Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

He held up his hand. “Nay, you refuse to see reason. You doona’ trust that I ken what is necessary and what is no’, and I wil na’ spend my last night with you battlin’ over this. Good night, Aileanna. I leave at dawn. I wil see you on my return.” He scanned her face for some sign she’d relent. Finding none, he took his leave, even though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. Ali’s eyes widened at the sound of the closing door, stunned Rory had walked away without a backward glance. He was furious with her, but she didn’t think he would leave without one last kiss. What if he didn’t come back to her? As soon as the thought entered her head she shoved it aside. A night that had been fil ed with joy and hope had turned into a nightmare. With her presentation of Trotternish to Rory she felt she’d made some progress with the clan. At least they no longer looked at her with suspicion—wel , most of them didn’t. She might not have gained total accept

ance, but it was a start.

Was Rory right to insinuate she was too stubborn to un

derstand, unwil ing to see how things real y were? Why didn’t he try to see it from her viewpoint? She was a doctor. How was she supposed to come to terms with the taking of human life for the sake of pride, for the thril of the fight?

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Ali squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong with her?

Knowing Rory as she did, how could she for even one minute think that’s why he fought? He was one of the most honorable, caring men she’d ever met. And even though she’d only been at Dunvegan for a short time, if the MacLeods were threatened, she would leap to their de

fense. Ali thought of the burnt-out vil age, the look of an

guish on Aidan’s face when his men reported the incident to him. Incident, she scoffed inwardly. It was murder. Swal owing her pride, she slipped from the warm cocoon of her bed and left in search of Rory. The torches cast an eerie glow along the corridor. Ali wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the damp chil and a heavy sense of foreboding. The keep was quiet, and she hesitated outside of Alasdair’s door, tiptoeing past as best she could with her injured ankle. Rory was right. She should never have sug

gested they put Alasdair in the room next to his. The door to Rory’s chambers creaked when she turned the handle. Closing her eyes, she waited for Alasdair to fly into the hal . But there was no sound coming from his room. She slipped inside Rory’s chambers, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Shadows cast by the fire danced on the wal , and on the man in the bed. Rory lay with an arm behind his head. He watched her hesitant approach with a wary eye.

“Do you need somethin’, Aileanna?” His tone was abrupt. The expression on his beautiful face was hard and unyielding.

“You,” she answered honestly.

A slow smile curved his ful lips. He held the covers back for her to climb in beside him, revealing his power ful, naked body.

Ali laid her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, his chest hairs tickling her lips.

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“What was that? I couldna’ hear you, mo chridhe.”

There was a hint of laughter in his deep voice and she scooted up, bringing her face level with his. “I know you heard me, but I’m not too proud to say it again. I’m sorry.”

She brushed her lips over his. “You were right. I didn’t try to see it from your perspective. I don’t know, maybe it’s be cause I’ve never had anything worth fighting for. And I’m scared, Rory. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or anyone else for that matter.” She rested her head against his shoulder and ran her fingers over the hard, muscular planes of his chest.

“I ken that, Aileanna.” He kissed the top of her head, wrapping her in the warmth of his arms. “’Tis no’ a ques tion of a desire to do battle, but an obligation to one’s clan and at times to one’s country.”

“Rory?” Ali didn’t want to talk anymore. She needed to forget what he would face on Lewis and lose her worries and fears in him. Tracing ever-widening circles on his chest, she trailed her fingers lower to give him a hint of just what it was she wanted.

“Hmm.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

“Do you . . . wel , don’t you want to make love to me before you leave?”

“I thought we’d just hold each other, lass, like this.” His muscles rippled as he held her firmly in his embrace. She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze on him, but before she could respond he had her on her back, his warm breath caressing her ear. “I want to love you, mo chridhe, but I’m no’ certain you can be quiet. Yer a verra noisy woman. And thanks to you, we have a meddlin’ old goat as a neighbor, and he’d be none too pleased that I have you in my bed.”

She lightly slapped his chest. “I am not that noisy.”

“Aye, you are.” His hand skimmed over her leg until his fingers lingered at her throbbing core. “When I touch you LORD OF THE ISLES

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here.” He lowered his head and took her pebbled nipple deep into his hot, wet mouth, suckling her through the fabric of her shift. “Or here,” he said as he thrust two fin

gers deep inside her. He smothered her gasp of pleasure with his mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said, “I’m glad you came to me, mo chridhe. If I could, I wouldna’

spend even one night away from you.”

She pressed her palm to his roughened jaw and held his emerald green gaze with hers. “I wish you didn’t have to, but I do understand, Rory. I love you.”

He covered her hand with his. “I love you, too, mo chridhe. And the moment I come back from Lewis I intend on makin’ you my wife. Even if I have to drag you kickin’

and screamin’ to the altar.”

“You can’t—” Her protest ended on a moan as he swept her away on a tide of passion and desire.

“You canna’ be mopin’ already, my lady. He’s no’ been gone but a few hours.” Mrs. Mac gave a shake of her head as Ali knelt at the edge of the fragrant garden, careful y pul ing at the herbs and dropping them into her basket.

“I’m not,” she said, but she was. Rory had promised to love her long and hard, and made good on his promise ten times over. The ful ness between her legs, the dul ache that matched the one in her heart, were lasting reminders of what had passed between them. She had slept the sleep of the dead, missing the chance to tel him good-bye, and she was sure he’d done it on purpose.

“I wish someone would have woken me before Rory and Alasdair left,” she groused, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.

“Och, wel , the laird didna’ want you to be disturbed. As for Laird MacDonald, we did try to wake you, but it did us 290

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no good. He said he’d be checkin’ in on you in a day or so, on the trek back to Armadale.”

“Good, I—” She turned her head at the sound of some

one yel ing off in the distance. As the shouts grew louder, she heard the panic in their voices and dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. Ali came quickly to her feet and hur

ried after Mrs. Mac to the far side of the keep. Cook, the girls from the kitchen, and several of the men Rory had left behind, raced in the direction of the loch.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mrs. Mac yel ed to them.

“’Tis wee Jamie. He’s fal in’ into the loch.”

“Always into mischief that one is,” Mrs. Mac grumbled as they quickened their pace. A woman’s anguished cry rent the air and an icy chil slithered down Ali’s spine. Standing on the rocky ledge above the loch she saw Janet Cameron being held back by two men while old lady Cameron and members of the clan formed a protective ring around the hysterical woman. A dark-haired man Ali didn’t recognize waded to shore with the lifeless body of the little boy in his arms. She scram