Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (5 page)

Rory tightened his hold on her. “’Tis from the dirk, isna’ it?”

“Yes. Now will you please let me go?”

Holding her gaze with his, he pressed her palm to his lips, trailing light kisses along the reddened mark. “I’m sorry you were hurt while you cared fer me.”

She swallowed, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “It was nothing compared to what I did to you.” Her voice had gone soft and breathy.

“Ah, but you meant to save me, Aileanna, no’ hurt me,” he said into her palm.

“Umhmm.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

He tugged her closer, pressing himself against her lush curves. “Aileanna, what were you doin’ in my bed that night?” he whispered in her ear before lowering his lips to her neck.

“Sleeping,” she murmured. A soft moan of pleasure escaped from her parted lips. She tilted her head back, granting him access to a creamy expanse of skin.

With a low chuckle, he accepted her invitation. Bending his head, he kissed his way across the top of her full breasts, delving beneath the gown’s fabric with his tongue.

He tugged her neckline lower, ignoring the sound of the cloth tearing. He freed her breasts to his hungry gaze. Lust pounded in his veins.

“Nay, you weren’t sleeping, lass.” He tweaked her nipple between his fingers before taking it into his mouth.

“Dreaming…I thought I was dreaming.” She moaned.

Rory cupped her breasts, kneading, squeezing, watching the play of emotions on her angelic face. “’Twas no dream, lass. ’Tis no dream now,” he said against her lips.

He’d slowly maneuvered them toward the bed and carefully lowered Aileanna onto the mattress. Her eyes sprang open and she gasped, tugging at the bodice of her gown. He eased himself onto the bed. Lying down beside her, he stopped the frantic movements of her hands, pulling her against him when she struggled to sit up.

“Calm yerself, Aileanna.” He stroked the hair from her face.

“We…we can’t do this,” she stammered.

“Why? We’ve done it before,” he reminded her, trailing his finger along the soft swell of her breasts. He didn’t want to talk. All he wanted to do was feel her, warm and willing, beneath him.

She shivered, stilling his hand with hers.

“I told you, I thought I was dreaming that night. And you…you thought I was your wife.”

Rory didn’t stop her when she struggled to rise from the bed. She was right. He had thought she was Brianna, but not now. He knew who she was, and he wanted her more than he thought he’d ever want a woman again. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? What had Aileanna Graham done to him?

“Did I…did I hurt you?” She stood at the end of the bed, clutching the front of her gown, her hair spilling over her shoulders in wild abandon.

“Nay.” He winced as he sat up.

“Good.” She gave a brisk nod of her head, then turned to walk away.

“Where are you goin’, Aileanna?”

“To my room.” She hesitated, her hand on the latch to the room that adjoined his. His wife’s room. She looked at him over her shoulder. “It’s where I’ve been staying. Mrs. Mac put me in there. If you’d prefer, I can take a room elsewhere.”

He stood, adjusting his plaid. “Nay, that’ll be fine, lass. Aileanna, I’m—”

She shook her head, closing the door firmly behind her.

Rory cursed. He ignored the burning pain in his side as he wrenched the door to his chambers open. He barely acknowledged the greetings of his men gathered at the bottom of the staircase as he made his way to the study. Once inside, he rummaged through the desk for a piece of parchment and his quill. Finding what he required, he sat down to compose a letter to Angus Graham inquiring into the identity of one Aileanna Graham.

Ali rested her forehead against the rough wood-planked door, softly cursing the man on the other side and her reaction to him. His tender kisses and heated caresses had turned her into a quivering mass of boneless desire. Her brain had stopped working, and she was lucky he hadn’t prodded further with his questions. She slapped a hand to the door, pretending it was his broad, muscular, and totally gorgeous chest.

Typical man; seducing her with his tempting kisses only to get the answers he wanted. It would serve him right if she told him the truth. But Ali couldn’t, not without breaking her promise to Iain, and his only crime was that he loved his brother. She envied them that.

No, she wouldn’t reveal his secret. She’d find the fairy flag on her own and no one would be the wiser.
Until the MacLeods are in danger and need the fairies’ help,
the annoying voice in her head reminded her. Ali grimaced at the thought of the MacLeods’ suffering because of what she planned to do. But it couldn’t be helped. She had to find a way home.
To what? Charges that could ruin your career, and all because a man you thought you loved made a mistake that cost a young mother her life and left you to take the blame,
the voice in her head taunted.
A man who professed to love you while he slept with how many other women?
All right, so her personal and professional lives were a mess. But at least she’d be back where she belonged.

Belong? When have you ever belonged, Aileanna Graham?

“Would you just shut up,” Ali muttered.

“My lady?”

Ali whirled around to face Mari, who hesitated in the doorway to her room, a wary expression on the young maid’s face. “Ah, hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The young girl dipped her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didna’ mean to disturb ye.”

Ali waved off her apology, hoping Mari hadn’t been there long enough to witness her hitting the door and talking to herself. “You didn’t.” She smiled in an attempt to ease the young girl’s discomfort.

Mrs. Macpherson had persuaded Ali to take Mari on as her maid. She’d resisted at first; she didn’t have any idea what she was supposed to do with a lady’s maid and didn’t plan on being here long enough to find out. But the older woman was nothing if not tenacious. And Ali had given in, once Mrs. Mac explained that because of Mari’s appearance, and the clan’s superstitious tendencies, the girl would have a difficult time of it if she didn’t. Ali knew how it felt to be on the outside looking in, and she wasn’t about to allow Mari to suffer the same fate. Not if she could help it.

“Come in, Mari. Is Mrs. Mac looking for me?”

“Nay, she said to tell ye the last of the men have been seen to and ye can have yerself a wee rest.”

“Well, I don’t know about taking a nap.” She wouldn’t. Now was the perfect opportunity to search the castle. Too busy during the last week seeing to the men of Dunvegan, Ali hadn’t had a chance to look for the fairy flag. With Mrs. Mac occupied, and Rory MacLeod tucked away in his room, she could search at her leisure.

“My lady, what have ye done?”

Ali followed the direction of Mari’s stricken gaze. “Ah, this?” She touched the tear in her gown. Her face flushed, remembering who put it there. “I caught it on…on the chair when I was seeing to Lord MacLeod. Do you know how to sew, Mari?”

“Aye, my lady. I’ll take care of it fer ye. I’ll find ye another gown,” the girl said. She bent over the trunk and pulled out a gown of robin’s egg blue. “’Twill look bonny on ye, my lady.” Mari held up the dress, a wistful expression on her young face.

Ali’s heart clenched. She couldn’t help but notice the sharp contrast between the beautiful gown Mari held out to her, and the threadbare brown woolen dress the girl wore.

“I don’t know, I think the color would be perfect on you, Mari. Why don’t you try it on?”

Mari gasped. “Nay, my lady. I canna’ do that. ’Tis no’ right.”

“Don’t be silly. Mrs. Mac said you’re my maid, so there’s no reason you can’t wear what I want you to.”

“’Tis verra kind of ye, my lady, but ’tis no’ my place.”

Ali took the dress from the girl’s trembling fingers. “Let’s just see…” She frowned. “I guess I’m quite a bit taller than you, and…” Looking at Mari’s slight frame, she remembered the comments about how tiny the laird’s wife had been. “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”

Returning after a brief conversation with Mrs. Mac, Ali smiled at Mari. “Well, it’s all settled. Mrs. Mac has agreed, so no argument from you.”

The girl watched her warily from where she knelt rearranging the contents of the trunk.

Ali opened the wardrobe and pulled out a lemon yellow gown, holding it up for Mari. “Come and try it on.”

The girl hesitated before rising to her feet. “Are ye certain?”

“Of course I am.”

Mari looked at Ali; moisture clung to the girl’s auburn-tipped lashes as she gently caressed the fabric. “’Tis bonny, my lady,” she whispered reverently.

“It is. You’ll look beautiful, Mari. The color will show off your gorgeous red hair.”

Mari lowered her hand, shaking her head. “I doona’ think I can accept it, my lady, but I thank ye fer yer kindness.”

“Don’t be silly—of course you can. Mrs. Mac said it was fine.”

“Aye, but folk might think I doona’ ken my place.”

Ali blew out a frustrated breath. “Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“I do, my lady,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Mari, of course you do. I understand how you feel.” And she did, only too well. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“I ken what yer tryin’ to do, and I appreciate it. ’Tis just with my eyes and my hair, I stick out enough as ’tis.”

“You’re very pretty, Mari. You’ll always stand out from the others.”

The young girl giggled. “Yer verra funny, my lady. Pretty.” She repeated the word and laughed again, shaking her head.

“It’s true, Mari, whether you believe me or not. Now, I want you to take the dress and try it on later, when you’re on your own. Maybe you’ll change your mind. No arguments.” She wagged her finger at the girl, placing the gown in her arms despite her protests.

Mari looked up at Ali with a shy smile. “My lady, once ye’ve changed gowns ye must let me see to yer hair. ’Tis a bit of a fright if ye doona’ mind me sayin’.”

Ali shrugged, self-consciously touching her head. “I forgot to comb it after—” She let the rest of her sentence drop. It’s not like she could say
after the laird ran his fingers through my hair
to the girl.

With her young maid’s help, Ali changed into the robin’s egg blue gown. Her poking and prodding complete, Mari held out a chair for Ali. She took a seat and Mari began combing the tangles from Ali’s hair.

“Sorry,” she apologized when Ali cried out, the comb catching on another knot.

When all the tangles were combed through, Ali leaned back in the chair. “Mari, do you like it here?”

“Aye, my lady, ’tis blessed I am to be yer maid.”

Ali snorted. “I’m sure.”

“’Tis true. Yer verra kind to me.”

“Thank you, but I’ve been worried you might be missing your mother.”

“My mam’s verra busy with the others. There are eleven in my family, my lady.”

Eleven. Ali shuddered. “What about friends?”

“I doona’ have friends. I’m too busy helpin’ me mam.”

“You’ll have time to make friends here at Dunvegan. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ali asked, turning sideways in the chair to look at Mari.

“Aye.” The girl sighed, a wistful expression on her face.

Ali reached back and patted her hand. “I’m going to make sure you do.” And she meant it. Something about the young girl touched her deeply. Perhaps Mari reminded Ali of herself a long time ago, a time when she wished someone had been there for her. She promised herself before she left Dunvegan, she’d see that Mari was safe and happy.

“Mrs. Macpherson and Fergus have been verra kind—the laird, too.”

“You met Lord MacLeod?”

“Aye. He’s the bonniest man I ever did see.” The girl sighed.

Ali wrinkled her nose. “I guess.”

“You doona’ think he’s bonny, my lady?”

“Aye.” Oh, for God’s sake, now she was starting to talk like them. “I mean, yes, he’s very handsome. But you know, Mari, it’s more than good looks that make a man.”

“I ken it well, my lady, but everyone kens the laird is a good man. He’s kind and generous, and verra powerful. No one man can take our laird down.”

Ali snorted. “Well, someone almost did.”

“Are ye talkin’ aboot his wound? ’Twas five against one, my lady—no’ a fair fight.”

Five…one man against five. Ali didn’t know why she was surprised, not when she thought of his rippling muscles and the strength of his hands—hands that could crush a man, or bring a woman to the edge with a gentle caress.

Ali’s stomach clenched at the memory, and she shot out of the chair. “Okay, perfect, that’s wonderful, Mari.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, unwilling to continue the conversation about Rory MacLeod’s many attributes any further. “Thank you. Now I’d better see if Mrs. Mac needs me for anything. Would you like to spend some time outside? It’s a lovely day.”

“Thank ye, my lady, but I’ll see to yer gown.”

“All right.”

Standing in the long narrow corridor outside her room, Ali contemplated her best course of action. Deciding to begin one floor at a time, she headed for the stairs and almost collided with the laird himself when he slammed out of his chambers.

“Lady Aileanna, I’m sorry.” He reached out to steady her.

“No harm done.” She took a step backward, putting some distance between them. “You know, Lord MacLeod, just because you’re feeling better doesn’t mean you should resume your daily activities right away.”

He arched a brow; the corner of his mouth twitched. “And what do you consider my daily activities, lass?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know—laird things.”

“Laird things?” He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind, Aileanna.”

He walked down the curved staircase beside her, matching his long stride with hers. “’Tis a verra bonny gown you have on, my lady. As bonny as the one you wore this morn.”

Ali stopped and stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that. It is not very gentlemanly of you to remind me of this morning,” she muttered.

He leaned into her. His heated breath fanned her cheek. “I’m no’ a gentleman, Aileanna.”

“You’re telling me,” she huffed. Anxious to get away from him, she fairly flew down the stairs, catching her foot on the underskirt of her gown.

“Lass, be careful you don—” His hand shot out, and he grabbed her before she tumbled headlong down the stairs.

“Thank you,” Ali murmured, feeling her cheeks flush. “I’m fine. You can let me go.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firmly against his chest.

“Mayhap I doona’ want to, lass.” Heat flared in moss green eyes that ensnared her.

The sound of raised voices broke the spell, and she jerked her gaze from his. “Let me go.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Aye, I will, lass, as soon as you tell me where ’tis you’d be goin’.”

Ali’s eyes widened, panic inching its way up her chest at the thought he knew what she was up to. “Why? I didn’t realize I was your prisoner, Lord MacLeod.”

He arched a brow. “Yer my guest, Aileanna, and as such, under my protection. I only meant to suggest as yer unfamiliar with the lay of the land, Connor should accompany you. I would do it myself but I have things I must attend to.”

“No,” she blurted out. “I mean, thank you, but I won’t wander.”

“See that you don’t, Aileanna.” His voice held a warning, and Ali didn’t want to think what he’d do to her if he knew what she planned.

She felt his gaze follow her as they parted company at the bottom of the stairs.

Two hours later, Ali abandoned her search. She’d managed to investigate only three rooms, spending most of her time in the drawing room where the flag had resided in her time. She searched every nook and cranny, but to no avail. It didn’t help that Mrs. Mac kept popping in and out, and if not her, Connor seemed to show up at the most inopportune times.

Frustrated, Ali closed the door of the drawing room with a little more force than she intended.

“There you are, lass. I’ve been lookin’ fer you. Dinner is bein’ served.” Mrs. Macpherson gestured for her to follow.

Ali’s stomach grumbled. She was starving, but after witnessing the filth of the kitchens, she’d been unable to eat anything for the past few days other than the freshly baked bread.

She stepped aside to allow the servants to pass into the dining hall. Their arms were laden with heavy trays containing steaming platters. The smell of roasted meats made Ali’s nostrils twitch. She followed Mrs. Mac into the cavernous room lined with long wooden tables. Torches lit the interior, casting a golden hue on the tartan banners that hung from the gray stone walls between the narrow windows. The room was crowded—at least twenty people hunkered down at each table, mostly men, and the servants scurried about trying to accommodate them all at once. At the table on the raised dais, she spotted Rory. He came to his feet when he saw her. The loud chatter quieted as the diners watched her walk by. Their curiosity was one of the reasons she’d taken to eating her meals in her chambers.

“Mrs. Mac, maybe it’s better if I eat in my room,” Ali suggested, growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Och, no, the laird wanted you to join him and so you shall.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to upset his lordship.”

Mrs. Macpherson shook her head, making her now familiar tsking sound.

“I’m glad you’ve joined us, lass,” Rory said when Ali reached them, indicating the vacant chair to his left, beside Iain.

“I didn’t think I had a choice,” she muttered, nodding at Iain, Fergus, and Connor as she took her seat.

“Ah, still prickly I see.”

Before she could respond, two platters were placed on the table in front of her. She eyed them with trepidation; fish of some sort on one, lamb on the other. Relieved when a basket of fresh bread was placed to her left, she smiled at the girl who put it there.

“Thank you.”