory wrapped her hand around a goblet of ale.

“Drink.”

She took a deep swal ow and turned to him. “I don’t un

derstand why you’re not happier about this. I thought it’s what you wanted.”

“Aye, I want to wed you, but no’ like this. I’l no’ have you forced.”

“Oh.” Relief loosened her tense muscles—he stil wanted her. For a minute there, she’d thought he’d changed his mind. And now, Alasdair had put her in a position where her de

cision would affect the lives of Rory’s clan—again. It would be so easy just to agree to the marriage. She loved Rory, more than she’d thought possible, but she didn’t want to always wonder if he felt forced into the marriage, obligated to offer her his name and his protection because of the fairies. And now the matter had been complicated further. If Rory didn’t marry her, they would battle over Trotternish, risking the lives of him and his clan. But if she did marry him, how would she ever know for certain what truly was in his heart?

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Ali pushed her chair from the table. “Alasdair, I need to have a word with you.”

“Aye.” He rose slowly and took Ali by the elbow, a look of confusion in his bright blue eyes.

“Use my study,” Rory suggested, watching her closely.

“Aileanna,” Alasdair said as they left the hal , “I thought

’twould make ye happy.”

She squeezed his hand, opening the door to Rory’s study. “I know, and it was a lovely gesture, but—” She sighed. “If I tel you something, wil you promise not to say a word to Rory?”

“Aye, on my honor.” They entered the study and he took the chair opposite her.

“I love Rory,” she said, then grimaced. “I’m sorry, he was married to Brianna and—”

He patted her hand. “Doona’ worry aboot it, my pet. Say what ye wil .”

“I know he loves me, but when he spoke of marrying me he didn’t say anything about love, only obligation and responsibility.”

“That doesna’ sound so bad to me, lass.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. Were al highlanders the same? “Maybe not, but I need more. I don’t want to be just another responsibility to him . . . like his clan. Re

member how you said Brianna felt Rory would never be able to put her first? Wel , that’s how I feel, and it’s not good enough.”

Alasdair grinned. “Yer more like my wife than I first suspected. I made matters worse, didna’ I?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Tel me this—when ye feel certain of the lad’s commit

ment to ye, and he comes around to askin’ in the manner ye hoped, wil ye say aye?”

Ali snorted. “He didn’t ask me, he told me.” She nar

rowed her gaze at the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

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“Don’t you dare laugh, but the answer to your question is yes. He’s the only man I’l ever want.”

“Al right then, here’s what we’l do. I’m goin’ to gift Trotternish to ye, and ye can do with it what ye wil . I ken I shouldna’ have revoked Brianna’s dowry. ’Twas no’ right, and she wouldna’ be happy with me fer doin’ it, but you canna’ tel the lad.”

“No, I won’t tel him,” Ali said, rising to her feet at the same time he did. “And I was about to refuse your gift as too generous, but seeing as how you’re using me to save face, I won’t.” She tapped her finger on his broad chest.

“Yer as canny as ye are bonny, my pet. Truly a fright

enin’ combination in a woman. I almost feel sorry fer the lad.” He chuckled, taking her by the arm. “Shal we share the news with the clans?”

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Nay, ’tis I who should thank ye,” Alasdair said as they left the study and returned to the hal . Alasdair careful y settled her into the chair beside Rory, but remained standing. Rory frowned, looking to Ali as though she had the answer. The older man banged his goblet on the trestle table. “If yer laird wil permit me, I have an announcement to make.”

Rory gave a brief nod and waved him on. “As ye al must be aware, yer laird and I have been tryin’ to come to an agreement over Trotternish as a means to avoid further bloodshed between our clans. I am pleased to tel ye, there wil be no feud.” Cheers broke out through the hal . It was pandemonium. Both men and women wept, and Ali took the handkerchief Rory offered her, sniffing her thanks. “I no longer hold Trotternish. It belongs to Lady Aileanna.”

Table after table fel into stunned silence. Alasdair nudged her, and she realized he expected her to say something. She rose uncomfortably to her feet. “I’d like to propose a toast to 282

Debbie Mazzuca

Alasdair MacDonald for gifting me with Trotternish. I’m honored.” If not for the men on the dais taking up her toast, Ali thought it would have died a slow and painful death—