Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (7 page)

He shook his head. Aileanna Graham was like no woman he’d ever known—more of a warrior than many of his own men. He only wished she hadn’t seen fit to strike the priest. She’d put Rory in an unenviable position. He had to find a way for all to save face. Somehow he would prove Mari was no witch, but was at a loss as to what to do with Aileanna. The priest demanded she be lashed, or at the very least sent to a nunnery to atone for her sins.

For a brief moment Rory had been tempted to send her away. After all, he still had his suspicions where she was concerned, and the well-being of his clan was his first priority. But if he was honest, he’d admit what disturbed him most was her ability to stir him in a way no other woman had, not since he’d lost Brianna. Her resemblance to his wife was uncanny, and at first he was able to put his desire for her down to that, but no longer. Aileanna was as different from Brianna as night was to day.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught the angry flash in her blue eyes and the stubborn set of her chin as she argued with Iain and Fergus.

“Aileanna,” he said firmly. She looked up at him, a challenge in her expression. “You’ll have yer say, but no’ until you’ve calmed yerself.”

“Calm? You expect me to be calm after what that…that,” she sputtered.

Rory sighed. “You’ll see to Mari and yerself, and then we’ll talk.”

Before she could say anything else Mrs. Mac hurried toward them, a hand pressed to her mouth. “You poor wee thing. What have they done to you? When I get me hands on that lot I’ll—”

Rory rolled his eyes.
God save me from vengeful women
. “Mrs. Mac, you will let me deal with the matter and help Lady Aileanna see to Mari.” He ignored her exasperated harrumph and continued up the stairs. When he reached the landing, he called down to his man-at-arms. “Callum, you’ll stand guard outside Lady Aileanna’s room.” The big man nodded, a smile lightening his rough-hewn features.

Rory knew his choice was a good one. Callum had withstood the brunt of his anger when he’d informed Rory that he’d placed Aileanna and Mari in the dungeons. Callum had meant to protect the women, but when Rory had seen them huddled together in the cell it was all he could do to keep his hands from the big man’s throat.

“As will I, my lord,” Connor said, coming up behind him. The lad’s ears pinked at Rory’s perusal. Connor had been beside himself when he reached Rory on the field. He sensed the boy’s concern had been not only for Aileanna, but for the young maid as well. Rory nodded his assent.

Once he saw Mari settled and did his best to reassure her there was nothing for her to fear, he took his leave. He hadn’t realized Aileanna followed him until she stopped him with a tentative touch to his arm.

“You won’t let him hurt her, will you?”

“Nay, Aileanna, he willna’ harm either you or Mari ever again.” He couldn’t stop himself. He stroked her bruised cheek with a gentle caress.

“Thank you.” Her heated breath whispered across his palm. He dropped his hand. Clenching his fist, he gathered what little control he had left.

White-hot pain lanced through Rory’s side as he shrugged into the clean linen. He clenched his teeth, determined his brother would not witness his discomfort. Taking a slow, shallow breath, he rode it out.

“What?” he rasped at the look of concern on Iain’s face.

“You canna’ hide it from me, Rory. I ken yer wound is troublin’ you. I’ll get Aileanna.” His brother rose from where he sat by the fire and made to leave Rory’s chamber.

“Nay, she’s seein’ to Mari. Leave it be, Iain.” The last thing he wanted was to feel those soft, gentle hands of hers touching his bare skin, or her sharp tongue cursing him for being a fool. She’d be right. He shouldn’t have gone with his men. It was too soon. But he hadn’t had a choice. The MacDonald, knowing Rory had been wounded, would press his advantage. Ever since his year of mourning his daughter had passed, the old man had been relentless.

Belting his plaid, Rory took the mug of whiskey Iain held out to him and shot the amber liquid back. He eased himself into the chair opposite his brother and sucked in a harsh breath as his side rebelled. “Did you get the answers I asked fer?”

“Nay, they all closed up tighter than clams on a sea bed.” His brother’s voice was laced with frustration. “’Tis no’ helpin’ matters that the priest hasna’ stopped rantin’ since you placed him in the tower. Truth be told, my head will explode if I have to listen to him much longer and ’tis no’ helpin’ our cause.”

“Yer right. Best I deal with this now. I wanted to give Aileanna and the lass some time, but ’tis no’ playin’ out as I hoped.” He sighed wearily and placed the mug on the table at his side. “Has Fergus returned with the sheriff?”

“No’ that I ken. Mayhap ’tis no’ a bad thing, Rory. ’Tis yer word that is law, no’ his.”

“Aye. Be that as it may, I’ve heard he’s put a stop to the priest on two separate occasions these past months while we fought the MacDonald. He’s a fair man fer all that he was appointed by James.”

Iain snorted in disgust at the mention of the king. “Aye, and ’tis James who stirred up this hornet’s nest.”

“Aye, well, we’ll deal with it as best we can, brother. Now, give me some time before you bring Aileanna and Mari to the hall. ’Twould be best if you stand by them—Callum and Connor as well.”

His brother gave him a knowing look. “Ah, so you think Aileanna might cause a spot of trouble, do you?”

Rory’s mouth twisted in a grin. “Aye, I’m certain of it. Mind you keep yer hand at the ready to cover that mouth of hers.”

Iain waggled his brows and rose from the chair. “I can think of another much more enjoyable way to cover that delectable mouth of hers.”

“Hold yer tongue, Iain,” he growled, his body’s response to his brother’s words primal.

Iain’s eyes widened. “You want her.” He let out a low whistle. “After Brianna, I didna’ think—”

Rory stiffened, his body as taut as a freshly strung bow. “Leave it be.”

“Nay, I willna’!” his brother all but shouted at him. “If you want Aileanna only to warm yer bed, Rory, doona’ do it. The lass deserves better.”

He narrowed his gaze on his brother. “I am laird, Iain, no’ you, and ’twould be best if you remembered that.” But Iain was right. Aileanna was not the kind of woman for a quick tumble. She was a lady, although not like any lady he’d ever known. Her beauty alone set her above the rest, but it was her courage, her strength that intrigued him beyond measure. And a tumble was all he could offer her. Never again would he give his heart to another. The cost was too high.

The door rattled on its hinges as he slammed from his chambers before he said something he’d regret. He gave Callum and Connor a curt nod. “You both will accompany Lady Aileanna and Mari to the hall when the time comes. Be prepared for trouble.”

“Aye,” they responded as one, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

Bloody hell,
he cursed beneath his breath. They’d heard his exchange with Iain. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. What could he say? His gaze drawn to the door they guarded, he could only hope Aileanna hadn’t heard them, too.

The priest’s voice broke through his thoughts, preaching the dangers of hell and damnation. He pinched the bridge of his nose, almost wishing he battled the MacDonald instead of dealing with what was to come. “Connor, tell the men to bring the priest to the hall.” He shot the order over his shoulder as he made his way below, scattering the servants gathered at the base of the stairs with an impatient wave of his hand.

He looked up in time to see Fergus stride into the keep empty-handed. “I take it the good sheriff was nowhere to be found.”

Fergus raised a bushy brow. “Yer no’ surprised?”

“Nay, but what of Mari’s mother?”

The big man shook his head. “Too terrified of the priest to stand in defense of her daughter.”

Rory scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “I canna’ say I blame her. At least she thought to bring Mari here when he threatened her the first time.”

“Aye, and Lady Aileanna will stand up fer her.”

“Aye, and that’s what worries me,” he commented dryly. A commotion from behind him drew his attention. The priest, slapping at his guard’s hands, barreled toward them. With his robes billowing behind him he looked like an overgrown carrion crow come to feed. The man cuffed one of the guards that tried to restrain him. “Laird MacLeod…my laird, do ye no’ hear me?”

“I wish I didna’,” Rory muttered under his breath.

Fergus snorted, clasping his big hands behind his back as he stared down his oft-broken nose at the twitching bundle of fury that stood before them.

“Laird MacLeod, if ye will release the woman and the girl into my care ye’ll be done with the matter.”

“And what is it you’re plannin’ on doin’ with them?”

The priest cleared his throat. “There will be a trial, of that ye can be certain.” His beady eyes darted toward the entrance of the hall.

“Ah, I see. And do you plan on usin’ torture durin’ this so-called trial?”

The man gave an indifferent shrug of his birdlike shoulders. “’Tis necessary at times, ye understand.”

“I understand only too well, and you should understand this.” He leaned toward the man. “They are under my protection. You came onto my lands and almost killed that child. The only reason yer no’ locked in my dungeon is on account of my clan and the fact they hold you in some regard. Fer that reason, and that reason alone, I’ll allow you to state yer case.”

“Ye canna’ stand against the Kirk, Laird MacLeod, and well ye ken it.”

“Yer new to the Isles, Father, or you’d already ken I’ve stood against the Kirk before when it comes to those under my protection. And I’ll do so again if need be.”

“But…but…”

Rory jerked his head at his men, leaving the priest to protest until he was blue in the face. “Take him to the hall.”

Fergus followed behind at a leisurely pace. Tilting his head, he took a look into the grand hall and let out a low whistle. “’Tis packed to the rafters.”

Rory rolled his eyes. He wasn’t surprised. Superstition ran deep amongst his people. They would be crying for the young maid’s death as loudly as the bloody priest. They were slow in giving their acceptance, and Aileanna and Mari had not been around long enough to earn it. “’Tis time, Fergus. See to the women.”

“Aye.” Fergus clapped a heavy hand on Rory’s shoulder. “All will be well, lad. They respect you. No one will doubt the wisdom of yer decision once you render it.”

“We’ll soon see.” He hoped Fergus was right. The problem was not in making the judgment, but in seeing that his clan saw the truth of it.

He made his way into the hall. A warm, musky scent assaulted his senses. Bodies packed twenty deep lined the walls. It took time to reach the dais in front of the room as those around him clamored for his attention.

Looking out over his clan, the mantle of responsibility settled over his shoulders. His father had entrusted them to his care. They were as much his legacy as the land and the riches that went with his title—maybe more so. Every decision he’d made since assuming his role as laird had been for the good of his clan. His marriage to Brianna had been one such decision. Their union brought peace and stability to his people, but with her death, they were once more mired in the constant turmoil of war. His thoughts turned to Aileanna and her eloquent plea for peace. It was as though she assumed he took pleasure in the battle, but that was far from the truth. She didn’t understand.

How could she?

She was a woman.

As though his thoughts conjured her up, she stood in the entrance to the hall, her bonny face pale. The somber color of her simple gown didn’t help, but the choice had been a good one. She looked prim and proper, with the collar buttoned up to her throat and the cap hiding the bounty of her long, flaxen hair. Although, when Rory looked at her, all he could see was the outline of her voluptuous curves and wisps of hair that escaped the tight confines of her cap to caress the delicate beauty of her face.

From where he sat, he sensed her vulnerability. She was strong, but he could feel her fear, see it in the way she twisted her hands. She wasn’t daft. She had good reason to be afraid.

Eyes lowered, she took a cautious step forward. The tenor of the room changed. All conversation halted, and a menacing silence resonated in the hall. Aileanna flushed, and Rory noted the rapid rise and fall of her chest. If he could, he would go to her and offer his reassurance, but that would be a foolish move on his part.

Rory’s hand came to rest on his dirk. His muscles coiled with tension, ready to spring into action if the need arose. He would protect her even if it meant one of his own would die. He’d let no harm come to Aileanna. Iain, Fergus, Connor, and even Mrs. Mac would do the same. He could see it in the grim determination on their faces.

Aileanna cast a sidelong glance at the young maid who now entered the hall behind them. The wee lass would move no farther, frozen in place by fear. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Connor and Mrs. Mac tried to nudge her forward. Even though he imagined their words were ones of reassurance, they did no good. It was only when Aileanna took Mari’s hand in hers and whispered in her ear did the lass gather the courage to move forward.

Aileanna squared her shoulders and looked out over the crowd as though she dared them to do or say anything against the young girl at her side. She’d swallowed her own fears in defense of Mari.

Rory felt a surge of admiration well within him. There was no denying it; Aileanna Graham was an amazing woman, and he was drawn to her like he’d been to no other. But he refused to act on those feelings. She was under his protection, nothing more. For both their sakes he had to keep his distance.

The priest, surrounded by members of his flock, was only now becoming aware of the women’s presence. The priest’s chest puffed out like a rooster, and Rory knew he was getting ready for his tirade. He caught the man’s eye and shot him a fierce look. It was a look Rory had perfected over a decade of being laird. He had Fergus to thank for the ability. Since the death of his own father, the older man had stepped aptly into the roll of surrogate. Rory trusted him like no other, and seeing him sit at Aileanna’s side brought him a measure of calm.

A buzz of excitement hummed in the air as those gathered anticipated what was to come. Rory cleared his throat to gain their attention. “The first charge to be dealt with is the charge of witchcraft brought against the young maid, Mari.” Out of the corner of his eye he spied Aileanna draw the wee lass closer. And he would have to be blind not to have seen the aggrieved look she shot him. What did she expect? As laird he had no choice. “Who has evidence to support this charge?”

The priest leapt to his feet. “I do.”

Brow quirked, Rory regarded him evenly. “I would imagine so, since yer the one to bring the charge against the child. Are there no others?”

“Aye,” a voice shouted from the back. The rotund figure of the cook pushed his way to the front of the room and pointed to the lass cowering beside Aileanna. “Three of my chickens died fer no reason the day after she arrived.”

He heard Aileanna’s undignified snort. “He probably fed them the slop I insisted he throw away,” she muttered.

Both Fergus and Iain barely managed to suppress their mirth at her comment. He shot the lot of them a foreboding look. “Cook, was the lass anywhere nearby when the chickens died?”

“Nay, but—” the man sputtered.

“Did you no’ have several chickens die a few months past?”

“Aye, but—”

Rory gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Are there no others?” He noted some movement at the back, and for their benefit hardened his tone as he added, “Think twice before you cast aspersions on the girl. I will demand evidence of yer charge; if there is none, I will assume you cast it for no other reason than malice and will no’ look kindly on the one who does.”

The priest’s eyes darted from left to right, scanning the crowd. He appeared to be trying to cajole the woman beside him to come forward, but she shook her head, eyes downcast.

He glared at her, then came to his feet in a show of bluster. “Laird MacLeod, as the Kirk’s authority in these matters no other witness is required,” he began self-importantly. “My evidence alone should be enough to convict the lass.”

Rory raised a brow, tilting his head. “And yer evidence is?”

“She carries the mark of the devil’s handmaiden. Her hair is red, her eyes mismatched.”

“Oh, come on.” Aileanna shot to her feet, shaking off Fergus’s restraining hand. “Genetics is what it is. Look around you. What about him, or her?” She pointed out a redheaded man and woman on either side of the hall who were doing their best to duck behind those who stood in front of them.

The priest pointed at Mari, trembling with frustrated rage. “’Tis no’ only the hair. ’Tis the eyes that damn her the most.”

“A condition called heterochromia is what is responsible for Mari’s eyes. It’s because she has either too much pigment or lack of it in her iris.”

Rory didn’t know what she was saying, but he did know it was not her place to say it. His brother was to defend Mari. He skewered Iain with an angry glare. Iain shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Lady Aileanna, you will sit!”