Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (9 page)

He cursed under his breath when he noticed her limping. “Yer a stubborn one, Aileanna Graham. Enough,” he said as she tried to push past him and continue down the path. With little effort, he reached over and scooped her into his arms.

“No, Rory, put me down. You’ll hurt yourself.” She twisted in his arms, but it only caused him to tighten his hold on her. His hand brushed the underside of her breast, and the hard muscle of his arms flexed just below her bottom. He was more of a man than she’d ever known, and she wanted him. And he wanted his wife.

“You willna’ hurt me, Aileanna.” His voice was husky, his breath hot against her ear.

Maybe not, but she knew, without a doubt, he could hurt her.

The air whooshed from Ali’s lungs when Rory dumped her unceremoniously onto her bed with a muttered curse. “Did you have to cause such a bloody commotion down below?” He glowered at her, hands on his hips, his hair and clothes dripping with ale. He smelled like a brewery.

“Me? It wasn’t me who caused a scene—it was you. There was no reason to carry me once we arrived home. I didn’t know the girl was behind me when I tried to get out of your arms.” Truly, she hadn’t meant to kick the maid carrying the full jug of ale, and certainly hadn’t meant for it to land on Rory’s head. Remembering his stunned expression, the helpless giggle she could no longer contain turned into an all-out belly laugh. Ali fell back onto the satin comforter, clutching her sides.

Rory leaned over, bracing a hand on either side of her head. The muscles in his arms rippled beneath the fine lawn of his white shirt. His emerald eyes gleamed with amusement, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I think you ken exactly what you were doin’, Aileanna. You doona’ take orders well, lass.”

His gaze fastened on her mouth and the laughter died in her throat. The feel of his thick, powerful legs pressed between her thighs sent a surge of heat to her core. She curled her fingers into the starched fabric of her gown, resisting the urge to trace his full, sensuous lips, and the shadow that darkened his jaw.

Slowly he drew his gaze to hers. How easily he ensnared her with his powerful body and the heat of desire she saw there, desire that mirrored her own. She wondered if he knew how easily she’d succumb to his passion. How she longed to feel his mouth on hers, his fingers stroking between her thighs. She swallowed a frustrated groan when he pulled away.

Without a word, he crouched before her.

“Uhmm, Rory, what…what are you doing?” she stammered, pushing herself into an upright position. She fisted her hands into the maroon comforter.

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he bent his head, his long fingers leaving a heated trail along her too-sensitive skin as, inch by inch, he rolled the stocking down her left leg. She winced as he gently tugged the silk from where the blood adhered the fabric to the sole of her foot.

Encircling her ankle in a firm grip, he examined her foot, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Yer a healer, lass. You shoulda’ taken care of this.”

Did he expect a response? She could barely think, let alone speak, as he turned his attention to her other leg. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she bit her lower lip to keep from begging him for more.

Ali slowly lifted her lids when he removed the other stocking. From the look he gave her, she could tell he had watched her the entire time, had seen the play of emotions on her face, and knew what she wanted from him. And all he’d done was see to her needs with gentleness and consideration. She felt the color rush to her cheeks. How stupid could she be?

He stood, abruptly turning away from her. “I’ll send Mrs. Mac to see to you. Mari needs time to heal before resumin’ her duties.”

Ali blinked, startled by the underlying anger she heard in his voice. “Of course, I didn’t expect her—” She might as well have saved her breath. Her words ricocheted off the barrier of the oak door he slammed between them.

Ali pressed her fingers to her temples. She had to leave Dunvegan before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had. Not that her powerful attraction to their laird—an attraction that wasn’t returned—was her only reason for finding the flag—far from it. She wanted to go home. To the life she left behind.

The man destroyed her equilibrium, her common sense. He was every woman’s ideal of a dream lover, and that was the problem. She was living a dream, or as today had proven—a nightmare. The fairy flag was her only way out, away from Rory and the pain of wanting more from him than he was willing to give.

She rose to her feet and grimaced.

“Och, now, sit yerself down,” Mrs. Mac said as she bustled into the room, linens draped over one arm, a pail of steaming water looped over the other. She set the pail onto the slate floor and water sloshed over the rim. “So what did you do to put the laird in such a temper?”

Ali shrugged. “Nothing.” She hadn’t. It wasn’t like she’d asked him to make love to her. And now that she thought about it, she doubted he even knew what his heated touch had done to her.

Mrs. Mac gave her a considering look. “’Tis probably his wound botherin’ him. Iain spoke of it earlier.”

“He never said anything.” He’d been in pain and now she’d made it worse. Ali shot a nervous glance at the adjoining door. “I should check on him.” She pushed off the bed and rose on her heels to protect her sore feet.

“Nay.” Mrs. Mac gave her a gentle nudge, forcing her to sit back down. “Iain has already suggested he let you tend him, but he refused.”

“Oh.” Once again she felt the heat rise to her face. He didn’t want her anywhere near him. Aware of what he could do to her with just a look, a touch, she thought maybe it was for the best.

“Och, now, doona’ fash yerself, lass. He doesna’ doubt yer abilities. ’Tis on account he doesna’ like to be fussed over is all.”

Ali returned her attention to Mrs. Mac and waved off her explanation. “That’s fine. I understand how he feels.” She raised a brow to make her point.

“Och, yer two of a kind.” She held out the linens to Ali. “If you doona’ need me I’ll see to Mari.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Gingerly, Ali hopped off the bed.

Mrs. Mac shook her head. Steel gray curls bounced as she pointed to Ali’s feet. “If you doona’ stay off those fer a while, they’ll never heal. As fer Mari, there’s nothin’ time and a little kindness willna’ cure.”

“Of course, I’ll do whatever I can. I still can’t believe what they did to her. I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever forget.” She shuddered. Mari was the one reason she’d delayed her search for the flag. She had to be sure her maid would be all right before she left.

“I’m thinkin’ we should be a mite careful with the type of kindness we give her from now on.”

Ali’s gaze narrowed on Mrs. Mac, certain the woman held something back. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Mac released a weary sigh. “I’m hearin’ the lasses turned her over to the priest on account of the yellow gown. They thought she was reachin’ above her station and were a wee bit jealous.”

Ali pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her cry of dismay. “It’s my fault. Everything she suffered was because of me.” Remembering the scene in the courtyard, bile rose in Ali’s throat. She felt dizzy, overcome with guilt. “My God, look at what I’ve done. I can’t stay here any longer, Mrs. Mac. Please, you have to help me,” she pleaded.

The older woman patted her shoulder. “Hush now. You ken I canna’ do that, Lady Aileanna.”

“Lady!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “I’m no lady. You know who I am. I don’t belong here. I never know what to do, what to say, and now look—someone almost died because of it.” Mari. Sweet, innocent Mari had nearly died because of her.

The connecting door flew open and Rory stood framed within it, filling the entryway with his broad shoulders. “What the bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”

Mrs. Mac quickly placed herself between the two of them. “There’s nothin’ goin’ on, my laird. Lady Aileanna is a mite overwrought is all.” She waved him off. “No need to trouble yerself. I’ll see to her.” Mrs. Mac sent a pleading look over her shoulder to Ali when Rory strode toward them like a panther stalking his prey.

Ali could barely raise the effort to care. All she wanted to do was crawl in the bed, bury her head, and pray the nightmare would end. She’d wake up in New York and everything would be okay.
Other than the malpractice suit and the fact you could lose your job, you’re right—everything will be just peachy,
the voice in her head jeered.

Ali didn’t think she could take much more. What had she done to deserve this? Waves of despair threatened to drown her and her anguish broke free. Body-quaking sobs racked through her body.

Rory tried to step around Mrs. Mac to reach Aileanna, but the woman placed herself in front of him, putting her hands up. “Nay, ’tis no’ proper. I’ll see to her.” Determination marked her stance.

He moved to the left and once more Mrs. Mac blocked his advance. Rory growled in frustration, lifting her bodily out of his way. “I doona’ give a damn if ’tis proper or no’.”

Before he could take the crying woman into his arms, Mrs. Mac whispered urgently in her ear. Whatever she said caused Aileanna’s sobs to intensify. Rory drew her toward him. He was at a loss as to what had broken the woman he cradled in his arms. She hadn’t shed a tear during her ordeal with the priest. Yet now, she soaked his tunic with her tears.

“Leave us be,” he ordered Mrs. Mac, ignoring her dire warnings as she closed the door behind her with a resounding click.

“Shh.” Rory stroked hair the color of moonbeams from her bonny face. His fingers combed through the silken tresses he’d denied himself the pleasure of touching earlier, for fear he’d be unable to stop himself from going further. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. Unwilling to release her, he sat with her on his lap, all the while trying to quiet her with words of comfort.

Her gown had worked its way over her thigh, revealing long, shapely, bare legs. She was pure temptation; the reason he’d left her to Mrs. Mac’s care. The memory of her heavy-lidded, passion-filled eyes sent a bolt of heat to his shaft, and it jerked against the soft curve of her behind. She shifted, and the friction made him throb.

“All right now. You will tell me what has upset you, Aileanna,” he said, his voice gruff with pent-up frustration.

“I wan…I want to go home,” she sobbed.

Rory buried his face in her honeysuckle-scented hair. “Aye, Aileanna, we’ll find a way to get you home.” It was a decision he’d come to only moments before he’d walked from her room. So why now did he feel a hollow, empty ache at the thought of her leaving Dunvegan? She sniffed and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. Rory patted the far end of the bed and found the linens he saw there earlier. He handed the cloth to her.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Is that why yer cryin’, Aileanna? You miss yer home?”

“No…yes.” She hiccupped.

Rory held her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. Eyes the color of the loch after a storm met his. “Which is it, lass?” With tenderness, he stroked his knuckles over her tearstained cheek.

“It was my fault, Rory. Oh, God, I didn’t know.”

“Aileanna, I doona’ ken what yer talkin’ aboot.”

“Mari.” She clutched at his shirt. “Don’t you see? It was my fault the girls gave her to the priest.” She burrowed her face into his neck, sniffing back fresh tears.

“No, I doona’ understand, Aileanna. Tell me.”

She murmured her answer into his neck. The feel of her soft lips moving against his skin and the warmth of her breath fanned the flame of his desire. He bit back a groan.

“Aileanna, sit up, lass. I canna’ make out what yer tryin’ to tell me.” He held her upright with a firm grip on her forearms.

“I…I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just thought it would be nice if Mari had something pretty to wear.” She looked at him from beneath long lashes spiked together with tears. “Mrs. Mac said it was all right, but that was why…that was why the girls gave her to that madman. They were jealous, and it was all my fault. Oh, my God, I can’t believe what I’ve done.”

He framed her face with his hands and brushed away the moisture with his thumbs. “You were bein’ kind, Aileanna, that’s all. And when Mari needed you most you were there fer her. Yer braver than any woman I’ve ever known, and Mari is lucky to have yer friendship.”

The vulnerability he saw in her eyes was his undoing, and when she appeared ready to argue the point, he lowered her onto the bed and covered her mouth with his. He swallowed her startled gasp. Taking advantage, he swept his tongue past her lowered defenses.

She whimpered, encircling his neck with her arms, her tongue matching his stroke for stroke. Rory groaned. Her passionate response was all he hoped for. He had thought he imagined it that first night with her in his bed, thought he’d been hallucinating with the pain, but feeling her now beneath him, he knew it wasn’t so. She was everything he remembered: giving, sensual, and responsive.

It was nothing like it had been with Brianna. Because his wife had been so delicate, so very fragile, the few times they’d made love Rory had been reluctant to unleash the full strength of his desire. With Aileanna there would be no need to hold back.

He deepened the kiss, making love to her with his mouth. She arched her back, her lush curves pressed full against him, and his fierce hunger for her drove the guilt from his mind. Lifting his mouth from hers, he pressed a kiss to her eyes, the curve of her cheek, and the corner of her lips; trailed kisses along the delicate line of her jaw while he worked at the buttons of her gown in an effort to get to the slender elegance of her neck.

He kissed every inch of pearly white flesh exposed with each button he opened. She speared her fingers through his hair, drawing his mouth back to hers. Her kiss was hot and wet. He plundered her mouth, taking everything she offered and more—losing himself, forgetting everything but Aileanna and how he wanted her, needed her. The words echoed in his head, need her…need her. Like an icy bucket of water they cooled his desire. As though sensing his retreat, Aileanna stiffened beneath him.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked. Her concern was obvious, and she gently brushed her fingertips over the heated flesh near his wound.

Rory rolled onto his side and brought her hand to his lips, taking the excuse she offered him. “’Twill be fine.”

Her brow furrowed and she drew away from him, touching his forehead, his cheek, before she began to prod near his wound. “No, it won’t, not if you don’t take better care of yourself.”

He took a firm hold of her wrist to stop those insistent fingers of hers from traveling lower. Without interference from his head, his body readily responded to her. “Speakin’ of wounds, I take it Mrs. Mac didna’ have a chance to see to yers.”