Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“There is no’ a woman in Scotland who can hold a candle to ye, my pet.” Her father beamed as she reached the bottom step. He looped Ali’s arm through his, and kissed the top of her head. Ali reached up to kiss his grizzled cheek. “Thank you, and thank you for the gorgeous gown.” She lifted the crimson velvet skirt. “I feel like a princess. You spoil me.” He had. The wardrobe in Ali’s room was overstuffed with gowns of every color in sumptuous fabrics—silks, satins, and vel

vets. “But this . . . this is too much.” She touched the heavy, jewel-encrusted necklace with a large ruby at its center. Her aunt wiped a tear from her eyes. “Nonsense. Yer the image of yer mother, poppet. She would’ve been as proud of ye this night as we are.”

Ali swiped the moisture from her cheek, and squeezed

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her aunt’s hand. “Thank you,” she murmured past the knot in her throat. Her father groaned. “Look at the two of ye, greetin’

away when we’ve guests awaitin’ us.”

Ali’s eyes widened as he led her into the grand hal . The massive room overflowed with richly dressed men and women. Gilded torches graced the oak-paneled wal s. Thick forest-green velvet draperies hung at the windows. The tables groaned with food and a smal group of musi

cians stood by the massive stone fireplace. Someone had gone to a great deal of effort to make this evening special, and Ali imagined that’s why she’d been unable to pin her father down for their much-needed chat. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to see Rory, and if he wouldn’t come to her, she’d swal ow her pride and go to him.

“Here she is,” her father announced to a group of men congregated in the center of the room. “Come, my pet. I have some gentlemen who are verra anxious to meet ye.”

Good God, her aunt hadn’t been exaggerating. Fiona leaned toward her. “See, what did I tel ye?”

Before Ali could comment, her father whisked her away from her aunt to introduce her to the men. Although later that evening he did deign to introduce her to more than just the eligible bachelors, of which there seemed to be an in ordinate number.

Ali sipped her water and smiled politely, but after an

other hour passed, her smile felt as though it was frozen in place. Each face blurred into the other. Their inane chatter faded to an annoying buzz that left her light-headed. Ali tugged on her father’s sleeve. He lowered his ear to her, and she said, “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Without further ado, Ali dragged her father unceremoniously to an unoccupied corner of the 322

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overheated room, as far from the blazing hearth as she could manage.

“Aileanna, ’tis rude to leave our guests in such a manner. I ken ye may no’ do things the same way in yer time, my pet, but—”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been trying to speak to you al day and I can’t wait any longer.” She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her gaze on him. “Did you send my letters to Rory? And I expect you to tel me the truth.”

“Nay.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, a defi

ant set to his chin. “And I wil na’ do it, even if ye beg me. The lad is no’ fer ye. There are some fine gentlemen over there, just waitin’ fer the opportunity to court ye. If ye would give them half a chance, my pet, I’m certain—”

Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “No, and if you won’t send my letters, I’l go to Dunvegan on my own.”

“Ye’l no’ set foot from Armadale, Aileanna MacDon

ald. Besides, the MacLeod is no’ at Dunvegan. He’s on the Isle of Lewis.”

“But it’s been weeks. I thought the battle would be over by now.” Ali’s hand went to her throat. “He isn’t hurt, is he?

Please tel me he’s al right.”

“Aye, the lad’s wel , more’s the pity. They’ve beaten the adventurers back. No need for them to remain, but they do. It appears the lad is in no hurry to return to Dunvegan, and I’m certain I ken why. Ye should’ve listened to me, Aileanna. He’l no’ be able to live with himself fer riskin’

his clan on account of ye.”

Her aunt, who must have been keeping an eye on them, chose that moment to appear at Ali’s side. “Alasdair MacDonald, shame on ye fer sayin’ such a thing to yer daughter. Come, poppet, ye look a mite overheated.” She shushed Alasdair and led Ali from the room. Ali threw up her arms. “He’s so stubborn, he’s mad dening. He’s—”

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Her aunt chuckled. “Doona’ worry, we’l figure somethin’

out. Mayhap ye should take a strol in the gardens, poppet. Yer father had the torches lit and I’m thinkin’ a wee breath of air is just what ye need. Take yer mantle with ye, though. ’Tis a mite chil y out.”

Rory’s hands tightened on Lucifer’s reins. “I’l no’ say it again, Reggie. I’ve come fer Lady Aileanna Graham,” he roared at the MacDonald’s man-at-arms, a warrior he’d faced often in battle.

“And I told ye, MacLeod, there’s no Lady Aileanna Graham here. And the laird doesna’ want ye on his lands.”

In the shadows, Rory saw the slash of white as the idiot grinned.

“Open the bloody gates. Lady Aileanna is my betrothed and no’ you or the MacDonald wil keep me from her.”

“Is that so? Do ye hear that, lads? MacLeod here thinks Lady Aileanna is his betrothed.” The man guffawed with his companions on the parapet.

One of the other men laughed. “I doona’ think the young bucks in there vyin’ fer her hand would be too pleased to hear that, do ye, Reggie?”

Reggie rested a foot on the stone ledge and leaned over, tugging on his fiery red beard. “Like I said, MacLeod, we have only one Lady Aileanna here, and she’s a MacDonald. The gates are closed to ye so ye’d best head back to Dunve

gan. Have a nice ride.”

Rory cursed roundly. He was getting nowhere with the fools, and if MacDonald thought he could keep him from Aileanna, he’d best think again.

He brought Lucifer around and headed back the way he’d come. Raucous laughter fol owed him on a blustery wind. The stal ion snorted puffs of white frost. Rory patted Lucifer’s thickly muscled neck. “Doona worry, boy, we’re 324

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no’ goin’ far.” Once they were out of the laughing men’s line of sight, he changed direction, making a wide circle of Armadale to the woods at the back.

Rory’s gut boiled. Anger and frustration steamed from his pores. MacDonald had gone mad. It was the only reason Rory could come up with to explain the man claim

ing Aileanna as his daughter, and worse, trying to marry her off. Like hel he would. She was his. Rory brought Lu cifer alongside the back wal . Since MacDonald was at peace with most of the clans at the moment, including Rory’s, he would have no men guarding the isolated area.

“Hold, boy.” He stood unsteadily on the saddle, his legs weak from his long trek. The muscles in his arms strained and burned as he clung to the top of the stone ledge. Find

ing purchase with his foot in a crack in the wal , he heaved himself over. The momentum sent him to the top, and he lowered himself to the ground. With a soft thud he landed in the frozen earth behind a tree. He dragged himself to his feet and pushed aside the branches. Aileanna. Rory sucked in a ragged breath, his chest so tight it hurt. Her head tipped back, moonlight kissed a pro file so perfect it looked as though it was carved in marble. Her pale hair gleamed in soft waves down her back. Awestruck by her beauty, he stumbled from the shadows of the tree.

Aileanna slowly turned. Her lips parted. “Rory,” she whispered. “Oh, Rory.” Laughing and crying, she ran down the narrow path to throw herself in his arms. He clung to her as though his life depended on it, on her. She showered his face with soft kisses, and Rory choked back a sob. He speared his fingers through her hair and looked into her emotion-fil ed eyes before he crushed her lips with his. His kiss fierce and demanding, hot and wet, he devoured her, inhaled her sweet, familiar scent.