Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

bled down the bank and shouldered her way through the throng of people, young and old alike. A gnarled hand grabbed her by the arm. “There’s nothin’

ye can do, my lady. He’s gone.” A heavy sadness quaked in the old man’s voice. Janet Cameron col apsed, screaming, tearing at her glossy black curls.

Pushing aside her personal feelings, Ali shook off the man’s hand. She had to reach Jamie. Once she did, she quickly placed her lips to the little boy’s blue-tinged mouth and puffed in a rescue breath. Ignoring the gasps of horror at her back, Ali wrenched the unconscious child from the man and lowered him to the ground. She rol ed Jamie onto his stomach. Gently turning his head, she pressed firmly on his back several times and LORD OF THE ISLES

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watched in relief as water gushed from his mouth. Turning him on his back, she checked for his pulse. Not finding one, she tried to remain calm and began CPR. Between breaths, she yel ed, “Bring me a blanket! We have to get him out of these clothes.” Janet was quickly at her side. With trembling hands she removed her son’s sodden shirt and pants.

After what seemed like hours to Ali, but was in reality only minutes, Jamie’s slight body arched and he threw up. His lids fluttered open and he let out a soft moan. Ali wrapped him in a blanket and motioned for one of the men. “We have to get him to the keep.” When the man simply stared at her open-mouthed, she shouted, “Now.”

Jamie was alive, but she didn’t want to lose him to hypo

thermia.

His mother sobbed, and Ali tugged her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her. “He’s going to be al right, Janet. I promise,” she murmured as the man lifted Jamie into his arms. Ali prayed it was a promise she could keep.

“Thank ye, my lady, thank ye,” Janet repeated over and over while the crowd stood motionless in stunned disbelief. Connor reached for Ali and helped her and Janet up the rocky embankment. Behind her she could hear voices rise in excited whispers. “He’s alive, wee Jamie lives.”

And then the ominous word echoed in her ear. “Witch.”

Chapter 25

Not more than a mile from Dunvegan, the threatening skies Mrs. Mac promised would amount to nothing, opened up. Ali pul ed the MacLeod plaid over her head, and scowled at the woman who rode beside her through the teeming rain.

Mrs. Mac chuckled. “Och, wel , a little water never hurt a body. Besides, yer a highlander now—best you get used to it.”

The older woman’s words warmed Ali’s heart, but didn’t do much for her frozen fingers clutching Bessie’s reins. She wished the rest of the clan felt the same way, but saving Jamie had destroyed what progress she thought she’d made. At least the little boy was wel on the road to recovery and, in the end, that was al that mattered. Mari, riding ahead with Connor, glanced over her shoul

der. “Do ye wish to return to the keep, my lady?”

Ali forced a smile, determined not to put a damper on Mari’s excitement at visiting her family. And the last place Ali wanted to be right now was wandering the hal s of Dunvegan, missing Rory. “Och, wel , a wee bit of rain never hurt a body,” she mimicked.

Connor’s snort of amusement was lost in a loud rumble 294

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of thunder. Ali pul ed back on Bessie’s reins, realizing it wasn’t thunder after al , but the pounding of horses’ hooves that caused the sound, and the ground to tremble. Four men on horseback tore up the narrow path, and she dug her heels in Bessie’s side to get her to move before they were bowled over. The man in the lead brought his mount to an abrupt halt, and his big bay whinnied in protest.

“’Tis the sheriff,” Mrs. Mac muttered.

The auburn-haired man with the ful beard, the one Mrs. Mac identified as the sheriff, gave his ful attention to Ali. She tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of her stomach at the suspicious look in his pale blue eyes.

“Are ye Lady Aileanna Graham?” His aggressive tone scraped her nerves raw. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Connor attempt to bring his mount to her side, but two men who rode with the sheriff blocked his progress. Grabbing him roughly by the arms they held him back. Her heart sped up. A shiver of dread ran down her spine.

“I am. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Ye’l have to come with me. A charge of witchcraft has been brought against ye, and yer to stand trial on the morrow.”

He leaned over and jerked Bessie’s reins from Ali’s hands. The strip of leather bit into her numb fingers.

“Nay . . . nay!” Mrs. Mac and Mari cried. A roar as loud as the pounding surf fil ed Ali’s head, and she clutched Bessie’s mane to hold herself steady. “Who . . . who brings these charges against me?”

“Ye’l meet yer accusers soon enough.” He shot a men

acing look over his shoulder as Connor struggled to break free of the men. “Try that again, lad, and ye’l regret it.”

Ali saw a flash of steel and screamed. “Connor, no, please, please, do as he says,” she begged him. Connor’s shoulders bowed as he raised his hands in sur

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render. Ali released a shuddering breath when the sheriff resheathed his sword.

“Let them go. It’s me you want. They have nothing to do with this.” She swal owed her fear long enough to control the tremor in her voice.

“Nay, I’l no’ leave you, my lady.” Mrs. Mac clung to her hand.

Ali squeezed, then withdrew her hand. “Please, Mrs. Mac, go home.” With her eyes she pleaded with the older woman, tilting her head in Mari’s direction. Mrs. Mac gave a quick nod, indicating she understood what Ali tried to tel her. If the priest was behind this, and Ali was almost certain he was, she didn’t want Mari any where near these men.

She met the sheriff ’s implacable stare. “Please, let them go.”

“Aye, but doona’ attempt anythin’ foolish, my lady, or yer companions wil suffer the consequences.”

Ali choked back a hysterical laugh. What did he think she could do against four heavily armed men? The sheriff must truly believe the charges against her held merit. Mrs. Mac leaned over and gave her a fierce hug.

“Doona’ fear, my lady. We’l be there on the morrow to see justice is served.” She drew away from Ali and turned on the sheriff. “Ye would do wel to remember ’tis Laird MacLeod’s lady ye bring these charges against.”

A spark of emotion flared in the man’s eyes, and his jaw clenched. “She wil receive a fair trial no matter who she is.”

“Wil I be given an opportunity to defend myself ?” Ali barely got the words past the tight knot in her throat. He gave her a long, considering look, as though he knew there was no one else who would come to her de fense. “Aye, my lady. Now ’tis time to be on our way.”

Mrs. Mac moved her horse aside to al ow Mari a chance to say good-bye. Ali held on to Bessie’s mane with one 296

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hand, reaching over to put an arm around her sobbing maid with the other. She whispered in her ear, “Mari, I don’t want you at the trial. Promise me you won’t come.”

A hot tear rol ed down Mari’s cheek to splash on the back of Ali’s hand. “I’l pray fer ye, my lady. I’l pray our laird comes back in time to save ye.”

Oh, God, she couldn’t think about Rory, not now. Ali nodded, unable to speak, her vision blurred. Connor, free of his guards, reached for her hands.

“Doona’ worry, my lady. I’l find him. He’l come fer ye. Ye ken he wil and we’l send word to Laird MacDonald at Portree.”

Ali covered her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Her chest ached from trying to hold back her emotions.