Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (16 page)

“Aileanna.” Fergus waved to her from across the courtyard. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“The gardens.” She smiled and kept on walking.

“Hold up there, lass,” he said, closing the distance between them. “Aileanna, mayhap it would be best if you were to see the gardens at another time.” He took hold of her elbow and turned her back toward the entrance of the castle.

She shook his hand off. “Fergus, don’t be silly. It’s a beautiful day to visit the gardens. I hoped to find a small patch where I could add some of the plants I’d read about in the book Iain lent me. Actually he read it to me, too. Remember, the one the physician from Edinburgh wrote? Where I found the herbs to drug Rory—well, not drug him, but you know what I mean.” She waved her hand.

He narrowed his gaze and crossed his arms. “What are you up to?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer ramblin’, lass. You do it when you have somethin’ to hide. Now tell me.”

“No, and you can’t stop me.
Omph,
” she grunted when he flipped her over his shoulder and marched determinedly toward the keep.

With a cry of outrage, Ali pounded on his back.

“Stop yer caterwaulin’. You were goin’ to make trouble with Moira MacLean, and doona’ deny it. I can see it on yer face. And if you do, Rory will have yer head.”

She kicked her feet. “You don’t understand.” He whacked her soundly on her bottom. “Ouch, Fergus, that hurt,” she cried.

“Then stop yer kickin’, lass. Those parts I’m a mite fond of,” he said as he pushed open the doors to the keep.

“Bloody hell, Fergus. What’s goin’ on here? Put Aileanna down.”

“Nay, I think it would be best if I lock her in her room and let her cool down fer a wee bit.”

“Like hell you will. Put me down.” She slapped him on the back and gave him another kick for good measure.

“Eh, Fergus, watch yer bollocks, mon.” Someone laughed, and Ali was certain it was Rory’s cousin.

Whack.

“Fergus!” she yelped, covering her behind.

“That’s enough.” Big hands locked on her waist and hauled her from Fergus’s shoulder to set her upright. “Now one of you will tell me what is the meanin’ of this?”

Ali glared at Fergus, who glared right back at her. She pushed the hair from her face with an angry swipe of her hand and met Rory’s unamused gaze.

“I’m waitin’.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, showing no sign of what had passed between them the night before.

“Ali, what happened? You have blood on yer gown?” Iain asked, concern in his voice as he pushed past his brother.

Rory’s gaze racked over her as though he searched for a wound.

“It’s not mine.” She stepped around Iain. “You made me a promise, Rory, and I’m holding you to it. I have a complaint against Moira that must be addressed.”

“What is it that yer sayin’ aboot my sister?” Cyril cried in a high-pitched voice.

“She threw a goblet at Ina, one of the serving girls. She needed stitches and was lucky she didn’t lose her eye.
Lady
MacLean threatened to kill her if she went to anyone about it.”

Cyril looked from her to Rory. “’Tis no’ but an accident. Yer jealous and tryin’ to make trouble fer my sister is all.”

Her gaze locked onto Rory’s. The muscle in his clenched jaw pulsated. “You promised.”

“Aye,” he grunted, drawing his attention away from her at the sound of Moira’s and Mrs. Mac’s voices headed in their direction. He jerked his chin, and Fergus and Iain took hold of her arms.

“No!” she cried, struggling to free herself. “If you don’t do something about this, I’ll never forgive you.”

The object of her fury came to stand beside her brother, looking the picture of innocence in her pretty pink gown. Mrs. Mac, who trailed behind, cast a startled glance at Ali.

“What’s goin’ on, Rory?” Moira asked in a soft, gentle voice.

“Cut the crap, lady. Everyone knows what you’ve done. And if you so much as touch a hair on one of those girls’ heads again, you’ll answer to me,” Ali yelled over her shoulder as Fergus and Iain dragged her toward the stairs.

Ali craned her neck in an attempt to see over Iain’s shoulder. She was determined to catch Rory’s eye before she was dragged away, but he turned his back on her, ordering Moira and her brother to his study. Ali had the satisfaction of seeing Moira’s mouth drop. Aidan caught Ali’s eye, and gave her a reassuring wink.

“Ali, he’ll take care of it. I’ll add my promise to his. She’ll no’ harm another,” Iain said, angrier than she’d ever seen him. “I canna’ believe he’s goin’ through with the betrothal.”

“I thought you wanted the match.”

“Nay, Aileanna, I want to see my brother happy. ’Tis all I’ve ever wanted.”

Ali listened to every footfall, every creak in the hall outside Rory’s room. She timed her search of his chambers to when they’d be dining in the hall. Mrs. Mac had unhappily informed her that a new agreement was being drawn up and would be signed after the evening meal. With luck, Ali figured she had several hours to look for the flag. But there had been several delays before she had the chance to sneak unseen from her room.

Mari and Connor had come to check on her and report on Ina’s progress; Fergus, to apologize for smacking her behind, although he informed her it was well deserved; and Iain, to share what had taken place between his brother and Moira. He said Rory told Moira in no uncertain terms how he felt about his servants being abused, and accident or not, he would not constitute it happening again. And although she’d be lady of Dunvegan—Iain had shuddered as he said the words—Mrs. Mac would see to the staff and oversee the keep much as she did before.

Ali had tearfully thanked him, saying a silent good-bye as she had to all of them. No one commented on her tears, and Ali figured they assumed she grieved because Rory was going through with the betrothal. They were right, but her tears were for them, too. They’d become the family she never had.

Ali sniffed and wiped the moisture from her cheek. She kept her gaze averted from the bed, but the memories refused to be kept at bay. Rory’s hand on her naked body, his mouth on hers—him lying there wounded and in pain, but still managing to tease. Every little detail of their time together flashed before her. How could she leave…how could she not? It was only when Ali relegated all she stood to lose to the recesses of her mind that she had the strength to move ahead with her search.

The wall. He said the wall.

She placed both palms alongside the doorframe and slowly worked her way around the room. It seemed like hours had passed. Her arms ached from stretching and pressing every inch of the walls, stone and paneling alike. Painstakingly she checked for signs of wear. Knowing she had little time left, and half the room still to explore, she had all but given up. Then the panel creaked beneath her palm. She tapped lightly—it was hollow.

She was tempted to use the knife she wore strapped to her thigh—the one Callum had given her—but was afraid to damage the wood. A tremor of nervous excitement ran through her as she slid her nails along the edge. The wall moved. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as inch by inch she worked it open. Behind the panel she discovered a closet-like space. On the dusty floor sat a black trunk. Ali knelt beside it, closing her eyes when it squeaked open, her nerves scraped raw, every sound magnified a hundred times.

Slowly she opened her eyes. On top lay the cream colored square of silk. Her search was over, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She clutched the flag to her chest. Aware she didn’t have much time, she began to push the panel back into place, but it was stuck. Ali leaned her shoulder into it. With a long, drawn-out creak, it shuddered closed.

A deep voice rumbled over her. “What are you doin’, Aileanna?”

“Aileanna, I asked you a question. What are you doin’?” Rory hesitated, slowly closing the door behind him, not sure he could withstand the temptation of being alone with her. He had come to his chambers for a moment’s peace before he put his name to the agreement. Aileanna’s accusations against Moira had not helped matters, nor did her entreaty that he hold true to his promise. His head still ached from Moira’s hysterics in his study, and her constant attentions in the hall.

Aileanna turned toward him, her face flushed, hair in disarray, and a look of panic in her bonny blue eyes. Wariness crept over him. He noted her hands behind her back and unwillingly his gaze went to the hidden chambers. A dull, knife-like pain twisted in his gut. The wooden panel had been tampered with, the seal at the top broken. All evidence pointed to Aileanna, and anger raged within him.

She was a spy.

She betrayed him.

Moira and Cyril had been right all along. Ruthlessly, he shoved aside a niggling of doubt. “What do you have behind yer back?” He kept all emotion from his voice.

“Nothing.” Her eyes searched his and her smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I…I lost my ring.” She carefully showed him her right hand, leaving the left behind her back. “On the night you were wounded. I…I thought it might be here.”

“Show me both of yer hands, Aileanna.” He closed the distance between them in three long strides, but did not come close enough to touch her, afraid of what he’d do if he did.

“I—” She bowed her head and choked back a sob. “Please believe me, it’s not what you think, Rory,” she pleaded, bringing her hand from behind her back to reveal the flag, clutched in her fist.

Her betrayal felt like a blow, fast and hard to his gut, and Rory sucked in a pained breath. “You will give it to me now,” he grated between clenched teeth, holding out his hand.

With a look of anguish on her bonny face, she said, “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She held the flag tight to her chest, covering the silk with both of her hands.

“Never before have I hurt a woman, Aileanna, but if you doona’ give me the flag, I make no promises I won’t.”

Her eyes darted to the door and he grabbed her. His fingers bit into the delicate bones of her wrists. She cried out, and her knees buckled.

“Drop it,” he said harshly.

Her hands opened and the flag slipped to nestle in the deep valley of her breasts.

He jerked her hands behind her back and encircled her wrists with one hand while he retrieved the flag with the other. “They chose you well, mo chridhe,” he rasped against her ear, feeling the heat of her skin beneath the silk. His breathing grew ragged and his fingers lingered, stroking the tops of her full and heaving breasts. “How far would you have gone, Aileanna?” He shoved his hand into the bodice of her gown and rolled her nipple roughly between his thumb and finger.

“Rory, no, it’s not what you think.” She gasped when he kneaded and squeezed her breast.

“Yer a spy. Doona’ try to deny it, and before this night is out you will tell me all,” he ground out.

She leaned her head against his shoulder in an attempt to look back at him, her chest heaving. “Rory, you have to believe me, I’m not a spy. I can’t tell you anything.”

He dragged his hand from her breast. Letting go of her wrists, he threw her onto the bed. She fell face first, and the mattress bounced and squeaked from the force of her landing. He was on top of her before she could catch her breath. Flipping her onto her back, he straddled her, anchoring her arms over her head.

“Please, don’t do this. I know what it looks like, but it’s not…it’s not what you think.” She struggled, her hips arched beneath him, and despite his anger, his disgust with himself and with her, his cock hardened. With her hair spread across the dark brown coverlet, the rapid rise and fall of her voluptuous breasts, she was pure temptation.

“Aye, they knew what they were doin’ when they sent you, lass. They would ken I wouldna’ be able to resist you.” He spat the words at her.

“Why won’t you listen to me? I’m not a spy. I know you’re angry, but please, just think. Why would I save you and your men’s lives, if I was?” A lone tear slid across her cheek and into her hair.

He tried not to consider her words in the same way he tried to ignore his lingering doubts, to forget about her loyalty to those who were close to him, her fierce protectiveness. Like her actions at the loch, she had all but convinced him she cared for him as much as he cared for her, but now he knew she but played him for a fool.

“Then why, Aileanna, why did you steal the flag?”

“I wasn’t stealing it. I only wanted to—” She shook her head, eyes closed. “I can’t, Rory. I made a promise.”

“Even to save yerself?”

Her eyes blinked open. “You wouldn’t kill me. I thought you loved me,” she whispered.

“Love, Aileanna? Nay, yer mistaken. I spoke of lust and desire. And only that because you reminded me of Brianna. But you canna’ hold a candle to her.” His laughter was cruel, his words intended to wound her as deeply as she wounded him.

Her head jerked as though he’d slapped her. Color leached from her face. “What…what are you going to do with me?”

He saw the fear in her eyes along with the pain his words caused, but he hardened his heart against it and lowered his face to hers. “Mayhap I should take what you so readily offered that first night I was too weak to accept.” Before she could turn her head he captured her mouth with his, forcing his tongue past her lips, ravaging her, devouring her. She twisted beneath him and he ground his cock into her. She bit his tongue. He wrenched his lips from hers. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

“If you take me now, Rory MacLeod, it will be rape,” she panted, her face flushed, her eyes the same shade of violet as her gown.

Her words penetrated his lust-addled brain, past the anger and the pain, and stopped him cold. He flung himself away from her and strode to the door. He ripped it open, nearly tearing it from the hinges. “Byron and Cedric!” He bellowed for his men-at-arms. Rory leaned against the doorframe for support, watching as Aidan, Fergus, and Iain pounded up the staircase after the men.

“What’s the matter, Rory?” his brother asked, moving Byron and Cedric aside. Rory stepped back, allowing his brother a clear view of Aileanna, her knees tucked to her chin as she sat huddled at the head of the bed.

Iain grabbed his arm. “Sweet Jesu’, what have you done to her? If you’ve harmed her, I swear to God—”

Rory slammed him against the wall, fisting his hand in Iain’s tunic. “’Tis no’ I. She’s a spy…a thief. I caught her attempting to steal the fairy flag.”

His brother’s eyes shot to Aileanna and he shook Rory off to make his way to her side. “Why, Aileanna?”

Slowly she lifted her head from her knees. Holding his brother’s gaze, she shook her head.

Rory almost felt sorry for Iain, for the hurt he saw in his eyes. “What will you do with her?” his brother asked, dragging his gaze from hers.

“Put her under guard in the tower until she talks.”

Iain helped her from the bed, and Rory noted the change in her. She no longer looked haunted, beaten down. She held her head high and walked by him with a haughty grace that caused him to add, “She’ll have no food or drink until she does.”

She held his gaze, her mouth swollen from his kiss.

He jerked his head and the guards took hold of her. Mrs. Mac, Connor, Fergus, and Iain watched her being led away. They all wore the same expression of betrayal. Her attempt to steal the clan’s treasure was nothing compared to what she’d done to their hearts.

“Byron, Cedric, hold. I have one question mayhap you
will
answer, Aileanna Graham, if that is who you are.”

She raised her eyes to his.

“Who betrayed the clan? How did you ken where the fairy flag was?”

“No one betrayed you,” she said wearily. “I’ve been looking for the flag since the night I arrived. Your room was the last one I had to check, and I’d been searching it for days. The boards sounded hollow when I tapped on them. That’s the only way I knew where it was.”

Rory heard a feminine gasp at his back. “I told ye, Rory, I told ye. I knew she was a spy.” Moira clapped her hands gleefully. When she reached his side, she placed a proprietary hand on his arm. “Ye willna’ be so high and mighty when ye feel the lash open the skin on yer back,” she taunted Aileanna.

“Moira, that will be enough,” Rory ordered. His stomach roiled at the image of Aileanna’s porcelain white skin flayed to a bloody pulp. He watched as the men led her toward the tower, back straight, head held high.

“Rory…Rory.” Moira plucked at his sleeve. “Cyril tells me ye have no’ signed the papers as yet. Shall we retire to the study and do so now?”

“Nay, I have much to deal with, Moira. Mayhap ’twould be best if you and yer kin left until I have had sufficient time to deal with the matter at hand. Aidan will see you to Duart. I’ll send a messenger when I’m of a mind to sign the papers.” Rory knew he should just sign the agreement and get it over with instead of leaving it to hang over his head, but at the moment he had no desire to deal with it, or the MacLeans. Moira’s comments to Aileanna chilled him to the marrow. No matter her guilt, it was not something one would expect a woman to say to another. Rory had known Moira for a long time, but he was beginning to question if he truly knew her at all.

Ali smoothed her finger over the dagger Callum had insisted she wear strapped to her thigh on the morning Moira MacLean had turned the clan against her. She wedged the blade between the iron bar of the window and the spot right below it where the stone had weakened. It was boring, tedious work. She had to be quiet and make sure she swept the stone dust under the narrow cot. Locked away for two days now, Rory’s only compromise had been to allow her water.

He had come yesterday morning to try to make her talk, but she hadn’t uttered a single word. She’d lain on the cot with her back to him. He didn’t touch her, questioning her in a tightly controlled voice. The only emotion he revealed was when, after what seemed like hours, he’d stormed from the tower, cursing the MacDonalds.

Ali blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay. She couldn’t cry anymore. He believed she was a spy—that she betrayed him—and that wouldn’t change. She saw it in the way he looked at her. Heard it in the words he’d spat at her, words she wished she could forget. Felt it in the way he had touched her. She’d thought she’d been hurt before, but it was nothing compared to this.

Ali listened to the dull scrape of the blade as she chiseled her way to freedom. Two of the bars were loose; only three remained. She didn’t know where she would go, but she knew she couldn’t remain at Dunvegan. The looks of betrayal from Mrs. Mac, Fergus, Iain, and Connor would be too much to bear.

And Rory—well, she couldn’t think of him without her heart breaking into little pieces. Telling him the truth wasn’t an option. She wouldn’t betray the others any more than she already had. But no way in hell was she going to let anyone torture her. The thought of leaving Rory was no longer as difficult as it had once been. He didn’t love her. He felt nothing for her now but disgust.

At the sound of heavy footfalls on the wooden staircase that led to the tower, Ali carefully dislodged the dagger. Grabbing a piece of linen, she swept the powder under the bed, then tucked both the cloth and the blade beneath the thin mattress. She heard the guards mutter something before they turned the key in the lock and the door creaked open. Iain entered, his face drawn. He carried a tray with a piece of bread and a mug of what she assumed was water.

“I thought your brother planned to starve me.”

Iain shook his head. “Why did you do it, Ali?” he asked, joining her on the bed. He set the tray down beside him and offered her the chunk of bread. She politely refused, accepting the water instead. “Yer no’ plannin’ on starvin’ yerself, are you?”

Ali smiled. “Of course not.” But she didn’t plan on making it easy on Rory either. Let him suffer thinking she starved herself.
But he’d only suffer if he cared,
the little voice in her head said,
and he’s already told you he doesn’t.

“You still havena’ told me—why, Ali?”

She stared at the water in her cup. “You did boil this, didn’t you?” she asked, taking a deep swallow.

Iain sighed. “Aye. ’Tis because my brother’s marryin’ Moira, isna’ it? ’Tis what both Fergus and Mrs. Mac believe.”

Ali nodded. It was the truth. Emotion knotted her throat. “Do you think they can ever forgive me?”

Iain squeezed her hand. “Aye, we were hurt is all. We thought you’d come to care a little fer us and your life at Dunvegan.”

Ali placed the cup on the tray and smoothed her hands over her gown. Her gaze shot to Iain, praying he didn’t notice the white dust that coated the dusky pink silk. He didn’t. She wouldn’t have been so lucky had it been Rory. “I did. I do. It wasn’t an easy decision, Iain, and I’m sorry I disappointed all of you. I really am.”

“I canna’ fault you, and I thank you fer no’ tellin’ my brother the truth. My only regret is it cost you dearly. But doona’ worry. Fergus and I are thinkin’ on a way to convince Rory yer no’ a spy.” He gave her a weak smile. “The wee tale you told Connor might be of some use if we can convince my brother you meant to protect the flag from Moira.”

Ali groaned. “What did Rory do to him?”

“Nothin’. The lad was feelin’ guilty and went to Fergus. He’s blamin’ himself fer you bein’ held in the tower.”

“Iain, you have to tell him not to feel bad. I just would have found someone else to tell me.”

Iain grimaced, then patted her knee. “I’d best go. Rory is no’ fit to live with these days. If I stay longer than my allotted time, he’ll have my head.”

Ali raised a brow. “Sounds like he and Moira will make a charming pair.”

Iain gave her an odd smile. “The MacLeans are no longer here. The signing of the papers has been put aside for now.”

Ali tamped down a sense of hope. Nothing could come of it. Not now. “Thank you for coming.” She chewed on her lower lip, then asked, “Iain, would you be able to get me some linens? It gets cold at night.”