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“Talk?” She raised a perfectly arched brow. “I’m sure we wil .”

“Aye, for a wee while we wil .” He nuzzled her neck.

“Ouch.” She grimaced, running a finger along the stub

ble on his jaw. “You’re rough.”

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“I’l see to it before I come to you.” Their wee chat was putting Rory in the mood for more than talking, and he drew her in front of him to conceal the evidence as his brother came toward them.

“Yer al right, Ali?” Iain asked, grinning at them both.

“My brother hasna’ been browbeatin’ you into givin’ him an answer?”

“An answer?” She frowned.

Iain looked from Aileanna to him. “He asked you to marry him didna’ he?”

With an unladylike snort, she said, “No. He told me I was marrying him.”

Iain gave a shout of laughter. “Wait until I tel Aidan this one—but I’m certain he’l no’ be surprised. Mayhap we should have a wee chat after the evenin’ meal, and we’l explain to you how it’s done, Rory.”

“I think I ken how it’s done, little brother.”

Aileanna leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. “I don’t know, Rory. I think it might be a good idea.” She patted his thigh, and from the look in her eyes he could tel she knew why she stood in front of him.

“Thanks fer the offer, but I have plans fer this evenin’.”

He tightened his hold on her. “Is there a reason you’ve come lookin’ for me, Iain?”

“Aye, and you’l no’ be pleased. Cyril’s back. Says he must speak to you. He’s no’ lookin’ too wel .”

Rory cursed under his breath. “Iain, help Aileanna get back to the keep fer me and I’l see to the mon.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I’l see to you, later.”

“ Promises, promises.” She grinned at him as he walked away.

“Aye, ’tis,” he said over his shoulder. Anxious to be rid of MacLean so he could return to Aileanna, he sprinted along the path. As Rory neared the courtyard, he noted several of his men gathered at the doors to the keep. LORD OF THE ISLES

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Cyril, in the middle of the crowd holding court, looked up at his approach. “Ah, here he is now. I’m certain ’tis a misunderstandin’ that can be quickly put to rights.”

“Cyril, I doona’ recal sendin’ fer you,” Rory said as his men parted to let him through, most unwil ing to look him in the eye.

“I had word the MacDonald is on the move and kent you’d be anxious to sign the papers, so I—”

“Bloody hel , what happened to you, mon?” Rory asked upon getting a closer look at Cyril. Three deep gouges slashed open the left side of his face.

Cyril raised a hand to his cheek, his face flushed. “I . . . ah . . . a branch. I was ridin’ and no’ payin’ attention to where I was goin’. Now enough aboot me—we must see to the contract.”

“Mayhap we should continue this in my study,” Rory suggested, nudging the man forward, ignoring the grum bling at his back.

“Ye may wish to set the men at ease first, Rory. They have taken a strange notion into their heads that yer plan nin’ on marryin’ that . . . that woman.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “Where on earth they got such an idea, I canna’

imagine. You, marryin’ an accused thief.” He gave a deli

cate snort and brought his handkerchief to his lips.

“She’s no thief, Cyril, and Lady Aileanna wil be my wife.”

“Ye canna’ be serious. She stole from ye, and I’ve heard whispers she’d be a witch.”

He narrowed his gaze on the man. “Tread careful y, Cyril. The woman you slander is the future Lady of Dunvegan. Al charges against her have been proven false, to my satisfaction.”

“But what of my sister? What am I to tel her?” The man had a panicked look on his face and a death grip on Rory’s arm.

“’Twas no’ a good match fer either of us.”

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“No’ a good match! Ye need us, mon, ye need us,” the man shouted, looking wild-eyed. He pointed across the courtyard to where Iain assisted Aileanna across the cob

blestones, screaming, “’Tis her! She has ye bewitched.

’Twas the MacDonald’s plan al along. She’l be the death of the MacLeods, mark my words. She’l be the death of al of ye.”

Chapter 19

Gripped by an urge to choke the raving lunatic in the center of an ever-growing circle of onlookers, Rory clenched and unclenched his fists. He shoved open the doors of the keep and bel owed, “Aidan!”

Grabbing Cyril by the col ar, Rory hauled him up the steps. “You’l shut yer mouth or I’l shut it fer you,” he growled. Cyril struggled, his mouth opening and closing like an overgrown mackerel. Rory pushed him toward Aidan, who stood in the entranceway, brow quirked. “What’s he doin’ here?”

Rory didn’t answer. He sought out Aileanna over the heads of his men. She listened to something his brother was tel ing her, but it was obvious she took no reassurance from his words. “Give him some ale, then see him on his way.”

“I think I can manage that. Looks like he lit a fire under that lot,” Aidan said before he led a sniveling Cyril away. Rory released a weary sigh and turned to face his men.

“You listen to that mon, but mayhap you should consider why he’s so anxious fer this match. And doona’ think fer one moment he’s concerned fer the clan’s wel -being. He needs my coin is al , and if any of you question me on this 228

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matter I’l no’ have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin’ under that mon. Now see matter I’l no’ have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin’ under that mon. Now see to yer families. We leave four days hence.”

None too happy, the men dispersed. Rory knew some of what he said would eventual y sink in, at least with some of them. It was not his way to denigrate another, but Cyril left him no choice, and Rory spoke the truth. The MacLeans were in desperate need of his coin, thanks to Cyril’s penchant for gambling. He strode across the courtyard to Aileanna’s side. His bel y clenched at the look in her eyes. Unconcerned his affection for her would be witnessed, he wrapped her in his arms. “You wil na’ listen to him, mo chridhe. The mon’s mad.”

He met his brother’s concerned gaze above her head.

“Mayhap you can make her understand ’tis no’ her fault,”

Iain said.

She leaned back to look Rory in the eye. “The man is as crazy as his sister, and I’m glad you won’t be married to her, Rory. But you have to see, the clan wil hold me to blame if you lose this battle.” She loosened his hold on her and attempted to walk away, cursing when inadvertently she put weight on her injured foot. Rory swung her up and into his arms. “Yer a stubborn wench, Aileanna Graham, and you have a mouth as wicked as a mon.”

Her slight smile turned into a frown when she looked toward Dunvegan. “I don’t want to go inside, not if he’s there.”

“I’l no’ let him bother you, and he’l no’ be here fer long.”

Iain squeezed her arm. “Doona’ fret. I’l go in and dis

tract him.”

“Iain,” Rory cal ed after his brother, “I’l see Aileanna settled and then meet with you, Aidan, Cal um, and Fergus. We have much to discuss.”

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“When do you leave?” she asked, plucking at the laces of his shirt.

“In four days. We’l make our stand at Skeabost.”

“How long wil you be gone?”

Rory entered the keep with an eye out for Cyril. He tightened his hold on Aileanna when he heard the man ranting in the hal . “I canna’ say,” he said, looking into her troubled eyes as he made his way up the stairs.

“Could you not at least try to speak to the MacDonald?”

“Aileanna, there’s no talkin’ to the mon. He’s a stubborn old fool who wil na’ listen to reason. He disputes our claim to Trotternish. ’Tis a long-standing feud that only ended when Brianna and I married and he used it as part of her dowry, but it was no’ his to begin with. Now he means to have it back.” He shook his head—the man was as mad as the one seated in his hal .

“How much property do you need? Aren’t the lives of your men more important than a useless stretch of land?”

she muttered as he opened the door to her chambers. Laying her on the bed, he set a hand on either side of her head and lowered his face to hers. “Do you no’ think if there was a way out of this I wouldna’ have found it? You doona’ ken me if you believe I’d put anythin’ above the lives of my clan.”

“I know you don’t,” she whispered. “Not even me.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Aileanna . . . What? ” he bel owed at whoever was rapping on the chamber door. Aidan entered the room with a surreptitious glance at Aileanna. “Sorry to disturb ye, cousin, but I think ye should come to the hal .”

Rory rubbed his hand along his jaw. “Aye, I’l come.”

He hesitated before leaving Aileanna, troubled by her words. He wanted to make her understand why he did what he did, but he was needed elsewhere. Touching her cheek, he said, “Rest.”

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“How’s yer lady?” Aidan asked when Rory joined him in the corridor outside her room.

“No’ verra happy with me. She thinks I should find a way to make peace with the MacDonald.”

Aidan shook his head. “Women, they doona’ ken the way of it.”

“Aye.” And Aileanna less than most. But how could she understand when she was not from their time? Rory feared she never would. “What’s goin’ on in the hal ?”

“I doona’ think we’re goin’ to get rid of MacLean so easily. The mon’s terrified to face his sister, and I wouldna’

be surprised to learn ’twas her who marked him.”

Rory frowned. “I didna’ consider that.”

“I ken the mark a woman leaves, and it has the look of it.”

“Familiar with it, are you?” He grinned. His cousin’s ex

ploits with the ladies were legendary.

Aidan’s gray eyes glinted with humor. “Aye, but of a dif

ferent kind—on the back, ye ken.”

Rory ignored his cousin’s quip, wondering how he’d been blind to what Moira MacLean had become. He shud dered to think he’d almost married her. But then again, she’d been a means to an end, a way for him to protect his clan. Now with the match out of the question, it was up to him to find a way to win the battle with the least amount of lives lost. “I’m thinkin’ I’m wel rid of that one.”

“Aye, I ken ye are, especial y considerin’ the woman yer replacin’ her with.”

Ali sat on her bed and wrapped the strips of linen around her foot, wincing when she pul ed too tight. She was deter mined to get to know the people of Dunvegan, and it wasn’t going to happen if she stayed shut up in her room. She had to go out amongst the people and somehow gain their trust. Ignoring the age-old fear of rejection that knotted her

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stomach, she prepared for a visit with Maureen Chisholm and anyone else who would let her see to them. Consider ing Cyril MacLean’s ranting on the front step of the keep yesterday, she doubted there would be many. She brushed the thought aside, wishing she’d asked Mari when she’d brought her breakfast if Cyril remained at Dunvegan. Ali looked up when the door to her chambers creaked open to see Rory standing there. He looked tired, and the dark shadow on his jaw heightened his dangerous good looks. She shivered. He was dangerous—not someone you’d want to cross—but she didn’t fear him. He wouldn’t hurt her physical y, at least not intentional y, but he could break her heart.

“You’re tired,” she said, watching as he prowled toward her. The white shirt he wore contrasted with his deeply tanned skin, accentuating his powerful broad shoulders and the corded muscles beneath. He sat beside her. “Aye, ’twas a long night and promises to be a longer day. I’m sorry I wasna’ able to come to you last eve. ’Twas late, and I didna’ wish to disturb yer sleep.”

His heavy hand came to rest on her thigh. She’d missed him, and tried not to resent the time he spent away from her.

“That’s al right. I don’t expect you to spend al of your time with me. I know you’re busy.”

Her voice sounded petulant, even though she hadn’t meant it to. Ali didn’t add playing at your war games, however tempted she was. It wasn’t the time. This was no game, and she couldn’t make light of it. His reaction was fierce and swift. He had her backed against her pil ows before she had time to blink. “Do you no’

think I’d rather be with you?” He speared his long fin

gers through her hair, trapping her with his body. His mus

cles rippled beneath the fine fabric of his shirt.

“Rory, I—” He crushed her protest with a demanding kiss. Heat spiraled through her, pooling between her thighs. 232

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His tongue probed between her lips, dueling with hers for supremacy. Her breathing quickened, and she clutched at his shoulders.

Rory lifted his mouth from hers. “I want you now, mo chridhe, but this time I wil na’ be rushed.” He chuckled when she moaned in frustration, giving her a hard, fast kiss. “This night I’l love you long and wel .”

She brought her palm to his roughened jaw. “I’l hold you to that.”

He gave her a lecherous grin before his gaze went to her wrapped foot. “Mayhap ’twould be best if you stayed abed, Aileanna.”

“Why, is Cyril stil here?”

“Aye. The mon is no’ in a hurry to take his leave.”

“I can’t say I blame him. But I don’t want him here, Rory. There’s enough bad feelings over me without him adding to it.”

He sighed. “You doona’ understand, lass. I canna’ just toss him out. ’Tis no’ a highlander’s way. I’l keep an eye on him and you’l take Cal um and Connor with you if you’l no’ stay in yer room.”

“Is it so bad I have to take both of them?”

“Fer now, but ’twil pass.” His gaze softened as though he sensed how difficult it was for her to have so many of his people despise her.

“No, it won’t, Rory, not if you lose men in the battle. It’l just get worse, and I don’t think I’l be able to . . .” He didn’t understand how hard it was for her to know she would be held to blame, distrusted and disliked. He couldn’t know the painful memories it resurrected.

“Aileanna, we go nowhere with this, and I wil na’ dis

cuss the battle with you.”

“Because you won’t listen, you—” Once more he si

lenced her with a hard kiss.

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“Nay, I won’t, so save yer breath. I have much to do and wil na’ see you until later this eve.”

“Busy planning your war strategies, are you?” As soon as Ali said it she knew she shouldn’t have, but his easy dis missal of her made her angry.

“Aileanna.” His voice was rough, tempered steel.

“Wel , maybe I’l be busy, too. If I’m not in my room . . .”

Her tone was flippant, and she raised a shoulder to make her point. “I’l see you tomorrow.”

Before she could stop him, he had his hand beneath her gown. She gasped when he shoved aside the heavy layers of fabric. “What do you think you’re doing?” she sput

tered, but it didn’t take the heated look in his eyes to tel her what he meant to do, and stil , her struggles were half hearted. Her anger melted along with the rest of her as his fingers caressed the inside of her thigh, grazing her where she was swol en and throbbing for his touch. He teased her. Over and over again, he stroked her slick folds only to trail his fingers back down her thighs. Groan

ing in frustration, she fisted her hands in the sheets, tilting her hips toward him, her body begging for more. He watched her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Nay, mo chridhe, you’l be here waitin’ fer me, of that I’m certain.”

His deep voice caressed her ear, and he twirled his tongue in the delicate whorls. When he plunged his strong fingers deep inside, her hips rose from the bed. “Yer so hot, and wet.” His words brought her to the brink as much as his touch. She bucked against his hand as he increased the tempo of his stroke. “Come fer me, mo chridhe,” he rasped against her ear, putting pressure on her swol en nub. Under his passion-fil ed gaze she shattered, and he swal owed her moans of pleasure.

“Aye, I think you’l be here, doona’ you?” he murmured against her lips before he rose from the bed. 234

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Ali’s face heated. “You’re such a conceited ass, do you know that?”

Rory grinned as he headed for the door. “I doona’ think you’ve cal ed me that one before.” He ducked when she flung a pil ow at him.

Cal um and Connor trailed behind Ali while she hob

bled along the narrow path, leaning on the stick they had provided for her when she insisted on walking instead of riding Bessie. Even with a sprained ankle she was faster than the horse; not that it mattered. It wasn’t like she had any pressing engagements, unless she counted Rory and his promise to love her long and hard tonight. Muscles low in her stomach tightened at the thought, and no matter how much she denied it, she knew she wouldn’t make him wait. It wouldn’t be fair—to her.

Connor took the lead and Cal um brought up the rear. Lost in thoughts of Rory, Ali hadn’t noticed the three men blocking the path until Connor stopped short and she slammed into him. She fought back the urge to run. She wouldn’t get very far, and she’d be damned if she’d let Cyril MacLean think he frightened her. Cal um and Connor wouldn’t let him near her, but the man didn’t need to physi

cal y touch her to hurt her. His words did enough damage on their own.

“Stand aside and let us pass,” Cal um growled. Cyril rol ed his eyes and flicked a handkerchief at his two men. They moved off the path. The cold, condescend

ing look he gave Ali was ful of malice, his upper lip curled in a sneer. His companions leered at her, and she quickly averted her gaze. One was almost as tal as Cal um, but without the muscles. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks; his shaggy, light brown hair fel wel past his shoul

ders, and his teeth when he smiled at her were rotten. His

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sidekick’s head was misshapen, and he barely met his friend’s shoulder. The man licked his lips and palmed his crotch when Ali walked by. She held her breath, afraid their rancid smel would cause her to lose her breakfast.

“Lady Aileanna,” Cyril MacLean’s high-pitched voice cal ed after them. “Are ye off fer a wee walk?”

Ali gave a curt nod without looking at him.

“Best have a care then. The woods can be a verra dan

gerous place and I’m certain Laird MacLeod wouldna’

want anythin’ to happen to ye.”

Her attention diverted, she tripped on a raised tree root and one of his men snickered. She heard Cal um’s heavy footfal s and turned to see him step in front of them. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Cyril raised his hands defensively. “’Twas a friendly warnin’ is al .”

“Take yerself back to the keep and bring yer compan

ions with ye.”

“Now, see here.” Cyril puffed out his chest.

“Laird MacLeod’s hospitality to ye extends only so far, and if ye doona’ want him to send ye packin’, then I’d sug gest ye do as I say.”

Cyril blanched. Motioning for the two men to fol ow him, he headed in the direction of Dunvegan with a minc ing step.

Cal um snorted. “The mon is a bloody peacock.”

“Who were the other two men with him, Cal um?” Ali asked, uncomfortable with how they made her feel. Cal um frowned. “I doona’ ken, but I mean to find out once we get back to the keep. I didna’ like the looks of them.”

Ali shuddered. “Me neither.”

“And I didna’ like the smel of them,” Connor quipped. They walked on in companionable silence. Weak sunlight filtered through the heavy shadows of the pines and the birds flitted happily overhead. Not far from the Chisholms’, 236

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Cal um laid a heavy hand on Ali’s shoulder. When she looked back at him, he put a finger to his lips and jerked his chin toward Connor. Ali tapped Connor on the shoulder and nodded to Cal um. A loud crack rent the air and Connor dove for Ali, pul ing her to the ground. She held up her injured foot, her bottom taking the brunt of her fal .

“Halt,” Cal um cal ed out, placing himself in front of her and Connor. She heard him curse before he said,

“Jamie Cameron, ye get yerself out here now.”

Dragging his feet, the little boy emerged from behind a tree.

Ali released a relieved sigh, al owing Connor to help her to her feet.

“Sorry, my lady. I didna’ hurt ye, did I?” Connor asked, his ears pink.

“No, not at al .” She didn’t want him to feel worse than he obviously did and refrained from rubbing her bruised behind.

“Get yerself over here, lad. Ye’l remain with us until I can take ye to yer mam,” Cal um bel owed at Jamie. The boy kicked a stone. “But I doona’ want to.”

“And I doona’ care. I’m thinkin’ ’tis time yer mother tanned yer wee arse, and mayhap I’l be offerin’ to do it fer her.”

Jamie’s eyes widened.

“Cal um, I’l be awhile. Why don’t you take him to Janet?” she suggested quietly, feeling sorry for the little boy.

“Connor and I wil be fine. You sent Cyril back to Dunvegan, and I think he’s too afraid Rory wil send him home to Moira to be much of a threat.”

The big man looked unconvinced. Ali lowered her voice. “It might help if you spent some time with Jamie, Cal um. I’m sure Janet would appreciate it.”

“I doona’ ken, my lady. The laird wil be none too happy if I leave ye on yer own.”

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“I’m not on my own. I have Connor. Don’t worry, I’l deal with Lord MacLeod.”

When Cal um hesitated, she said, “The biggest threat to my safety is Cyril, and since you sent him back to Dunve gan it might be best if that’s where you were so you can keep an eye on him.”

Cal um looked at Connor, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Go,” Ali said, giving him a light push in Jamie’s direc

tion.

“Aye, I’l go, but have a care.”

Ali smiled. “Don’t worry about us. We’l be fine.”

“Thank ye, my lady,” Jamie cal ed out to her, waving happily as he hurried after Cal um. Upon their approach to the Chisholms’ thatched cottage, Ali pointed out a tree standing off from the stand of firs to Connor. “I won’t be too long. Why don’t you have a rest, and I’l ask Maureen for a tankard of ale for you.”

“Thank ye, my lady.” Connor grinned.

Ali spent an enjoyable hour with Maureen Chisholm and the baby. In their short time together she came to the conclusion women were no different in the sixteenth cen

tury than they were in the twenty-first. The important things remained the same: love, family, and friendship. And Ali felt as though she and Maureen were going to be good friends. It left her hopeful that other members of the clan would soon warm to her.

When Maureen tried to stifle a yawn, Ali decided it was time to leave. With a promise to visit again soon, she headed out the door. She expected to find Connor napping under the tree, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Connor,” she cal ed out, scanning the area. Leaning on the stick, she limped to where she’d last seen him.

“Connor, where—” A big hand clamped over her mouth.

“Doona’ make a sound or the lad dies.”

Chapter 20

Gasping for air, Ali struggled to pul the dirt-encrusted hand from her mouth.

“Did ye no’ hear me?” He jerked her head back. “The lad gets it if ye doona’ do as I say.” Her captor ripped the walk ing stick from her hand and flung it against a tree. One half of it rol ed on the pine-needled forest floor to where Connor lay bound and gagged.

The man with the misshapen head stood above him, dagger in hand. “Let’s stick him, Gordie. He’s of no use to us.”

Ali struggled, whimpering beneath her captor’s hand. Her stomach roiled at his stench and her fear for Connor. “No .

. . no.” Her cries were muffled beneath his sweaty palm.

“Nay, I’m thinkin’ he’l make this wee piece behave.”

The man guarding Connor licked his thick lips. “Give ’er to me. I’l make ’er behave.”

“Nay, Mungo. Himself says the MacDonald wil pay fer her return, and I’l no’ risk his anger by returnin’ her to him sul ied by the likes of ye.”

Ali swal owed the bile that rose in her throat. The man that held her pushed her forward and she stumbled. A sharp pain arched up her leg. Her knees buckled, and 240

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Gordie sent her sprawling to the ground. She crawled to Connor, touching his pale face. He was unconscious and the hair at the back of his head was matted with blood.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded, anger over

coming her fear.

“Ah, Gordie, just a wee taste is al I want.” Mungo groped at his crotch, leering at her.

“Shut yer mouth, Mungo, and ye, too.” He jerked Ali’s hands behind her. The rope he bound her with cut into her wrists. He planted his foot on the smal of her back and shoved her, face first, into the ground, tying her ankles to gether. He stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth and hauled her to her feet. “Put him on yer horse and I’l take her.”

“Nay, I’l take her.” Mungo lurched toward Ali. His tongue flicked out and he licked her cheek. Ali shuddered, turning her face. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed, but Gordie slapped his hands away.

“Cut it out, Mungo. Yer wastin’ time. Himself said to make fer Portree. ’Tis the direction the MacDonald was last seen headed fer. If we ride hard we can get us our coin before morn.” Gordie shoved him back.

“I doona’ ken why ye won’t let me have a bit of fun with

’er,” the man muttered, glaring at his friend.

“I’m savin’ yer neck, ye fool. Both the MacLeod and the MacDonald wil have yer head if ye touch her.”

A sense of hopelessness smothered Ali. She couldn’t do anything to put Connor in danger. They’d kil him if she didn’t do as they said. Her only chance was to cooperate, and to stay as far away from Mungo as she could.

“Help me,” Mungo groaned as he tried to lift Connor.

“Doona’ move,” Gordie ordered as he strode toward his companion. Together they tossed Connor over the back of the shaggy brown horse.

Ali’s gaze darted through the shadows of the forest, but there was no one in sight. They wouldn’t be looking for her, LORD OF THE ISLES

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not for a long time yet. Rory, Fergus, and Iain were too busy preparing for battle—battle with a man who would in al likelihood hold her as his prisoner. A pawn to be used against the MacLeods. What would Rory do if the MacDonald of

fered her in exchange for the rights to the land? Ali blinked back tears, certain she knew the answer. Gordie dragged her along behind him. Her foot throbbed as she tried unsuccessful y to keep her weight off it. She bounced when he threw her onto the horse. The saddle dug into her stomach, and the breath she sucked in pul ed the cloth deeper into her mouth. Panicked, Ali worked on it with her tongue, determined not to die. If she did, Connor didn’t stand a chance, and she couldn’t let that happen. It was because of her he’d gotten caught up in this mess. With each jarring movement, her stomach was pum

meled by the stiff saddle. Rory, she cried inwardly. She needed him and his powerful arms wrapped around her to give her strength. How could she live without him?

Keep sucking that cloth into your throat and you won’t have to worry about it. That thought alone was enough to make her try again. She pushed, prodded, and then breathed out as hard as she could until a smal edge of the cloth dan

gled from her mouth. Ali turned her head into the saddle and caught the rag on a jagged piece of leather. She wrenched her head in one direction and then the other. The cloth fel to the ground and she sucked in deep gulps of air. Tilting her head back, she fil ed her lungs, ready to let loose a cry for help, until she remembered Connor. The scream died in her throat. She couldn’t risk his life in the hopes someone would hear her pitiful cries. The towers of Dunvegan had already faded in the distance. Blood pooled in her head, and she felt like she faded in and out of consciousness. She was unaware of where they were, or the landscape that sped by. Al she saw were the horse’s hooves as they pounded on, the ground blurring 242

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beneath them. Gravel and dust kicked up behind them. For the most part she kept her eyes closed, overwhelmed with dizziness when she didn’t.

“Mungo,” Gordie cal ed to the man who fol owed behind them. “The horses need to be watered and rested. We’l stop at that copse of trees over yonder. I ken there’s a loch nearby and we’l be wel hidden.”

Ali almost groaned with relief, but her relief was quickly replaced by dread when she realized her captors would see she was no longer gagged.

They reined in the horses and Gordie dragged her from the saddle. He tried to stand her upright, but she sank to her knees. Her muscles cramped. She had never felt such pain in so many places. Her ankles and wrists were chafed by the ropes. “Untie me. I won’t run away. I wouldn’t leave Connor,” she croaked. Gordie swept his unkempt hair from his face and glared down at her. “When did ye get rid of the gag?”

“What does it matter? I didn’t scream, did I?”

“Nay, ye didna’.” He narrowed his gaze on her. With what little strength she had, she jerked her head to her hands. “If you want coin from the MacDonald, I’d sug

gest you don’t bring me to him like this.” There was no way they could escape, not with Connor wounded. She’d come to realize her only hope lay with Rory’s enemy. Gordie drew a wicked-looking blade from his boot and laughed at what must have been the look of terror on her face. “If I was goin’ to stick ye, I would’ve done it back there.” He sawed through the rope that bound her ankles and wrists. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The fibers burned, cutting into her already abraded skin.

“Why have ye let her go?” Mungo slid from his horse, pul ing Connor down after him, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

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Final y free, Ali rose unsteadily to her feet. Gordie grabbed her arm. “I didna’ say ye could go anywheres.”

“I have to check on Connor. He works for the MacDon

ald, too. He’s . . . he’s his nephew.”

Gordie dropped her arm, staring at Connor. “MacLean didna’ say anythin’ aboot that.”

Ali snorted. “Why would he? Al he cared about was getting rid of me.” The knowledge Cyril was behind her abduction didn’t surprise her. She only wished she’d sus

pected just how far he would go to get rid of her. Had she known, she would’ve stayed in her room like Rory had wanted her to. Waited for him to come to her, to hold her, to make love to her. Fresh tears clouded her vision as she stumbled toward Connor. “Untie him,” she demanded.

“His uncle wil have your head if he’s harmed.”

“Why did ye no’ say somethin’ before?” Gordie asked, taking the knife to Connor’s ropes.

“It’s a little hard to speak when you have a rag stuffed down your throat.”

He didn’t say another word. Ali knelt at Connor’s side, checking for a pulse. She felt Mungo watching her and suppressed a shudder.

“She lies,” Mungo said. Coming up behind her, he tan

gled his fingers in her hair and jerked her head back. Her pained cry choked off when he pressed the tip of his dagger to her throat. “Why did she fight us afore?”

Ali swal owed careful y. “I . . . I thought you were going to kil us. I didn’t know where you were taking us.” Her heart hammered in her chest, the beat pounding in her head.

“Let her go. Do ye no’ want the coin?” Gordie yel ed at the man.

Ali cried out when the dagger pierced her skin. A drop of blood glistened on the steel point. Gordie grabbed his arm. “Ye crazy bastard, get away from her. Are ye mad? ’Twil al be for naught if ye kil her.”

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Mungo turned on Gordie, pointing the blade at her. “Fer now she lives, but ye’l no’ tel me what I should or should na’ do. If I want ’er. I’l take ’er. She’s a spy. What could the old mon say if I did?”

“Think of the coin, mon.”

Mungo lowered the dagger. “Aye,” he grunted, but he didn’t take his eyes off Ali.

“Water the horses. ’Twil no’ be long before night fal s.”

The big man watched his friend reluctantly fol ow his orders, grumbling under his breath as he did. “See to the lad,”

Gordie told her. Without a backward glance, he fol

lowed Mungo.

“Connor . . . Connor, please wake up,” she cried, patting his colorless cheek. He moaned weakly, but at least he’d made a sound. She gently turned his head to examine him. A knot the size of an egg formed at the site of the wound. Although he’d bled quite a bit, it didn’t look as bad as she first thought. She expel ed a shaky breath. Connor would be okay. If they could survive Mungo and his threats, they would be al right. At least until they had to face the MacDonald. Ali heard a horse whinny and looked up to see Gordie approach. He led both horses back with him. He stopped and withdrew a piece of linen from the pack attached to his saddle. Wiping his hands, his gaze met Ali’s. “He’l no’

threaten ye again.”

Her eyes widened. Streaks of crimson stained the cloth. Staggering to her feet, she limped through the low brush and emptied her stomach.

“’Tis time to be on our way,” Gordie said from behind her. She nodded, and brought the hem of her gown to her mouth. A tremor rocked her body. Mungo was dead. Mur

dered. She reminded herself it could’ve just as easily been her or Connor. Gathering what little strength she had left, she fol owed Gordie.

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“The lad wil be riding with me. Doona’ get any ideas.”

Ali gave a nervous nod, clutching the reins when he helped her onto the saddle. He careful y placed Connor on the front of his mount, then swung up behind him. They rode in silence over hil s covered in heather, past meander ing streams. Her mind a whirlpool of emotions, Ali didn’t see the beauty that surrounded them. She jerked her attention to Gordie when he cal ed out to her, “The lad’s awake.” Ali tapped her heels against the horse’s flanks, urging her mount forward. She had to get to Connor before he gave them away. Coming alongside of them, she took Connor’s hand in hers. He turned to her, a dazed look in his eyes. “Lady Aileanna, what happened?”

She held his gaze, trying to convey everything she couldn’t say out loud. “It’s al right, Connor. Gordie’s taking us to your uncle, Lord MacDonald. It wil be al right.” She squeezed his hand, her nails biting into his palm. His eyes widened. “Aye . . . aye,” he mumbled. She looked up at Gordie. “Is it much farther?”

“Nay, but we’l no’ have much light left. We should set up camp fer the night.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, let’s keep going.” If they stopped, Ali didn’t think she’d be able to get back on the horse. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t ache. And her fear of facing Lord MacDonald would only intensify, the more time she had to dwel on the meeting. Hours later, Ali questioned her decision. They could barely see ten feet in front of them. But just as she was about to suggest they go no farther, she saw bal s of light glowing in the distance.

“Gordie, what’s that?” she cal ed out to him.

“’Tis the MacDonald’s camp.”

Dread tied her stomach in knots. As they drew closer the campfires were clearly visible. Men dotted the landscape 246

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like ants at a picnic. Dread unraveled into a ful -fledged panic attack, and she gulped in the damp night air.

“The MacLeods doona’ stand a chance,” Gordie mut

tered, shaking his head.

Ali squeezed her eyes shut as an image of Rory, wounded and bleeding, came to her, just like that first night. She wanted to find the MacDonald and get down on her hands and knees to beg him to end the battle before it began.

“Halt.” Two men strode through the shadows toward them, swords drawn. “State yer business.”

“I’m returnin’ the MacDonald’s nephew and his spy to him,” Gordie said in a tone that suggested he expected to be held in some esteem for what he’d done. Ali knew better.

The men looked at one another and appeared ready to send them on their way. It was then Ali brought her horse alongside Gordie. The older man’s jaw dropped, and his companion gasped, fal ing to one knee. “Lady MacDonald.”

Gordie looked at her, eyes popping out of his head.

“Wil you bring us to Lord MacDonald, please.” She added a soft lilt to her voice, surprised it came as natural y as it did. She couldn’t afford to be turned away. If she was, Gordie would probably kil them both for her lies. And Rory, Iain, and Fergus, men that she loved, didn’t stand a chance against an army this size. Both men reached up to help her from her mount. Gordie was quick to dismount and ease Connor to the ground. Ali thanked the men, coming around to Connor’s side. “Do ye ken what yer aboot, Lady Aileanna?” he whispered.

“Aye.” Her eyes met his, and he grinned. They passed smal clusters of men gathered around the campfires. Their conversations ended the moment they saw Ali. They looked at her as though they’d seen a ghost. She was, at least to them—the ghost of Brianna MacDonald. As they approached a large tent, one of the men rushed LORD OF THE ISLES

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forward. “My laird . . . Laird MacDonald.” He tapped on the canvas.

“What are ye disturbin’ me fer now?” The flap flipped open and a gray-haired man unfolded his large frame. Piercing blue eyes set in a handsome, aristocratic face stared back at her. The man let out an anguished cry and fel to his knees, clutching his chest. “Brianna.”

Chapter 21

Rory glanced up from the battle plans he, Aidan, Iain, and Fergus charted. “Mrs. Mac, sorry we’ve missed the evenin’

meal havena’—?” The anxious look in her eyes brought him up short. He laid his quil on the desk. “What is it?”

She twisted her apron in her hands. “’Tis Lady Aileanna. She’s no’ in her room. I havena’ seen her al day.”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he thought of Aileanna’s earlier threat. “She’l no’ stay away much longer. Daylight’s fadin’ fast. Doona’ fret, Mrs. Mac, Cal um and Connor are with her. Mayhap she spent the day with Mau reen.”

The older woman gave him an odd look, obviously won

dering at his lack of concern. “Nay, I asked Robert and he says she was with Maureen early this morn and has no’

been seen since. And she sent Cal um back with wee Jamie, told him to keep an eye on the MacLean, she did.”

Rory tried to ignore the knot of unease in his gut.

“We’ve been at this long enough.” He pushed back his chair. “The three of you get somethin’ to eat and I’l look fer Aileanna.” And when he found her, she’d learn he was none too happy with her wee game.

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concern in his eyes. “She shouldna’ be roamin’ around on that foot of hers.”

“Aye, I ken that, but she’d no’ listen. She’s a stubborn wench.” He sounded defensive, but his brother seemed to suggest Rory didn’t concern himself enough with Aileanna’s welfare.

Aidan clapped him on the shoulder. “I think I’l keep ye company. The lass is always good fer a laugh.”

Rory didn’t have to wait for Fergus to offer his assistance. The man was already out the door, muttering as how he’d warm her arse if she’d gotten herself in a fix. If Rory’s wor

ries weren’t getting the better of him, he’d have laughed. He combed the area around the loch while the others searched the keep and questioned anyone they came upon. When they met back in the courtyard the sun had set, dusk closing in on them. The three men shook their heads at the question in his eyes and he saw his own growing fear re

flected in his brother’s.

Mrs. Mac and Mari waited anxiously for them on the steps to the keep. “You didna’ find them?”

“Nay.” He turned to the men at his back. “Gather as many as you can and we’l search the woods around the Chisholms’. It was the last place anyone had seen them. We’l need the torches,” he said, scanning familiar shad ows that now seemed sinister. He struggled to slow the pounding in his chest and gather his control before the others realized the panic that al but consumed him. Where are you, Aileanna? he silently asked, as though their bond was strong enough no words needed to be spoken. She would hear him, and lead him to her side. He could sense her before she came into a room, aware of her presence from a distance. Why then did he not feel her now?

He would not let himself consider the reason.

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“’Tis Aileanna. She’s missin’,” Rory said tightly. His anger at the man for leaving her with only Connor was tempered by his knowledge of Aileanna and how difficult she could be when her mind was made up. Cal um bel owed a curse. “I shouldna’ have listened to her. I didna’ want to leave her, but she seemed more concerned I keep watch over the MacLean after we crossed paths.”

“Crossed paths? Did he do somethin’ to make her feel he was a danger to her?” He heard Fergus and Iain mutter ing at his back.

“Nay, a few words is al , but his companions were unsa

vory, to say the least.”

“Bring MacLean to me,” Rory yel ed over his shoulder.

“The man is in his cups. Best we look fer yer lady now and have someone see to him while we’re aboot it,” his cousin suggested.

Aileanna’s and Connor’s names echoed in the stil ness of the damp night air. As they approached the Chisholms’, there was stil no sign of them, no answering response. Cal um and Aidan accompanied Rory to question Mau reen and Robert.

“Doona’ tel me she’s yet to be found?” Maureen placed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with worry. Rory shook his head, watching as spheres of light danced in the smal copse of trees to the left of the cottage.

“Did she say where she was headed, Maureen?”

“Nay, I told her she’d be wastin’ her time seein’ to the others. A bunch of fools if ye ask me, and if one of them has done her harm . . . I’l . . .” Her soft brown eyes fil ed with tears.

Robert wrapped an arm around his wife and kissed the top of her head. “She’s verra fond of yer lady.”

“I ken she values yer friendship as wel , Maureen, and I 252

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thank you fer givin’ it to her.” He heard his brother cal out to him and cut his questioning short.

“Please tel us as soon as ye have word,” Maureen cal ed after him as he ran toward the woods.

“’Tis the wee stick we made fer her,” Cal um said as they approached Fergus and Iain, who held the piece of carved pine in his hand.

Rory’s heart pounded in a panicked rhythm at the grim expressions on the two men’s faces. “What is it?”

“Blood.” Fergus led them to the spot, shining his torch over the forest floor. Rory crouched by the patch of moss. He cut it away with his dagger and brought it to his nose to sniff, cursing when he smelt the al -too-familiar coppery scent.

“Anything else?” Dread crept into his soul and his voice.

Fergus lay a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Aye, lad, there’s signs of a struggle.” He waved his torch to a place deeper in the woods. “There were at least four of them. I’m thinkin’ Aileanna and Connor and two others. The ones who took them had horses.”

Terror for what might have happened to her nearly brought Rory to his knees until rage melted the icy tenta cles of fear and exploded inside of him. He would find Aileanna, and whoever had stolen her from him—was dead. Wound so tight he thought he would explode, Rory slammed his fist into a nearby tree.

“Ali’s strong, and verra canny. She’l get away from who

ever has her. She escaped the tower, didna’ she?” His brother tried to ease his worry, but beneath his encouraging words Rory sensed his fear as easily as he sensed his own.

“Fight, mo chridhe. Fight and I wil find you,” Rory murmured. He gave a curt nod to Iain, unable to say any thing. If he gave his rage free rein he would be no good to Aileanna.

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* * *

Cal um and Aidan brought Cyril to the hal as Rory re

quested. Sitting in a chair, the man’s head lol ed. Rory planted his foot on the edge of the seat and kicked it over.

“Sweet Jesu’, brother,” Iain gasped.

Rory ignored him and fisted a hand in the front of Cyril’s tunic. Lifting him from the floor, he dangled him in the air.

“Who has her?” he grated between clenched teeth. Cyril struggled to breathe, his face purple. “Please . . . doona’ kil me.” He gave a strangled cry. Rory shook him. “Tel me and mayhap you’l live.”

“The MacDonald. I sent her to the MacDonald. She . . . she’s his spy. ’Tis where she belongs.”

He released his grip on the sniveling bastard’s tunic, and Cyril dropped with a thud into a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Get him out of my sight.”

Aidan and Cal um grabbed Cyril none-too-gently by the arms. “’Tis yer own fault. Ye left me no choice, Rory MacLeod. Ye were to wed my sister. I wouldna’ had to go to such lengths if ye had stuck to the agreement,” Cyril cried as he was dragged unceremoniously from the hal .

“Get him out of here!” Rory bel owed.

Fergus eyed him. “I ken what yer thinkin’, but you’l do neither the lass nor the clan any good if yer dead, and that’s what you’l be if you go after her on yer own. You have to think this through, lad. The MacDonald wil no’ harm her and wel you ken it. She has the look of Brianna, remem

ber that. She’l have him eatin’ out of the palm of her hand in no time. Mayhap she’l harangue him to death with her opinions on the feud.”

Rory al owed himself a tight smile. The MacDonald wouldn’t give in to her pleas for a truce, of that he was cer tain, but Rory had no doubt she’d try. She was as stubborn as the old fool. Mayhap the MacDonald would get so tired 254

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of her harassing him he’d send her back to Rory without any demands. He gave a derisive snort. It wouldn’t take much for his enemy to recognize the leverage he now held. How he would use her was the question. Ali dropped to her knees beside Lord MacDonald and loosened the laces of his shirt. “Breathe, slow and easy now

—there you go, that’s it.” She rubbed his broad back, ashamed she’d knowingly caused him pain. He might be Rory’s enemy, but the man had lost his daughter, and it was obvious he grieved for her stil . “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. Given you some warning.”

“Who are ye, lass?” His bright blue eyes drank her in.

“I’m Ali Graham. Cyril MacLean had this man kidnap me and Connor from Dunvegan.” She pointed to Gordie, who stood shifting from one foot to the other behind her.

“Cyril thinks I’m your spy, but al he real y wanted to do was get rid of me so Rory wil marry his sister Moira,” she rambled.

Lord MacDonald touched her hair and a tear slid down his weathered face. Ali gently wiped away the moisture from his cheek, inexplicably drawn to the man. She felt guilty because of it, knowing he was the cause of Rory and his clan’s suffering, but Lord MacDonald suffered, too, and she’d made it worse. Gordie took a step closer. “I doona’ ken what she’s talkin’

aboot. Al I ken is Laird MacLean said ye’d give me coin fer bringin’ her to ye.”

Lord MacDonald slowly drew his gaze to Gordie. The tender look Ali had seen in his eyes turned deadly. If Ali thought Rory looked dangerous, he had nothing on this man, and she prayed he would not skewer her with the same look he now skewered Gordie with. Her captor was quaking in his boots.

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Drawing himself to his ful height, Lord MacDonald’s gaze raked over Ali. “Did he harm ye, lass?”

“Nay . . . no.” Ali shook her head. She wouldn’t have Gordie’s death on her conscience. And if she said yes, she was certain Lord MacDonald would not hesitate to cut him down where he stood.

“I’l see yer compensated on the morrow. Take him.” He jerked his chin at his waiting men. They led Gordie away with Connor staring after them. “Is the lad with ye?”

“Aye . . . yes, Connor was guarding me.”

The older man raised a silver brow as though to say he didn’t do a very good job of it, and Ali felt the need to come to Connor’s defense. “There were two of them. Gordie kil ed Mungo when he threatened me.” Without thinking, Ali’s hand went to the spot on her throat where he’d pierced her with his blade. Eyes wide, Connor’s jaw dropped.

“Good. No mon should harm a woman, no matter what the provocation. Come, yer shiverin’. We’l set ye by the fire. Are ye hungry, lass?” He guided her careful y to the open flame, handling her as though she were a fragile piece of glass. In a language Ali didn’t understand, but had heard often at Dunvegan, he ordered his men about. Within minutes she had a steaming bowl of stew in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other. A swath of plaid was draped over her shoulders. Ali was relieved to see that Connor, too, was being treated as a guest.

“So tel me—how did ye come to be at Dunvegan in the first place?”

Ali related the story Fergus had concocted, then went on to tel him about Moira and Cyril MacLean and their ac cusations she was a spy, embel ishing details as she went along. She left out the part about the fairy flag, but told him how Rory sided with the MacLeans and locked her in the tower. She peeked through her lashes at Connor as she 256

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told the story. He didn’t bat an eye, just kept on eating, but Ali thought she saw his mouth twitch. She didn’t know why she babbled on. For some reason Lord MacDonald made her feel she could confide al her worries and her fears to him. “He locked ye in the tower, of al the . . .” he roared, and Ali jumped.

“It’s al right,” she reassured him. “I escaped. It’s how I hurt my ankle.” She lifted the edge of her gown to show him her wrapped foot. The once white linens were now as filthy as the rest of her. The older man slapped his thigh and hooted with laugh

ter. Wiping his eyes, he said, “Ye escaped from the tower, did ye? Wel , yer as brave as ye are bonny, my pet.”

Ali smiled to see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, glad to take away at least some of the sadness she’d put there earlier.

“And what did the young fool do then?”

“He believed me and brought me back to Dunvegan.”

She flushed under his scrutiny as though he knew exactly what happened next. He stroked his mustache, his voice subdued. “Are ye in love with the mon?”

She hesitated. Rory had been his daughter’s husband and Ali didn’t know how he’d react, but she felt a need to be honest with him and figured she’d already given herself away. “Aye . . . yes, I am.”

He shook his head slowly. “’Twas the same with my Brianna. I didna’ want the match, ye ken, but she wanted no other. No matter how many lads I paraded before her, she always went back to him.”

Ali tried to ignore the pinch in her heart. It never got any easier to hear about the love Rory and Brianna had shared. Although she knew he loved her, too, no one wanted to be second best, and for her, Rory would always be her one true love.

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She cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you want her to marry him?”

“The MacLeods and the MacDonalds were always feudin’ over one thing or another. Ye must ken that, lass.”

“But the feud ended with their marriage. Surely you must have come to like Rory?”

The man looked beyond the fire and his answer came slowly. “Fer the most part. He wears the mantle of respon sibility wel fer al that it was forced upon him at a young age. Mayhap ’tis why he puts his clan above al else. Bri anna thought it was so. She never felt she truly came first in his heart. The day my daughter died the truce between our clans ended.”

Ali’s heart slammed into her throat. Brianna had suf

fered the same doubts she did. Her hope that one day Rory would be able to put her ahead of his clan diminished with each word the man at her side uttered. But she felt a need to defend Rory, and thought maybe she could ease some of Brianna’s father’s sorrow at the same time. “You mustn’t doubt he loved your daughter, Lord MacDonald. I know he did—very much.”

His jaw hardened. “If no’ fer him my daughter would be alive.”

“What are you saying? Rory would never have hurt his wife, not intentional y. He tried to do whatever he could to save her.” She touched his big hand. “Her death and the baby’s stil affect him. I saw it not long ago when I helped a woman with her delivery. He hasn’t gotten over it, Lord MacDonald. He stil feels guilty.”

“Aye, and so he should. My daughter was no’ strong from birth. ’Twas her sister who was the strong one.” A gentle smile curved his lips, fading when he continued.

“He shouldna’ have forced her to have a bairn. Him and his godforsaken clan wanted a babe to carry on the MacLeod name. He could’ve left it to his brother.”

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Heat rushed to Ali’s face. She didn’t want to have this conversation with Brianna’s father, but no matter how un comfortable it made her, she would. If there was even the slightest chance she could change the course of the feud, she’d take it. “Have you ever stopped to consider that your daughter knew her time was short and wanted to give Rory something to remember her by?”

He turned away from her, his voice gruff when he asked, “Why would ye think that?”

“I’m a healer, Lord MacDonald, and it’s been my expe

rience that sometimes people have a sense of their impend

ing death. I don’t know al there is to know about your daughter’s medical history, but if this was a condition she had since birth, then you were blessed to have her as long as you did. You must have taken wonderful care of her.”

He swiped at his eyes. “When I lost her mother and her wee sister she was al I had left.”

“She was very lucky to have you. I envy her that.” She gave him a watery smile.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” He squeezed her hand. “Ye bed down in my tent and we’l talk on the morrow.”

“Lord MacDonald, would you send a message to Rory and tel him I’m safe here with you?”

“Aye, at first light. Ye ken I’l no use ye in the feud, lass. I’l no’ have ye suffer. But . . .” He hesitated, watching her closely. “Ye’d be welcomed at Armadale by me and my clan if after the battle ye wish to return home with me.”

“Thank you. Is it because I remind you of your daugh

ter?” she asked quietly. It was ridiculous, but she hoped not. Ever since coming to Dunvegan she’d been compared to Brianna, and grew weary of being wanted only because she so closely resembled someone they had al once loved.

“Aye, ye do remind me of her. Although I ken yer no’

like her, ye’ve lightened my heart this night and I thank ye

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fer that. Ye canna’ blame an old man fer wantin’ to keep ye around, now ken ye?”

“If you and the MacLeods weren’t feuding, maybe we could visit one another.”

He quirked a brow. “I knew where ye were headed al along, lass. I just didna’ ken how long it would take ye to get there. In that yer like my wife. She hated the constant feudin’. ’Tis why I think she left me that night, takin’ my other daughter and runnin’ off. If Brianna wasna’ so sickly as a bairn, I’m certain she would’ve taken her as wel .”

“You never found them?”

“Nay. Searched for years until I realized ’twas hurtin’

Brianna.”

“I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand.

“Sleep wel , my pet. On the morrow we’l talk.” He laughed when she gave him a hopeful smile.

“I’m no’ makin’ any promises.”

Chapter 22

Rory sagged with relief in his chair, handing the parch

ment across the desk to his brother. “He has Aileanna, says she’s wel , but he wil return her only when he’s satisfied she’s rested.” She was coming back to him. Rory didn’t know when he’d ever been happier. Without her it was like the light had gone from his life.

He had lain in her bed, breathing in her scent. Sleep had eluded him as he battled his demons. Torn by the needs of his clan, he had feared what demands the MacDonald would make of him for her safe return, only to find there were none. Rory was certain the reason the old goat backed off was that Aileanna reminded him of his daughter.

“Sounds like the MacDonald has taken a special inter

est in yer lady.” His cousin grinned. “Ye best be careful he doesna’ steal her away from ye. The ladies are al atwit ter when he’s at court. Consider him to be a handsome old bugger, they do.”

He scowled at Aidan. “She has the look of his daughter,

’tis al it is.”

“Do we hold off readyin’ the men?” Iain interrupted.

“Aye, we hold. I want to be here when Aileanna is re

turned.”

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“Fergus, Iain, are ye no’ surprised Himself wants to be here to greet his lady? Imagine, the great warrior would rather keep the home fires burnin’ and see to his woman than lead his men into battle. We’d best be certain the men doona’ get wind of this,” Aidan quipped. His laughter faded when he met Rory’s gaze. “I’m teasin’, cousin. I fer one would think yer daft if ye went ridin’ off without seein’ to her first.” Aidan shook his head. Placing his two hands on the desk, he leaned toward Rory. “Can ye no’ let it go, cousin? Yer no’ yer father. There’s no better laird than ye, but ye deserve a life and doona’ ye dare let that lass suffer because of yer foolish notions.” Aidan slammed his fist against the polished wood, then left the study.

“He’s right, Rory. I ken yer worries. Doona’ ferget, I lived them, too. I doona’ carry the weight of yer responsi bilities, but I do understand, and mayhap you wil let me shoulder some of the load. I may no’ be the man you are, but I am a man,” his brother said quietly, walking away before Rory could think of something to say.

“Bloody hel , what just happened here?” Rory grum

bled. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the stubble along his jaw.

“We al desire the same thing, lad. We want to see you happy, truly happy, and we ken Aileanna is the one to do that fer you. We doona’ want you to mess it up is al .”

Rory rol ed his eyes. “I canna’ mess it up. I love her. She kens that.”

Fergus grinned. “She does, does she? How are yer weddin’

plans comin’ along?”

“Go tel Mrs. Mac and Mari the good news,” he mut

tered, waving his friend from the study. Ali crawled from the tent and met a grinning Lord Mac Donald. He crouched at her side. “Are ye havin’ a bit of trouble, lass?”

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“I feel like I’ve been run over by a car . . . cart,” she quickly amended.

“Here, let me help ye.” He looped a strong arm around her waist and pul ed her to her feet. “I’l bring ye down to the loch and ye can clean up a bit.” He held up the bundle he carried in his other arm. “I have everythin’ ye need. I’m certain ye have no wish to get back into yer own things.”

Ali shook her head and smiled. “Definitely not.” She looked out over the campsite to the men mil ing about.

“Where’s Connor?”

“Over with some of the other lads. Doona’ fret. I told him to have a care fer a day or two. He has quite the bump on his noggin.”

“He does. Is Gordie gone?”

“Aye, hightailed it out of here at first light, along with the messenger. Now here’s some linens and soap. No one wil bother ye, lass.” He unsheathed his sword with a smile. “I’d no’ al ow it. I’l be over there.” He pointed out a large boulder just beyond the edge of the loch.

“Thank you.” Ali hobbled along the black sand beach until she found a secluded spot behind a cluster of rocks and low shrubbery. She shrugged out of her filthy gown and underclothes, leaving them in a heap in the brush. The cool, clear water lapped gently over her, taking some of the ache along with it. Her thoughts went to Rory and she wished he was with her, holding her in his arms. She missed him, more than she thought possible. The knowl edge she would soon be back with him was heartening, but only if she didn’t think of how little time they’d have to gether before he left her for the battle. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the gory images that haunted her.

“Ye havena’ drowned on me, have ye, lass?” Lord Mac

Donald’s deep voice jolted her from her musings.

“Nay . . . no, I’l be right there.” Ali paddled to shore. She quickly dried off and began to dress. She pul ed the 264

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crisp white shirt over her head—it fel to her knees. She wrapped the red, green, and blue plaid around her as though it were a sari, quite pleased with herself until she walked toward Lord MacDonald and saw the look in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Nay.” He patted her cheek. “The resemblance is un

canny is al .”

She sighed. “To Brianna?”

“Nay, to my wife. Come, I . . .” He looked down at her feet encased in the light suede boots. “I forgot to bring ye some linens to wrap yer wee foot.”

“I’m fine. The boots are a little snug, but it does the same as wrapping it would.”

“I wonder what the lad wil think when he gets a look at ye dressed in the MacDonald colors?” A wide grin split his handsome face.

Ali arched a brow. “I have a feeling you’d like to see that for yourself.”

“Aye, I might just.”

“You’d take me back—yourself ?” Ali couldn’t suppress her joy at the thought she could bring the two men together and find some way to avoid the battle, to save Rory and his clan, and maybe the man at her side.

“Now, doona’ be gettin’ yer hopes up. We’l no’ be leavin’

til the morrow. Ye had a rough go of it. I’l make my deci

sion then.”

Although Ali was disappointed she’d have to wait another day to see Rory, her backside was relieved. She wouldn’t be bouncing on a horse for one more day, and what better way to use her time than working on Lord MacDonald?

Ali fidgeted on the horse she shared with Alasdair MacDonald. “’Tis no’ much farther, my pet. Would ye like us to stop and give ye a wee rest?”

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Connor let out an exasperated sigh as he rode beside them with one of the men-at-arms, and she bit back a grin. She didn’t blame him. Lord MacDonald insisted they stop every few miles for Ali’s benefit, and she was sure they’d doubled the length of time it took to get to Dunvegan be

cause of it.

“No, I’m fine, Alasdair. You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, cal ing him by his name—something he had insisted upon the night before as they sat by the fire shar

ing stories, Ali weaving her own experiences growing up with a made-up childhood along the borders. In two short days together they’d grown close. It was as though they’d known each other forever and adopted each other: Ali a substitute daughter for the one he had lost, and he a substitute father for the one she had never known. Because of the bond that had developed between them, Ali knew he would try to come to some sort of truce with Rory, although no promises had been made. But he didn’t rule it out either. For Ali it was a start. If she could just get the two men in the same room, some good had to come of it. It couldn’t get any worse, and she’d be damned if she’d let the two of them kil each other over a stupid piece of land.

“I ken yer gettin’ yer hopes up, lass, but he’s a stubborn one,” Alasdair said, as though he could read her mind. Ali snorted. “That’s what he says about you.”

“Harrumph. Are ye certain ye wouldna’ rather come to Armadale with me?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor stiffen. “I told you, Alasdair, I’m happy at Dunvegan. I’ve made friends, people I care about. The others wil have to warm up to me sooner or later.”

“Good—I doona’ like to think of ye bein’ unhappy.”

“I won’t be.” She patted his hand and smiled back at him. “And if Rory makes me mad, I’l just come visit you.”

Alasdair chuckled. “I’m certain that wil please him to 266

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no end. Ye do ken, my pet, ’twil no’ be easy. The lad was verra young when he was forced to become laird, no older than this one.” He jerked his chin at Connor.

“I didn’t know. That couldn’t have been easy for him.”

“Nay, I ken it wasna’, but he had no choice. His father was mad with grief over the loss of his wife. I ken how he felt. I lost my wife and daughter, but ye have to go on fer those left behind, those who depend on ye, and he couldna’

do it. He took his own life. ’Tis said ’twas Rory who found him. Bad enough that, and on top of it his father had left them in dire straits. They were practical y starvin’.”

Ali’s heart ached for Rory. No one should have to go through what he did. But she welcomed the insight, and in some ways she thought the trials he had faced created the very characteristics that drew her to him, made her love him as much as she did.

“Sounds to me like you admire the man.”

Alasdair gently tugged her hair. “Minx. And ye’l no’ be usin’ that against me.”

“I can see by the end of it I might be knocking your two stubborn heads together to make you both see reason.”

Alasdair’s amused laughter brought a smile to his manat-arms’s face. It was obvious his men were fond of their laird and glad to see him happy.

Over the next rise, Ali spotted the towers of Dunvegan. Bathed in gold, they gleamed as the sun set behind them. Excitement tingled from the tips of her toes to the top of her head and she wanted to urge the horses to pick up their pace.

“Hoist the flag, Gilbert,” Alasdair directed the man Connor rode with.

Ali nudged him. “I don’t think that’s real y necessary, do you?”

“Aye, my pet, I do. Look to the men linin’ the wal s.”

She looked to where he pointed and swal owed hard.

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Bows were aimed in their direction. “No, there must be some mistake. Rory would never al ow it.”

Rory walked the parapet. Aidan, Iain, and Fergus fol

lowed in his wake. Even though Aileanna and Connor rode with the MacDonalds, a show of force was necessary. As the contingent broke through the line of trees he couldn’t help but smile. In a short time he would have her in his arms again. But his smile quickly faded when he saw who rode at her back—Alasdair MacDonald, and the old goat had dressed her in his colors.

“Yer lady looks as bonny as ever. His plaid suits her,”

Aidan said, a hint of laughter in his voice. Rory shot him a quel ing look over his shoulder. “Lower yer bows,” Rory commanded down the line. The show was over. He wouldn’t al ow Aileanna to be wounded by an archer with a twitchy finger.

“Do ye think his presence means he’s amenable to ne

gotiations?”

“With Aileanna, anythin’s possible, but doona’ get yer hopes up, Aidan. He’s a stubborn old goat.”

Aidan chuckled as they crossed the courtyard. “I’m thinkin’ ye may have to give as wel , cousin, or yer lady may no’

be as welcomin’ as ye hoped.”

Fergus, Iain, and his cousin shared a laugh, but al fel silent as the drawbridge lowered and the sound of the horses’

hooves clattering on the wood heralded their arrival. Before Rory could reach Aileanna, the MacDonald had her off the horse, her hand tucked beneath his arm, and they shared a smile. Rory clenched his hands into fists at his side.

“Easy, lad,” Fergus murmured.

His anger was forgotten the moment Aileanna turned 268

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her bril iant blue gaze upon him and smiled a smile that he knew was meant for him alone. When he reached her side, he brought a hand to her cheek. “Yer wel , mo chridhe?” he asked quietly, fighting the urge to take her in his arms, knowing it would be in poor taste considering the man at her back was his former father-by-marriage.

She pressed her cheek to his palm. “I am. I missed you,”

she said shyly, keeping her voice as low as his.

“I missed you, too, and later I’l show you how much,”

he said before he raised his eyes to Alasdair MacDonald and his men. “I thank you fer seein’ to Aileanna’s wel bein’ and bringin’ her home.”

An emotion that Rory didn’t recognize flickered in the man’s cerulean gaze, but quickly disappeared. “’Twas my pleasure.”

They hadn’t seen each other since they’d laid Brianna to rest at Armadale—an al owance Rory had made to the other man’s grief. The MacDonald was thinner than he remembered, but there was a lightness about him now, and Rory hoped he had found peace.

No matter that they might soon face each other on the battlefield, he didn’t begrudge him that. The man had lost more than most, and Rory owed him for not using Aileanna as a pawn. Alasdair MacDonald was an honor able man, and although he’d never let the old goat know it, he had a great deal of respect for him.

“Wil you sup with us before you leave?”

Aileanna frowned. She took Alasdair’s hand and tugged him to her side. “He’s not leaving, Rory. Not until this ridiculous feud is settled.”

Chapter 23

The old goat had the nerve to grin at Aileanna’s pronouncement, and Rory was forced to fol ow in their wake like a minion in their service. He stifled a growl as his brother and Fergus took her in their arms as he longed to, and cooled his heels while Mrs. Mac and Mari happily welcomed her home.

Their greeting of the MacDonald was more subdued, but politely made. Al except Fergus, who genuinely liked the man. The two had developed something of a friendship upon Rory’s marriage to Brianna, and it was obvious it stil endured as they clapped each other on the back on the way into the keep. Rory nudged his cousin, who’d been watching the pro

ceedings with an amused eye. “It looks like ye’l be doin’

some negotiatin’ after al .” Aidan grinned.

“Aye, and it would be best if I kent just what Aileanna’s been sayin’ before sittin’ down with the mon. I ken he’s no’

anxious to let her out of his sight so I’l need yer help. Chal enge him to a game of chess. He’l no’ be able to resist and ’twil give me time to speak to Aileanna alone.”

Aidan raised a brow. “Aye, I’l do it fer ye, cousin, to give ye and yer lady a chance to talk.”

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The smal contingent that accompanied the MacDonald had entered the hal before Rory caught up to Aileanna and Alasdair. “Why doona’ we retire to the upper salon, Alas

dair, and yer men can take their leisure in the hal . We’l rejoin them at the evenin’ meal.”

“I’m in the mood fer a game of chess. Would anyone care to join me?” his cousin asked. Alasdair’s gaze flickered over Rory, and then back to Aileanna. A slight smile caused his mustache to twitch.

“I’d be up fer a game. Fergus?”

“Aye, I ken the last time we played you beat me, so ’tis time for a rematch.” As soon as the words were out of Fergus’s mouth, Rory knew he regretted them. The last time they’d played it was a means to distract themselves on the long days leading up to Brianna’s death.

“Wil ye be joinin’ us, my pet?” Alasdair asked Aileanna, his gaze softening.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up first.”

“Aye.” He patted her cheek. “And have a wee rest while yer at it. A ride like that takes a lot out of a person, espe cial y one as delicate as yerself.”

Rory managed to stifle his shout of laughter, but Iain, Aidan, and Fergus were not as successful. Aileanna glared at them before she reached up to give the old goat a kiss on the cheek. “Make sure you beat them, Alasdair, for me. I’l see you at dinner.”

“Aye, my pet, I wil . Rory, wil you no’ be joinin’ us?”

Alasdair gave him an intent look.

Rory clenched his teeth. The arrogant old fool would be the death of him, especial y if he continued to fawn over Aileanna as though he had the right. “Aye, but first I have a couple of matters that require my attention. Aileanna.”

He offered her his arm. “I’l see you to yer chambers.”

She took his arm, making an obvious effort not to smile.

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“Am I one of those matters you have to see to?” she asked when they were wel out of earshot at the top of the stairs.

“Aye, the only matter I wish to see to,” he growled. Tug

ging her into his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers. Desire flared within him as once more he held her lush curves next to him. At her eager response, he deepened the kiss. She moaned, parting her lips to al ow his tongue to tangle with hers. Her arms wound around his neck, and he gripped the round firmness of her behind. Lifting her off her feet, he backed her against the wal . He ground his cock into the soft curve of her bel y. At the sound of footfal s on the staircase, Rory cursed under his breath and broke their kiss. Mrs. Mac approached with a handful of fresh linens.

“Och, there you are. I was wonderin’ where you’d be wantin’

me to put his lordship.”

Rory swept Aileanna into his arms, turning his back to Mrs. Mac so she wouldn’t see his raging cock-stand or Aileanna’s flushed face and passion-fil ed eyes. Just as he was about to tel her exactly where he wanted Alasdair, the woman in his arms took hold of his shoulder and pul ed herself up to say, “Why don’t you put him in Brianna’s room, Mrs. Mac? It might be nice for him to be sur

rounded by some of his daughter’s things.”

“’Tis a wonderful idea, my lady.”

“Wonderful, just bloody wonderful,” Rory muttered as he strode along the corridor toward Aileanna’s room. She frowned at him. “What’s wrong with putting him in Brianna’s room?”

“What’s wrong is by doin’ that”—he shoved open the door to her room—“yer puttin’ him in the room next to mine.”

She rol ed her eyes. “Rory, it’s not like you’re sleeping in the same room with the man. You have a door between the two of you.”

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He set her down on the edge of the bed. “Aye, there is, but the mon wil ken when I’m comin’ and goin’.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He shook his head, careful y removing the boots from her feet. “Think on it, Aileanna. He’l ken when I creep back to my bed after bein’ with you.”

“He’l just think you had business to take care of.”

He snorted. “The mon’s no fool.”

“Funny, you keep saying he is.”

Rory sat back on his haunches and looked into her beau

tiful face. “Are you tryin’ to make me daft, mo chridhe?”

he asked, stroking her smooth, bare legs beneath the plaid.

“No.” She gave him a slow, sensual smile before she ran the tip of her pale pink tongue along her ful lower lip.

“I ken what I wear under my plaid, but what do you wear?” His voice was low and gruff as he smoothed his palms along the warm, satiny skin of her inner thighs.

“Nothing,” she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her legs parting ever so slightly. He bunched the fabric to her thighs and tangled his finger in her silky curls, stroking her slick, wet folds. She leaned back on her hands, her hips arched, and he knew he wanted her naked and on the bed beneath him—now. Kissing her knee, he rose to his feet. “I think I’l have you dress in a plaid more often, mo chridhe, but it wil be MacLeod plaid, no’ MacDonald. But right now, I need you out of this so I can show you just how much I missed you.”

He tugged the swath of fabric from her shoulder. She slapped his hands away. “You’re too rough. You’l rip it.”

He shrugged, watching as she careful y unraveled the plaid. “I doona’ care—you’l no’ be wearin’ it again.”

“Yes, I wil . I like the colors. They’re pretty.”

“They may be pretty, but they’re the MacDonalds’ colors no’ the MacLeods’.”

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She laid the plaid on the end of her bed, standing before him in only a sheer linen tunic. Her nipples puckered be neath the fabric, ripe for his attention. “I’m not a MacLeod, Rory, and I can wear whatever I want,” she countered with a stubborn jut to her chin.

“Yer mine, and you will be a MacLeod.” He held her in his arms and lifted her off the floor. “Do you ken yer mine, mo chridhe? That I’l never let you go?” Through the light

weight fabric he suckled her taut nipple.

“Yes . . . yes, I know I’m yours,” she groaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. He could feel her warm, wet core through the fabric of his tunic and his cock throbbed. She pressed her breasts tight to his mouth. He fought with his trews while he held her with one hand, needing to be inside her. A sharp rap on the door stayed his hand, and he cursed when he recognized the deep voice cal ing through her door. “Lass, can I have a moment of yer time?”

A look of panic came upon Aileanna’s face and she struggled to get out of his arms. “Put me down . . . put me down,”

she whispered fervently.

“Mayhap I would if you’d unwind yer legs from my waist,” he whispered back, his voice laden with sarcasm. She glared at him, then cleared her throat. “Give me a minute, Alasdair. I’m not quite decent.”

“That’s the truth,” Rory muttered.

She grabbed the plaid from the end of her bed and hastily tried to wrap herself in it. “Hide,” she hissed at him.

“I’m no’ hidin’ in my own keep,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He was your wife’s father, and I’m not going to flaunt that we’re together like . . . like this.” She waved an arm at the bed before her gaze frantical y searched the room.

“Bed . . . under the bed.”

“Coming, Alasdair,” she cal ed out sweetly as she 274

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shoved him toward the bed and tugged at the plaid to cover the wet spot on her tunic.

“You would’ve and so would’ve I,” he muttered to him

self as he crawled beneath the bed.

“Shh!”

He heard her pad across the floor and the door creak open. He couldn’t believe he was hiding from Alasdair MacDonald like a wee lad, but Aileanna was right. He’d not rub the mon’s nose in their relationship.

“Sorry fer disturbin’ ye, my pet, but there’s somethin’

been weighin’ on my mind since we arrived.”

“Come in.” Rory heard the door close and Alasdair’s heavy footfal s as he came into the room.

“Has someone said anything to make you feel unwel

come, because if they—”

Rory rol ed his eyes. Now she protected his enemy.

“Nay . . . nay, ’tis no’ to do with the MacLeods. Get into yer bed. Ye must rest yer wee foot.”

The bed creaked and the toes of Alasdair’s boots stared Rory in the face. He barely resisted the urge to hit them.

“Alasdair, I’m fine,” he heard Aileanna laughingly protest. Rory’s fist came within an inch of the old man’s foot. “Now tel me what’s bothering you. You look upset.”

“Ye ken when I first saw ye I was no’ myself and ye in

troduced yerself as Ali Graham.” She must have nodded because Alasdair continued. “But upon our arrival I heard Rory refer to ye as Aileanna. Why is that?”

“That’s my name. Ali is short for Aileanna. Alasdair . . . Alasdair, what is it?”

The man staggered and Aileanna must have made him sit down because the bed dipped, and Rory now faced the heels of Alasdair’s boots.

“Ye remember how I told ye Brianna had a sister, a twin?

Her name was Aileanna. Nay, doona’ look at me like that. Ye ken wel enough how much ye look like Brianna, but even

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more ye have the look of my wife. Ye have her ways, too, and yer name—’tis too much to be only a coincidence.”

Rory sucked in a pained breath and nearly choked on the dust beneath the bed. He brought his hand to his mouth. Alasdair MacDonald had his faults, but he’d lost much and handled it better than most. Rory didn’t wish him to suffer further, and he knew how difficult it would be on Aileanna. But she wouldn’t lie to the man, even if it was to ease his pain. She was honest and compassionate, and somehow he knew Aileanna would find a way to re lieve Alasdair’s disappointment.

“Alasdair, you have to believe me when I tel you there is nothing I’d like more than to be your daughter, but I’m afraid I’m not.” She paused, and Rory could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she planned out her wee story. It was not as if she could tel him the fairies had stolen her from her own time. “I told you I never met my father, and that’s the truth, but my mother spoke of him often. She said he was from . . . from England, and he had . . . red hair . .

. red like an apple, and . . .”

Bloody hell, Rory thought. She’s rambling again.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Alasdair.” Rory heard the raw emotion in her voice and he thought she was just as disappointed as Alasdair, even though she’d know there was no way the old man could be her father. Rory had sensed when she spoke to him about her life that she’d missed out on having a family, and it had left her deeply scarred. It was something he hoped to rectify by making her his wife, part of his clan.

“Nay, ’twas only the hopes of an old man. I’m sorry, Aileanna. Ye get some rest now, lass, and I’l see ye later.”

He heard Aileanna sniff, and groaned inwardly. There was nothing he hated more than when she cried.

“Now, I didna’ mean to make ye weep. Dry yer eyes—

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there ye go. Doona’ worry, my pet, I’l be fine. I’l see myself out.”

At the sound of the door closing, Rory began dragging himself from beneath the bed. When it slowly creaked open again, he cursed inwardly and scrambled back to his hiding place, cracking his head on the rail as he did.

“Aileanna?”

“Yes?” She sniffed.

“I’m thinkin’ yer in need of a father, seein’ as how yer tangled up with the MacLeods. And since ye have the look and name of one of my own, I’m goin’ to be lookin’ to ye as though ye are. If that’d be al right with ye.”

“Yes . . . yes, that would be wonderful.”

No . . . no, it won’t! Rory silently banged his head on the floor.

“Good, ’tis settled then. And, Aileanna, tel the lad I ken he’s under the bed and I expect to see him in the salon mo mentarily.” With that said, the old meddler slammed the door. Rory stood, rubbing his head. “What do you think yer doin’ tel in’ him he can stand in fer yer father? Do ye no’

ken what that mon wil put me through?”

She shrugged. “It made him happy, and I think it wil be nice to have someone stand up for me.”

He snorted. “As if you canna’ stand up fer yerself. And if you couldna’, Fergus, Iain, and Mrs. Mac would be quick to do so.”

“I know, and now I have Alasdair, too. It won’t be so bad, Rory. Can’t you humor him, just a little?”

He looked at Aileanna, her bonny eyes shining, and thought if it pleased her, the least he could do was try. If she could bring a little joy to the MacDonald’s life, so be it. “I’l no’ make any promises, but fer now we’l let it be, as long as you remember yer no’ a MacDonald, yer a MacLeod.”

“Not yet I’m not.” She grinned.

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“Aye. Yer mine, and wel you ken it.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and took her lips in a deep, slow kiss, savoring the taste of her.

“Rory,” she said against his mouth. He pul ed back to look at her. “I don’t think Alasdair . . . my father wil be too happy if you don’t join him in the salon.” He heard the laughter in her voice, saw the mischievous light in her eyes. He gave her one last hard kiss. “Yer as stubborn as he is. I shouldna’ be surprised if you truly are his kin.”

“Rory,” she cal ed to him as he strode to the door. “I’m glad to be home.”

Her words touched Rory deeply, and it made him more determined than ever to make her his wife. “No more than I am, mo chridhe.”

Ali took her place on the dais between Rory and Alas

dair, saying hel o to Aidan, Fergus, and Iain, who looked like they shared a good joke no one else was privy to. She narrowed her gaze on them, and looked to the two men on either side of her. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nay . . . nay, my pet, everythin’s fine. Shal I fix yer plate fer ye?”

Rory scrubbed his hands over his face and the other three men laughed into their mugs. Ali patted Alasdair’s hand. “I can manage, but thank you for the offer.” She nudged Rory and he raised a brow, looking down his nose at her. Fergus said something to Alasdair and drew his atten

tion from her.

She leaned into Rory and asked, “What’s put you in such a bad mood?”

He took a deep swal ow of his ale before he answered.

“You’l find out soon enough, and you have only yerself to blame.”

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“What are you talking about? Blame for what?”

“Aileanna, eat before yer meal grows cold,” Alasdair chided.

“But I—”

“Nay, eat, and then we’l talk,” Alasdair said firmly, tap

ping his spoon against her plate.

She heard Rory’s low chuckle and turned to him. He shrugged. “’Tis yer own fault.”

After her third mouthful, Ali couldn’t take it anymore.

“Is someone going to tel me if you came to an agreement or not?”

Alasdair leaned around her to look at Rory. “Wil ye tel her, or shal I?”

Rory tipped his mug at the man at her side. “By al means, do the honors.”

“Aileanna, we’ve agreed to a truce.”

“Oh, thank God.” She blinked back tears, placing a hand over her heart. A deep sense of relief flooded through her.

“You might no’ want to thank him just yet,” Rory mut

tered.

“Aye, I’ve signed Trotternish over to ye, Aileanna, as part of yer dowry when ye wed Rory.”

Chapter 24

“But . . . I’m not . . .” Oh, dear Lord, what has Alasdair done?

“Here.” Rory wrapped her hand around a goblet of ale.

“Drink.”

She took a deep swal ow and turned to him. “I don’t un

derstand why you’re not happier about this. I thought it’s what you wanted.”

“Aye, I want to wed you, but no’ like this. I’l no’ have you forced.”

“Oh.” Relief loosened her tense muscles—he stil wanted her. For a minute there, she’d thought he’d changed his mind. And now, Alasdair had put her in a position where her de

cision would affect the lives of Rory’s clan—again. It would be so easy just to agree to the marriage. She loved Rory, more than she’d thought possible, but she didn’t want to always wonder if he felt forced into the marriage, obligated to offer her his name and his protection because of the fairies. And now the matter had been complicated further. If Rory didn’t marry her, they would battle over Trotternish, risking the lives of him and his clan. But if she did marry him, how would she ever know for certain what truly was in his heart?

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Ali pushed her chair from the table. “Alasdair, I need to have a word with you.”

“Aye.” He rose slowly and took Ali by the elbow, a look of confusion in his bright blue eyes.

“Use my study,” Rory suggested, watching her closely.

“Aileanna,” Alasdair said as they left the hal , “I thought

’twould make ye happy.”

She squeezed his hand, opening the door to Rory’s study. “I know, and it was a lovely gesture, but—” She sighed. “If I tel you something, wil you promise not to say a word to Rory?”

“Aye, on my honor.” They entered the study and he took the chair opposite her.

“I love Rory,” she said, then grimaced. “I’m sorry, he was married to Brianna and—”

He patted her hand. “Doona’ worry aboot it, my pet. Say what ye wil .”

“I know he loves me, but when he spoke of marrying me he didn’t say anything about love, only obligation and responsibility.”

“That doesna’ sound so bad to me, lass.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. Were al highlanders the same? “Maybe not, but I need more. I don’t want to be just another responsibility to him . . . like his clan. Re

member how you said Brianna felt Rory would never be able to put her first? Wel , that’s how I feel, and it’s not good enough.”

Alasdair grinned. “Yer more like my wife than I first suspected. I made matters worse, didna’ I?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Tel me this—when ye feel certain of the lad’s commit

ment to ye, and he comes around to askin’ in the manner ye hoped, wil ye say aye?”

Ali snorted. “He didn’t ask me, he told me.” She nar

rowed her gaze at the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

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“Don’t you dare laugh, but the answer to your question is yes. He’s the only man I’l ever want.”

“Al right then, here’s what we’l do. I’m goin’ to gift Trotternish to ye, and ye can do with it what ye wil . I ken I shouldna’ have revoked Brianna’s dowry. ’Twas no’ right, and she wouldna’ be happy with me fer doin’ it, but you canna’ tel the lad.”

“No, I won’t tel him,” Ali said, rising to her feet at the same time he did. “And I was about to refuse your gift as too generous, but seeing as how you’re using me to save face, I won’t.” She tapped her finger on his broad chest.

“Yer as canny as ye are bonny, my pet. Truly a fright

enin’ combination in a woman. I almost feel sorry fer the lad.” He chuckled, taking her by the arm. “Shal we share the news with the clans?”

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Nay, ’tis I who should thank ye,” Alasdair said as they left the study and returned to the hal . Alasdair careful y settled her into the chair beside Rory, but remained standing. Rory frowned, looking to Ali as though she had the answer. The older man banged his goblet on the trestle table. “If yer laird wil permit me, I have an announcement to make.”

Rory gave a brief nod and waved him on. “As ye al must be aware, yer laird and I have been tryin’ to come to an agreement over Trotternish as a means to avoid further bloodshed between our clans. I am pleased to tel ye, there wil be no feud.” Cheers broke out through the hal . It was pandemonium. Both men and women wept, and Ali took the handkerchief Rory offered her, sniffing her thanks. “I no longer hold Trotternish. It belongs to Lady Aileanna.”

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Alasdair MacDonald for gifting me with Trotternish. I’m honored.” If not for the men on the dais taking up her toast, Ali thought it would have died a slow and painful death—

just like her.

Once the crowd quieted, she turned to Rory. “And, for my part, I’d like to gift Trotternish to the MacLeods. To you, Rory,” she said softly.

This time the celebratory cheers were so loud they shook the timbers of the hal . Rory stood and took her hands in his. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

Rory grinned, his goblet held high. “To the verra bonny Lady Aileanna, soon to be Lady of Dunvegan.”

He laughed when he heard her mutter to Alasdair,

“You see.”

Rory watched as Fergus, Iain, and Aidan took turns sweeping her into their arms. The clan, not about to miss out on the opportunity to honor her, swarmed the dais. Over their heads he raised a silent toast to Alasdair. The man held his goblet aloft and tilted it toward Rory. He looked as if he was about to say something to him when Cal um swung Aileanna into his arms. Alasdair banged his goblet on the table. “Now see here, mind her wee foot.”

Tables were pushed up against the wal s, and several men took up their fiddles. Rory lost sight of Aileanna in the chaotic swirl of activity. His gaze scanned the hal for a second time, coming to rest on her sitting on a bench with Janet, Maureen, and old lady Cameron. She held a babe in her arms. His chest swel ed. One day it would be their bairn she held. As soon as the thought entered his head, he pan

icked. He reminded himself she was strong, a healer, but stil , a part of him rebel ed at the thought of getting her with child. Then he remembered, she had yet to agree to marry him. Content to watch the clan pay homage to Aileanna, he settled back in his chair.

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“Ye love her, doona’ ye?” Alasdair asked. Rory nodded. He didn’t know what he could say with out hurting the man, without taking away from his union with Alasdair’s daughter.

“Ye doona’ have to worry, lad. I ken ’tis different with her. Ye doona’ have to feel bad. What ye had with my Brianna was stil better than most. I doona’ fault ye in that.”

Rory was taken aback. It was no secret Alasdair had held him to blame for Brianna’s death. He hadn’t resented the fact. How could he fault her father when he himself wondered the same? Before he could respond, Alasdair pushed back his chair. “I have a long ride on the morrow, and I’m no’ as young as I used to be. If you’l excuse me, I’l be retirin’ now.”

Rory extended his hand and Alasdair took it in a firm grip. “Thank you,” Rory said, and he meant it, more than the man would ever know.

“Ye may wish to hold yer thanks. I mean to have a say where it concerns Aileanna.”

Rory groaned and Alasdair laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “’Twil no’ be that bad.”

Aye, it will, Rory thought. He’d never be rid of the old goat.

“It seems ye get yerself a new wife, only to keep yer old father-by-marriage—an interestin’ turn of events,” his cousin said as together they watched Alasdair weave his way toward Aileanna.

“Interestin’ is no’ the word I’d choose,” Rory grunted. They were sitting in companionable silence when Aidan shot from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. The ale Rory had been drinking spil ed from his mug onto his lap.

“Bloody hel , Aidan, what is it?”

“My men,” his cousin said, jerking his head at the two men-at-arms who stood in the entrance to the hal . “Lewis must be under attack.”

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Fergus and Iain, obviously noting their hasty retreat, were soon at their sides.

“They’ve come, Laird Aidan. The adventurers attacked, setting fire to the vil age on the south side of the island.”

As Rory listened to Aidan question his men, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. “Rory, what’s happened?”

He drew Aileanna aside. “Lewis has been attacked. The adventurers burnt down a vil age.”

“Oh, no,” she cried, and Rory saw the moment the re

alization of exactly what that meant hit her. Color drained from her face. “You’re going, aren’t you? No, don’t say anything.” She tugged her arm from his grasp. “There’s nothing you can say to make me understand.” Turning away from him, she lifted her skirts and fled from the hal as fast as her injured foot could carry her.

“Give her time, Rory. She’l come to understand.”

“Do you think so, brother? Because I doona’,” he said wearily as he watched her leave.

“She’s frightened is al . Afraid somethin’ wil happen to you.”

“I ken that, but right now I doona’ have time to al eviate her fears. We head out on the morrow with Aidan. Fergus, ready the men.” Once his cousin’s men left, Rory ap

proached him.

Aidan scrubbed his hand over his shadowed jaw. “I saw yer lady. She didna’ seem verra happy.”

“Nay, but ’tis the way of it, somethin’ she wil have to get used to.”

“I’m sorry ye’l no’ be spendin’ much time with her. I wish I didna’ need yer help in this, Rory, but I do.”

He waved his cousin’s concerns aside. “’Tis a good thin’

we settled with the MacDonald, is al . How’s Lan?”

“I didna’ think it would happen this soon or I wouldna’

have left my brother on his own. He’s too young for the re

sponsibility.”

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“He’s got Dougal and Torquil with him, doesna’ he?”

“Aye, he does, and fer al that he’s young, he’s canny and strong as wel .”

Rory threw an arm over Aidan’s shoulder. “He’l be fine. We’l be by his side before long. Doona’ fash yerself.”

By the time Rory had assured himself al was at the ready the hour had grown late. He paused before entering Aileanna’s darkened chambers. The fire had died down, and a lone candle flickered by her bed.

“I know it’s you,” she said, her voice husky. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from her face, kissing her tear-swol en eyes.

“Why do you have to go?” she asked.

“Aileanna, do you think if it wasna’ necessary for me to be there that I would be goin’?”

“Yes. I’ve seen you, Rory MacLeod, playing with your men. You love the fight, the thril of the battle.”

At one time she would’ve been right, but no longer. He would give anything to stay at Dunvegan with her, but he couldn’t abandon his cousin. “Would you have me leave Aidan and Lachlan to battle the adventurers on their own?

They doona’ have the men, and the ones they do have are no’ trained as wel as mine.”

“It’s not fair, Rory. I thought . . . I thought with the truce signed there wouldn’t be this threat hanging over us. The ink is barely dry, yet you’re off to fight another battle.”

“We doona’ face an enemy like the MacDonald, mo chridhe. ’Twil no’ be the bloodbath that would’ve been.”

“But you’re stil going to fight, and let me guess—no one even tried to negotiate with these men.”

“’Twas sanctioned by King James. There wil be no talks. The MacLeods of Lewis have held the island for centuries, yet the king means to depose them. Do you see the fairness in that, Aileanna? Would you no’ fight if you were in their place?”

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“Can’t they go to the king?”

“They did, and it did them no good. There’s no other way but to fight for what is theirs. I’m obligated to assist, and I wil .”

“There has to be—”

“Nay, stop. I wil na’ battle you as wel .” His words were terse, angry at her stubborn refusal to understand. “Wil you no’ let it go?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. If you would just try, I’m—”

He held up his hand. “Nay, you refuse to see reason. You doona’ trust that I ken what is necessary and what is no’, and I wil na’ spend my last night with you battlin’ over this. Good night, Aileanna. I leave at dawn. I wil see you on my return.” He scanned her face for some sign she’d relent. Finding none, he took his leave, even though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. Ali’s eyes widened at the sound of the closing door, stunned Rory had walked away without a backward glance. He was furious with her, but she didn’t think he would leave without one last kiss. What if he didn’t come back to her? As soon as the thought entered her head she shoved it aside. A night that had been fil ed with joy and hope had turned into a nightmare. With her presentation of Trotternish to Rory she felt she’d made some progress with the clan. At least they no longer looked at her with suspicion—wel , most of them didn’t. She might not have gained total accept

ance, but it was a start.

Was Rory right to insinuate she was too stubborn to un

derstand, unwil ing to see how things real y were? Why didn’t he try to see it from her viewpoint? She was a doctor. How was she supposed to come to terms with the taking of human life for the sake of pride, for the thril of the fight?

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Ali squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong with her?

Knowing Rory as she did, how could she for even one minute think that’s why he fought? He was one of the most honorable, caring men she’d ever met. And even though she’d only been at Dunvegan for a short time, if the MacLeods were threatened, she would leap to their de

fense. Ali thought of the burnt-out vil age, the look of an

guish on Aidan’s face when his men reported the incident to him. Incident, she scoffed inwardly. It was murder. Swal owing her pride, she slipped from the warm cocoon of her bed and left in search of Rory. The torches cast an eerie glow along the corridor. Ali wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the damp chil and a heavy sense of foreboding. The keep was quiet, and she hesitated outside of Alasdair’s door, tiptoeing past as best she could with her injured ankle. Rory was right. She should never have sug

gested they put Alasdair in the room next to his. The door to Rory’s chambers creaked when she turned the handle. Closing her eyes, she waited for Alasdair to fly into the hal . But there was no sound coming from his room. She slipped inside Rory’s chambers, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Shadows cast by the fire danced on the wal , and on the man in the bed. Rory lay with an arm behind his head. He watched her hesitant approach with a wary eye.

“Do you need somethin’, Aileanna?” His tone was abrupt. The expression on his beautiful face was hard and unyielding.

“You,” she answered honestly.

A slow smile curved his ful lips. He held the covers back for her to climb in beside him, revealing his power ful, naked body.

Ali laid her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, his chest hairs tickling her lips.

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“What was that? I couldna’ hear you, mo chridhe.”

There was a hint of laughter in his deep voice and she scooted up, bringing her face level with his. “I know you heard me, but I’m not too proud to say it again. I’m sorry.”

She brushed her lips over his. “You were right. I didn’t try to see it from your perspective. I don’t know, maybe it’s be cause I’ve never had anything worth fighting for. And I’m scared, Rory. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or anyone else for that matter.” She rested her head against his shoulder and ran her fingers over the hard, muscular planes of his chest.

“I ken that, Aileanna.” He kissed the top of her head, wrapping her in the warmth of his arms. “’Tis no’ a ques tion of a desire to do battle, but an obligation to one’s clan and at times to one’s country.”

“Rory?” Ali didn’t want to talk anymore. She needed to forget what he would face on Lewis and lose her worries and fears in him. Tracing ever-widening circles on his chest, she trailed her fingers lower to give him a hint of just what it was she wanted.

“Hmm.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

“Do you . . . wel , don’t you want to make love to me before you leave?”

“I thought we’d just hold each other, lass, like this.” His muscles rippled as he held her firmly in his embrace. She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze on him, but before she could respond he had her on her back, his warm breath caressing her ear. “I want to love you, mo chridhe, but I’m no’ certain you can be quiet. Yer a verra noisy woman. And thanks to you, we have a meddlin’ old goat as a neighbor, and he’d be none too pleased that I have you in my bed.”

She lightly slapped his chest. “I am not that noisy.”

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here.” He lowered his head and took her pebbled nipple deep into his hot, wet mouth, suckling her through the fabric of her shift. “Or here,” he said as he thrust two fin

gers deep inside her. He smothered her gasp of pleasure with his mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said, “I’m glad you came to me, mo chridhe. If I could, I wouldna’

spend even one night away from you.”

She pressed her palm to his roughened jaw and held his emerald green gaze with hers. “I wish you didn’t have to, but I do understand, Rory. I love you.”

He covered her hand with his. “I love you, too, mo chridhe. And the moment I come back from Lewis I intend on makin’ you my wife. Even if I have to drag you kickin’

and screamin’ to the altar.”

“You can’t—” Her protest ended on a moan as he swept her away on a tide of passion and desire.

“You canna’ be mopin’ already, my lady. He’s no’ been gone but a few hours.” Mrs. Mac gave a shake of her head as Ali knelt at the edge of the fragrant garden, careful y pul ing at the herbs and dropping them into her basket.

“I’m not,” she said, but she was. Rory had promised to love her long and hard, and made good on his promise ten times over. The ful ness between her legs, the dul ache that matched the one in her heart, were lasting reminders of what had passed between them. She had slept the sleep of the dead, missing the chance to tel him good-bye, and she was sure he’d done it on purpose.

“I wish someone would have woken me before Rory and Alasdair left,” she groused, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.

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no good. He said he’d be checkin’ in on you in a day or so, on the trek back to Armadale.”

“Good, I—” She turned her head at the sound of some

one yel ing off in the distance. As the shouts grew louder, she heard the panic in their voices and dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. Ali came quickly to her feet and hur

ried after Mrs. Mac to the far side of the keep. Cook, the girls from the kitchen, and several of the men Rory had left behind, raced in the direction of the loch.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mrs. Mac yel ed to them.

“’Tis wee Jamie. He’s fal in’ into the loch.”

“Always into mischief that one is,” Mrs. Mac grumbled as they quickened their pace. A woman’s anguished cry rent the air and an icy chil slithered down Ali’s spine. Standing on the rocky ledge above the loch she saw Janet Cameron being held back by two men while old lady Cameron and members of the clan formed a protective ring around the hysterical woman. A dark-haired man Ali didn’t recognize waded to shore with the lifeless body of the little boy in his arms. She scram

bled down the bank and shouldered her way through the throng of people, young and old alike. A gnarled hand grabbed her by the arm. “There’s nothin’

ye can do, my lady. He’s gone.” A heavy sadness quaked in the old man’s voice. Janet Cameron col apsed, screaming, tearing at her glossy black curls.

Pushing aside her personal feelings, Ali shook off the man’s hand. She had to reach Jamie. Once she did, she quickly placed her lips to the little boy’s blue-tinged mouth and puffed in a rescue breath. Ignoring the gasps of horror at her back, Ali wrenched the unconscious child from the man and lowered him to the ground. She rol ed Jamie onto his stomach. Gently turning his head, she pressed firmly on his back several times and LORD OF THE ISLES

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watched in relief as water gushed from his mouth. Turning him on his back, she checked for his pulse. Not finding one, she tried to remain calm and began CPR. Between breaths, she yel ed, “Bring me a blanket! We have to get him out of these clothes.” Janet was quickly at her side. With trembling hands she removed her son’s sodden shirt and pants.

After what seemed like hours to Ali, but was in reality only minutes, Jamie’s slight body arched and he threw up. His lids fluttered open and he let out a soft moan. Ali wrapped him in a blanket and motioned for one of the men. “We have to get him to the keep.” When the man simply stared at her open-mouthed, she shouted, “Now.”

Jamie was alive, but she didn’t want to lose him to hypo

thermia.

His mother sobbed, and Ali tugged her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her. “He’s going to be al right, Janet. I promise,” she murmured as the man lifted Jamie into his arms. Ali prayed it was a promise she could keep.

“Thank ye, my lady, thank ye,” Janet repeated over and over while the crowd stood motionless in stunned disbelief. Connor reached for Ali and helped her and Janet up the rocky embankment. Behind her she could hear voices rise in excited whispers. “He’s alive, wee Jamie lives.”

And then the ominous word echoed in her ear. “Witch.”

Chapter 25

Not more than a mile from Dunvegan, the threatening skies Mrs. Mac promised would amount to nothing, opened up. Ali pul ed the MacLeod plaid over her head, and scowled at the woman who rode beside her through the teeming rain.

Mrs. Mac chuckled. “Och, wel , a little water never hurt a body. Besides, yer a highlander now—best you get used to it.”

The older woman’s words warmed Ali’s heart, but didn’t do much for her frozen fingers clutching Bessie’s reins. She wished the rest of the clan felt the same way, but saving Jamie had destroyed what progress she thought she’d made. At least the little boy was wel on the road to recovery and, in the end, that was al that mattered. Mari, riding ahead with Connor, glanced over her shoul

der. “Do ye wish to return to the keep, my lady?”

Ali forced a smile, determined not to put a damper on Mari’s excitement at visiting her family. And the last place Ali wanted to be right now was wandering the hal s of Dunvegan, missing Rory. “Och, wel , a wee bit of rain never hurt a body,” she mimicked.

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of thunder. Ali pul ed back on Bessie’s reins, realizing it wasn’t thunder after al , but the pounding of horses’ hooves that caused the sound, and the ground to tremble. Four men on horseback tore up the narrow path, and she dug her heels in Bessie’s side to get her to move before they were bowled over. The man in the lead brought his mount to an abrupt halt, and his big bay whinnied in protest.

“’Tis the sheriff,” Mrs. Mac muttered.

The auburn-haired man with the ful beard, the one Mrs. Mac identified as the sheriff, gave his ful attention to Ali. She tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of her stomach at the suspicious look in his pale blue eyes.

“Are ye Lady Aileanna Graham?” His aggressive tone scraped her nerves raw. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Connor attempt to bring his mount to her side, but two men who rode with the sheriff blocked his progress. Grabbing him roughly by the arms they held him back. Her heart sped up. A shiver of dread ran down her spine.

“I am. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Ye’l have to come with me. A charge of witchcraft has been brought against ye, and yer to stand trial on the morrow.”

He leaned over and jerked Bessie’s reins from Ali’s hands. The strip of leather bit into her numb fingers.

“Nay . . . nay!” Mrs. Mac and Mari cried. A roar as loud as the pounding surf fil ed Ali’s head, and she clutched Bessie’s mane to hold herself steady. “Who . . . who brings these charges against me?”

“Ye’l meet yer accusers soon enough.” He shot a men

acing look over his shoulder as Connor struggled to break free of the men. “Try that again, lad, and ye’l regret it.”

Ali saw a flash of steel and screamed. “Connor, no, please, please, do as he says,” she begged him. Connor’s shoulders bowed as he raised his hands in sur

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render. Ali released a shuddering breath when the sheriff resheathed his sword.

“Let them go. It’s me you want. They have nothing to do with this.” She swal owed her fear long enough to control the tremor in her voice.

“Nay, I’l no’ leave you, my lady.” Mrs. Mac clung to her hand.

Ali squeezed, then withdrew her hand. “Please, Mrs. Mac, go home.” With her eyes she pleaded with the older woman, tilting her head in Mari’s direction. Mrs. Mac gave a quick nod, indicating she understood what Ali tried to tel her. If the priest was behind this, and Ali was almost certain he was, she didn’t want Mari any where near these men.

She met the sheriff ’s implacable stare. “Please, let them go.”

“Aye, but doona’ attempt anythin’ foolish, my lady, or yer companions wil suffer the consequences.”

Ali choked back a hysterical laugh. What did he think she could do against four heavily armed men? The sheriff must truly believe the charges against her held merit. Mrs. Mac leaned over and gave her a fierce hug.

“Doona’ fear, my lady. We’l be there on the morrow to see justice is served.” She drew away from Ali and turned on the sheriff. “Ye would do wel to remember ’tis Laird MacLeod’s lady ye bring these charges against.”

A spark of emotion flared in the man’s eyes, and his jaw clenched. “She wil receive a fair trial no matter who she is.”

“Wil I be given an opportunity to defend myself ?” Ali barely got the words past the tight knot in her throat. He gave her a long, considering look, as though he knew there was no one else who would come to her de fense. “Aye, my lady. Now ’tis time to be on our way.”

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hand, reaching over to put an arm around her sobbing maid with the other. She whispered in her ear, “Mari, I don’t want you at the trial. Promise me you won’t come.”

A hot tear rol ed down Mari’s cheek to splash on the back of Ali’s hand. “I’l pray fer ye, my lady. I’l pray our laird comes back in time to save ye.”

Oh, God, she couldn’t think about Rory, not now. Ali nodded, unable to speak, her vision blurred. Connor, free of his guards, reached for her hands.

“Doona’ worry, my lady. I’l find him. He’l come fer ye. Ye ken he wil and we’l send word to Laird MacDonald at Portree.”

Ali covered her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Her chest ached from trying to hold back her emotions.

“Enough. Al of ye take yer leave before I change my mind,” the sheriff said impatiently. Raising a hand to her brow, Ali squinted in the dul , midday sun, her eyes unaccustomed to even the dimmest of light after a night spent in the windowless cel beneath the squat building she now exited. The guard shoved her down the rickety wooden staircase, and she fel to her knees.

“On yer feet,” he growled.

Using the bottom step for leverage, Ali hauled herself up, her legs trembling. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs. Her beautiful sky blue gown was torn and streaked with dirt. She heard the din of excited voices, and self-con sciously touched the tangled mess of her hair, lowering her hand at the sound of the man’s derisive laughter. He grabbed her arm, his grimy fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arm. He dragged her around the corner of the building—the marketplace was jammed with people. They lined the wal s of the surrounding buildings ten deep.

“There’s the witch! There she is!”

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A rock whizzed by her ear and struck the wal behind her. Ali fought against the same sense of defeat that had al but consumed her during the long, cold night on the mudpacked floor without blankets or food. Her resilience, her strength to face whatever they might do to her, had slipped from her then. As she did in her cel , she cal ed on her memories of Rory, and her love for him, to give her the strength to fight. She had too much to live for to give up now. Ali lifted her chin and walked defiantly into the center of the square. Someone shouted out her name, and Ali searched the angry faces of the crowd. Her gaze froze on the wooden stake just beyond the fringe. She forced herself to look away, then spotted Mrs. Mac, Cook, Janet, Maureen, and several of the girls from the kitchen, relieved to see Mari was not among them. Their kind, caring faces blurred before her, and she swal owed past the lump in her throat. The guard jerked her arm and hauled her in front of the sheriff, who sat behind a smal wooden table. He kept his eyes glued to the piece of parchment on the desk. “We await yer accusers.”

One by one the onlookers’ heads turned and Ali looked to see what drew their attention. A smal contingent pushed their way through the curious spectators, and Ali’s mouth dropped when she saw who led the way—Moira MacLean. But of course, what did she expect? The priest, the one who’d accused Mari and Ali once before, fol owed close behind.

The sheriff rose to his feet with a smile of welcome and assisted Moira to her seat on the narrow bench. She thanked him, batting her eyes at the man. He looked be

mused as he walked back to his stool, and Ali groaned. Moira shot her a haughty look. “Yer circumstances have changed much since last we met, Lady Aileanna.” Brushing 298

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a dainty hand over her magenta gown, Moira’s upper lip curled in a sneer she made certain only Ali would witness. Out of the corner of her eye, Ali saw Cook and Janet hold Mrs. Mac back. Ali knew how her friend felt. Her own fingers itched to wrap around the little witch’s neck. Anger battled with fear, and won.

“The truth wil win out, Moira, and I’l be anxious to see how you explain your part in this to Rory.”

The other woman’s composure slipped, but was quickly replaced with a disdainful smile. “I’m certain he’l under stand given the evidence. In al good conscience, I had to come forth.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. “Lady Graham, yer brought here on charges of witchcraft. How do ye plead?”

She held his gaze until he lowered his. “Not guilty, and as al are innocent until proven guilty, I ask you, Sheriff, what is your proof ?”

The sheriff blinked and looked from Moira to the priest. His voluminous gray robe swirling, the little man jumped to his feet. “She struck me down in defense of a witch.”

“Those charges were addressed by Lord MacLeod and al were dismissed.” Ali didn’t look at the priest, giving her ful attention to the sheriff instead.

He stroked his beard. “Is this true?” Although he had brought her there to stand trial, Ali was beginning to think the man at least would be fair. A glimmer of hope flickered to life inside her. Al she had to do was stay strong and hold her ground.

“Aye, but the trial wasna’ fair.”

“Ye had yer chance, Priest. The only reason ye bring charges against Lady Aileanna is because she shamed ye in front of the people fer stonin’ an innocent child,” Janet Cameron cried out.

“Aye . . . aye.” Several of the others from Dunvegan agreed loudly.

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“Quiet! Did ye stone a child?” the sheriff asked.

“She was no’ innocent with her red hair and eyes of two colors. ’Tis the sign of a witch.”

“The sheriff has red hair. Are you accusing him of being a witch?”

The priest glared at Ali. “Ye see, ’tis what she does. She twists the truth. ’Twas the same at Dunvegan.”

The sheriff blew out an impatient breath. “Sit down, Priest.”

Moira patted the distraught man’s hand and rose to her feet. “Although it pains me to say, Sheriff, there is no doubt this woman is a witch. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, and crocodile tears slid down her flushed cheeks. “I was to be married to Laird MacLeod, and this woman, she bewitched him. Cast her wicked spel s on him, she did. I was a witness to it al .”

“No, Moira, what happened is Rory final y came to his senses and saw you for who you real y are. You’re more of a witch than I’l ever be.”

For a brief moment al the hate Moira MacLean felt for Ali shone in her eyes, but she was quick to conceal it. “I have other witnesses, Sheriff, if you’l al ow them to speak.” Not waiting for the man’s response, she motioned to someone in the crowd behind her. Two men and a woman stepped forward, unwil ing to meet Ali’s eyes, and her heart sank. They were gaunt, their legs thin and bowed with obvious signs of starvation, and Ali knew they would do anything for money.

“Say yer piece.” The sheriff waved his hand and or

dered, “Speak up.”

“I . . . I saw ’er dance naked under the moon with the devil himself.”

There were gasps of outrage, and Ali would have laughed if not for the fact they appeared to believe the woman. 300

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“Aye, ’twas what I saw as wel ,” one of the woman’s com

panions said. “And ’twas after that my cow dropped dead.”

“Aye, and the water in the wel turned blood red.”

“Do ye have anythin’ to say fer yerself, Lady Aileanna?”

the sheriff asked, his expression grim.

“I’d like to question the witnesses.”

Moira and the priest looked at each other in obvious dis

tress.

The sheriff scratched his head. “’Tis an unusual request, but I’l no’ have Laird MacLeod sayin’ ye were no’ given a fair trial.”

“Thank you.” Ali turned to her accusers. “You do realize when you give evidence at a trial you’re swearing to God to tel the truth?” She paused to let her words sink in. The priest once again jumped to his feet. “What right does she have to invoke the name of the Lord?”

“I wasn’t. I’m simply stating a fact, is that not true, Sheriff ?”

“Aye.” He gave her a tight nod. “Ye may go on.”

“Did Lady MacLean offer you money for your test . . . to speak against me?”

“Nay,” the oldest of the three was quick to say. The other two bowed their heads.

“Tel him,” Moira shrieked. “Ye tel them I gave ye no money or—”

The sheriff came to his feet and shot an angry look at Moira and the priest. “I doona’ like to be played fer a fool.

’Tis my findin’ that Lady Aileanna Graham is inn—”

“Nay . . . nay.” A young dark-haired man pushed his way through the crowd. “I saw it with my own eyes. She brought a wee lad back from the dead. He’d drowned in the loch.”

Ali closed her eyes. Now how was she supposed to ex

plain that?

“She’s no witch. She’s an angel. Saved my son, she did.”

Janet Cameron’s cries were drowned out by the sound of

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horses’ hooves pounding on the hard-packed earth. The ground shook beneath Ali’s feet. Dust bil owed and choked the onlookers.

When the cloud cleared, she looked up to see Alasdair MacDonald. Like an avenging angel, he urged his white steed forward. The people fel over themselves to get out of his way. At least a hundred men rode with him—fierce, angry men.

“Are ye al right, my pet?” he asked.

Ali nodded. Bemused relief washed over her.

“What is it ye charge my daughter with?”

“Yer daughter? I didna’ ken she was yer daughter, Laird MacDonald.”

“Speak, mon! What are the charges?”

“Wi . . . witchcraft, my lord.”

“Yer chargin’ my daughter with witchcraft?” he bel

lowed, bringing his horse within snorting distance.

“Nay . . . nay, they are.” The sheriff stumbled backward, pointing to Moira and the priest. “But . . . but I was just about to declare her innocence when this lad says she brought a child back to life.”

“Aileanna?” Alasdair raised a brow.

She gave a frantic shake of her head. “He wasn’t dead. He swal owed a lot of water and the loch brought his body temperature down too low, that’s al .”

“I saw her. She blew into his mouth.”

“Yes, of course I did. I had to replace the air he’d been deprived of. I’ve seen it done before.”

“My daughter is a healer. She’s no witch, and if I hear another spout lies against her, they’l answer to me.” He reached for Aileanna’s hand and pul ed her onto the back of his horse. “Do ye declare my daughter innocent?”

The sheriff ’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Aye, my lord, aye.”

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the priest. “I warn ye, doona’ ever threaten my daughter again or ye’l be verra sorry ye did.” Color drained from their faces. “Fire the stake,” Alasdair roared. “And make certain I see no other raised in its place.”

Those that had come from Dunvegan cheered, rushing toward Ali. “We’l see you at the keep then, my lady,” Mrs. Mac said with tears in her eyes.

After returning their happy smiles and good wishes, Ali slumped against Alasdair’s broad back, too weary to do anything but. “Yer safe, my pet, yer safe.” He patted her leg. Rory leapt from the boat, leaving the men that accompa nied him to pul it onto the rocky shore. Soaked through to his skin from rain and sweat, but he barely noticed, too intent on rescuing Aileanna. They’d crossed The Minch in the middle of the night, thankful for the winds at their back. Racing along the path to the courtyard, Rory cal ed out to the men on the parapet. “I need four of you to accom pany me to the vil age.”

If his men were surprised to see him, they didn’t show it. Cedric shot him a sympathetic look. “We wil na’ make it, my laird. The trial is already underway.”

“Nay, I wil make it on time. There’s a chance she’l be proven innocent.”

Byron shook his head. “It doesna’ look good, my lord. I ken she’s innocent, but after Jamie’s accident . . .” The man gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

“What . . . what happened?” Connor had been so ex

hausted on his arrival at Lewis that Rory had been unable to get more than a few words from him.

“The lad drowned in the loch. He was dead, my lord, I swear it, and yet she brought him back to life.”

“The lad drowned in the loch. He was dead, my lord, I swear it, and yet she brought him back to life.”

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to protect her. With evidence such as that, there was no question in his mind she’d be found guilty. Heart pound ing, he raced for the keep before it was too late. He knew what had to be done. There were no other options available to him. He couldn’t al ow her to die.

Rory threw the door to his study open and pul ed the books from the shelf to get at the secret compartment behind them. His hand shook as he withdrew the fairy flag. Closing his eyes, he clenched the piece of silk in his fist and slammed it into the wal . The books from the shelf above crashed at his feet. Rory took the stairs to the tower two at a time, knowing he had no choice but to use the clan’s last wish. Al he could think of was Aileanna. He had to save her. His chest grew so tight he thought it would explode. His throat ached from choking back the emotion, the pain of losing her. A rush of cold air whipped at the flag as he raised it.

“Good-bye, mo chridhe, my love.”

Rory strode from the keep. “Back to the boat,” he barked at the men who awaited his command in the courtyard. As they prepared to set sail for Lewis, Rory took one last look at Dunvegan and the fairy flag on the tower fluttering in the wind. She was lost to him forever, and he cursed the fairy flag and the superstitious fools who had forced his hand. Haunted by images of Aileanna—her beautiful face, her laughter and her strength—he wanted to be as far away from everything that meant anything to him as he could get. He’d lost the only woman he truly loved. And not even Dunvegan or thoughts of his clan offered him peace.

Chapter 26

As the distance between Ali and the vil age grew, the tension inside her eased. Exhausted, she clung to Alasdair.

“’Twil no’ be long, lass, and I’l have ye back at the keep.”

Ali smiled, raising her head as the tower of Dunvegan beckoned in the distance. A cream colored piece of fabric fluttered at the very top. Ali gasped. No, it can’t be! She rubbed her eyes, praying she was mistaken. She held her breath as once more she raised her gaze to the tower. Her heart shattered. Rory had raised the fairy flag. Her breath came in short panicked gasps and spots dotted her vision. A prickly heat flooded her limbs and she clutched at Alasdair’s shirt to keep from fal ing off the horse. How could he do this to her? How could he send her back to a place she no longer cal ed home, to no one, to nothing?

Alasdair, as though sensing her distress, twisted in the saddle to look back at her. “Aileanna, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Take me to Armadale with you, Alasdair. Please,” she choked out on an anguished sob.

“Aye, my pet, whatever ye wish.” He took one last look at her before he waved his men on. “We ride fer Armadale.”

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blurred before her eyes. Ali didn’t know how long it would take for the fairy magic to work, but she couldn’t be at Dunvegan when it did. To spend whatever time she had left surrounded by the people she loved, only to disappear, would be unbearable. They were lost to her forever.

“Wake up, lass, we’re home. There sits Armadale.” Alas

dair pointed proudly to the fairy-tale castle perched on a sloping hil with a loch below. Ali shook off the last remnants of sleep, glancing at her hands and the landscape to reassure herself the flag’s magic hadn’t worked—at least not yet. “It’s beautiful,” she final y managed to croak. The horses clomped across the cobblestoned courtyard. Servants rushed to greet them. Noting Ali’s presence, they held back, their jaws dropping in open astonishment. A lovely looking woman, her auburn hair lightly streaked with gray, stepped through the massive oak doors with a warm smile on her face. Catching sight of Ali, she clapped a hand to her mouth. Her cry of dismay brought several servants to her side. Alasdair sighed. “That would be Fiona, my wife’s sister. After Anna left with the babe she remained to care for Brianna.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “Your wife’s name was Anna?”

Helping her from the horse, his brow furrowed. “Aye.”

“My . . . my mother’s name was Anna.”

Alasdair stared at her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he gave her a little shake. “Do ye see it now, lass? ’Tis the truth—ye are my daughter.”

Ali shook her head. “No, it’s a coincidence, Alasdair, that’s al . I can’t tel you why I’m so sure, but I am.” If she told him the truth, he’d think she’d lost her mind. Unable to escape on the long journey to Alasdair’s home, LORD OF THE ISLES

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she had to find a way to leave Armadale without raising his suspicions, or he’d find a way to stop her. She didn’t know where she’d go to wait until the magic sent her back, but she couldn’t be with Alasdair when it did. The man had suffered enough.

“Ye’l tel me, Aileanna. I must ken, or ’twil eat at me until the day I die. Can ye no’ understand, my pet? I need to ken.”

“Aileanna? Alasdair, is it truly she?” The woman stood plucking at his sleeve. Luminous brown eyes brimmed with tears, and Aileanna felt a fleeting sense of recognition.

“’Tis. Whether she wil admit to it, or no’,” he said, his voice tight with anger.

“Alasdair, I don’t mean to hurt you, but I can’t pretend to be your daughter when I know I’m not. No matter how much both of us wish it was true.”

He shook off the woman’s hand and dragged Ali after him. “I ken ’tis true, and I’l show ye why.”

“Alasdair, can this no’ wait? The child is obviously ex

hausted.”

“Nay, I’ve waited over twenty-seven years to find her, and I’l no’ wait a moment longer.”

Ali stumbled after him, past the gaping servants. He led her up the curved stone staircase and opened a door to a long, narrow room lined with portraits. “There.” He pointed. “Now, tel me yer no’ my daughter.”

“Alasdair, I know I look like Brianna. I’ve seen her por

trait be—”

“Nay, that one.” He held her by the shoulders and di

rected her gaze to the portrait on the right of Brianna’s. Ali stared at the painted image of a woman with the topaz eyes and hair the color of spun gold. Her breath quickened, and her heart stuttered in her chest. Faded mem ories rushed at her in a swirling torrent. The room spun, and her knees buckled. She was so terrified it was the fairy 308

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magic she could barely breathe. But it wasn’t—it was shock, the shock of looking at her mother’s beautiful face. She clutched Alasdair’s arm. “How . . . how can it be?

I’m not from . . .” Her voice trailed off, unable to tel him the truth. Fiona dragged over a chair. “Here, sit, my dear. There, there.” She patted Aileanna’s shoulder. “Ye should ken better, ye old goat. The child is dead on her feet.”

Alasdair scowled at the woman. “I need to ken once and fer al . Ye of anyone should understand, Fiona.”

“Aye, I do.” Her voice was gentle as she knelt at Ali’s side.

“I ken ye’ve had a rough time of it, and I doona’ want to add to yer troubles, but when yer mo—when my sister had the babies she sent fer me. I helped with the bairns, until . . . until.” She let out a shuddering breath. “If ye al ow me, I can tel ye fer certain whether or no’ yer Aileanna MacDonald.”

“But I can’t be . . . you don’t understand.”

Alasdair shot Ali a ferocious glare before he turned to the other woman. “What are ye sayin’, Fiona? How would ye ken?”

“The bairn had a birthmark, Alasdair, a wee crescent moon just below the hairline at the back of her neck.”

Before Ali could respond, Alasdair lifted her hair. She heard Fiona gasp, and let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Alasdair. I tried to tel you.”

He pressed his big palm to her cheek and turned her to face him. His sky blue eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“The wee moon is there, my pet. There is no doubt, ye are my daughter.”

Ali stared at him in shocked disbelief. She shook her head. Heart racing, she managed to say, “But I can’t be. I’m not from—”

“Tel me, Aileanna. Tel me why ye canna’ believe ’tis true.”

“I can’t.” She bowed her head. Ali understood his frus

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tration when so much of the evidence seemed to validate his claim that she was his daughter: the portrait of a woman who looked like her mother, had the same name, and now to learn she bore the identical birthmark as the daughter he had lost al those years ago. Good Lord, she’d almost be

lieve it herself if not for the fact she was from the twentyfirst century. He moved to stand in front of her, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Aye, ye wil .” Jaw set, he skewered her with an unbending stare. Seeing the glimmer of moisture in Alasdair’s eyes, Ali couldn’t keep the truth from him any longer. To try to help him understand why there was no way she could be his daughter was the least she could do. She didn’t want him to suffer more than he already had, and she knew he’d keep her secret. He’d never al ow anyone or anything to hurt her.

“Al right, I’l tel you, but I think you had better sit down and close the door.”

He frowned, but did as she asked. Once he and Fiona had brought their chairs round to sit in front of her, she began her story. She told them everything she remembered of her mother and life growing up without her, without anyone. At times she depended on the memories of the old neighbor she’d tracked down on one of her many searches for her family, to fil in the blanks. It was how Ali learned about the man her mother married when Ali was too young to remember, a husband who had been abusive, and aban

doned them less than a year after the marriage. Her mother had cleaned houses, barely managing to eke out a living. But most painful of al was the memory of the car accident that had taken Anna’s life and left Ali an orphan. Alasdair sat stiffly in his chair, the expression on his face unreadable. Absently he handed Fiona his handkerchief. 310

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Her aunt sniffed as she asked, “How is it ye came to be a Graham, Aileanna?”

Ali closed her eyes before answering. “After the acci

dent I was put in foster care. Just before my seventh birth

day, I was adopted. The family’s name was Graham.”

“But ye didna’ remain with them?”

Ali shook her head, determined not to cry. She’d buried that particular hurt a long time ago. “No, Mrs. Graham died eighteen months after I was adopted, and Mr. Graham sent me back to foster care. He . . . he said he couldn’t manage to care for another child, especial y as I wasn’t his own. He hadn’t wanted me in the first place.”

“My poor wee poppet,” Fiona cried.

Ali cleared her throat and told the rest of the story, about the fairy magic, and how she came to be at Dunvegan. She hesitated before she said to Alasdair, “Rory raised the fairy flag the day you took me from the trial. That’s why I asked you to bring me to Armadale. I couldn’t bear to be there waiting for the magic to take me away. And now when it does, I . . . I’m going to cause you more pain, and you don’t deserve that.”

“Nay, no one wil take ye away from me again,” he said fiercely.

Ali gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think there’s any way to stop it, Alasdair. But now, despite al the coincidences, can you see how it’s just not possible that I’m your daughter?”

“They aren’t coincidences, my dear. Ye are Aileanna Mac

Donald. Think on what ye’ve told us. What Duncan Macin

tosh told ye that day at Dunvegan. The MacLeods raised the fairy flag in fifteen seventy and defeated the MacDonalds.”

Fiona held her gaze with a gentle confidence.

“They won because yer mother and ye went missin’, Aileanna. I was too busy searchin’ fer ye to lead my men into battle.”

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“’Twas over twenty-seven years ago, Aileanna. How old are ye?” Fiona asked.

“Twenty . . . I’l be twenty-eight on my birthday.”

Alasdair pul ed her from the chair and folded her into his warm, protective embrace. “Aileanna, ye can doubt it no longer. I’l no’ let you go, my pet. They’l no’ take ye from me.”

Fiona and Alasdair were right. There was no denying the facts. The MacLeods’ fairy flag had stolen Ali and her mother from their home over twenty-seven years ago, only to return Ali on the day Iain raised the flag to save Rory. It was true, al of it. She had a father, a family, and she didn’t know what she’d do if the fairy magic took her away from them again.

“I don’t want to leave, Alasdair. I can’t tel you how much I want to stay. How can I go back when everyone I love is here?” Dear God, please don’t let them take me. I don’t think I could bear it. He cupped her face between his hands and gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Shh, yer no’ goin’ any where, and ye’l cal me Alasdair no more. Ye’l cal me father from now on, or da, whichever ye prefer.”

Fiona gave an unladylike snort, swiping at her own tears. “And at times ye’l cal him an old goat like I do.”

Ali laughed, then hiccupped. “That’s what Rory cal s him.”

A wave of intense pain arched through her body at the thought of Rory. She wanted nothing more than to go to him, but didn’t have the strength to be ripped from his arms. It hadn’t taken her long to come to the realization Rory raised the flag to save her. And she wouldn’t make him suffer with the knowledge there’d been no need for him to do so. She’d managed to save herself. Although in the end, her father’s presence had swayed the sheriff more than she ever 312

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could. In his attempt to save her life, Rory had destroyed their one chance for happiness.

“That one has a lot to answer fer, and the first question wil be what possessed him to raise the bloody flag in the first place. A man who professes to love ye then sends ye away to be lost to him forever,” Alasdair growled, tighten ing his hold on her.

“’Tis because he loves her, Alasdair. Mayhap he thought

’twas the only way to save her. Did ye no’ say it was the last wish, Aileanna, and he’d no’ send ye back because it was al his clan had left?” Fiona went on, not giving Ali a chance to respond. “I’d say the mon loves yer daughter above al else, wouldna’ ye, Alasdair?”

He muttered something under his breath before he kissed Ali on the forehead. “Yer aunt wil show ye to yer chambers. Ye need yer rest, fer this night we celebrate my daughter’s return.” His eyes wel ed, and Ali’s heart ached as she tried to imagine how he felt. He might have her back, but he’d lost his wife, and now, after finding Ali, he could turn around and she’d be gone again. But for now, she’d put the thought from her mind, and let them both enjoy what little time they had left together. Rory stood in the grand hal at Lewis and begrudgingly accepted the mug of ale his brother offered him, but re

fused to take a seat with them by the fire. Aidan released a weary sigh. “I ken yer in a bad way, cousin, but ye canna’

solve anythin’ by stayin’ here and fightin’ like a mon possessed.”

“I’m no’ in a bad way, and I thought by fightin’ the ad

venturers I was helpin’ you save yer home.” Rory scowled at him.

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are anxious to return to Dunvegan and their families.” Iain eyed him warily. “I miss her too, Rory. I ken no’ as much as you, but I do miss her,” he finished quietly. Rory glared at Iain, angry he talked of her. Since the day he had returned to Lewis after raising the fairy flag, he had al owed no mention of her in his presence. The pain hadn’t subsided. If anything, it grew worse. Like a piece of him was being cut away each and every day, and soon there would be nothing left of him. The last place he wanted to be was Dunvegan, where the memories of her were bound to taunt and torture him.

His cousin Lachlan watched him careful y. Chewing on his bottom lip, he shot his brother Aidan a worried glance. The lad was the youngest of the MacLeods, but one day he would surpass them al in height and strength. “Rory, did ye think mayhap there was a way to contact the fairies and ask them to return yer lady to ye?”

With barely contained rage, Aidan glared at his brother.

“Are ye daft, Lan? The fairy flag was passed to the MacLeods centuries ago. ’Tis a myth, is al .”

“’Tis no myth. The fairies exist,” the lad mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

“Have ye gone mad, brother?” Aidan was angrier than Rory had ever seen him and he laid a hand on his cousin’s shoulder to calm him. Although he knew better than anyone that the flag was no myth, he had a hard time believing the fairies stil existed in this time. But he wouldn’t hurt the lad’s feelings by saying so. For a fleeting moment he wanted to hold on to Lan’s belief, but was quick to brush it aside as foolishness. The only magick that existed was in the flag, and without another wish, he had nothing. Lan flushed crimson. “I ken they do. I’ve heard them.”

“When, Lan? When did you hear them?” Rory heard the desperation in his own voice, a slippery thread of excitement 314

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that vanished as soon as he saw the look of disbelief in the eyes of Fergus, Aidan, and Iain.

“When I was a bairn I heard them. They came to me in my dreams.” Lan flushed to the roots of his fair hair. His forehead beaded with sweat. Rory felt sorry for the lad. The only reason his cousin had made mention of the fairies was to offer Rory some hope, risking ridicule to do so. Aidan slammed his hand on the arm of his chair. “’Tis the old crone that looked after ye when ye were a bairn that turned yer head. No more talk of fairies, brother, or I’l lock ye away.”

“You send fer me if he does, Lan, and I’l bring you back to Dunvegan with me. I appreciate yer tel in’ me aboot the fairies. If you hear them again, be sure to make mention of . . .” He hesitated, not certain he could say her name aloud without unleashing the emotions he’d locked away. He swal owed hard. “Aileanna.” He ruffled his young cousin’s hair when he nodded shyly. Rory looked at Fergus. “Tel the men we leave on the morrow.”

Rory bowed his head as the boats approached the shores of Dunvegan, unable to look upon the flag that fluttered on top of the tower. Emotions warred within him, and he bat

tled an urge to set sail in the opposite direction, but he couldn’t—not yet. The excited chatter of his men grew the closer they got to Dunvegan. Rory felt a twinge of guilt for keeping them away as long as he had. It hadn’t been warranted. They could’ve returned weeks ago, and he should’ve sent Fergus and Iain back to Dunvegan with the men. But they refused to leave him, too afraid he’d go too far in battle, risk too much. Maybe they were right. Maybe he would have.

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“Are you al right, brother?” Iain asked from where he sat in the boat behind Rory. Both Iain and Fergus had cut him a wide berth on the way back. He didn’t blame them. He wasn’t fit for company. A sorry lot they must have looked as they left the boats on shore and walked along the path to the keep. Lord knew they should be bel owing out their triumph. They’d pushed the adventurers back to lick their wounds, and the MacLeods had lost no one to the enemy’s swords.

“I’l be fine, Iain, but I’m thinkin’ of goin’ to court fer a time. Mayhap I can do some good there fer Aidan and Lachlan, and it would no’ hurt our cause either.”

“Aye . . . aye, if that’s what you need to do.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the look his brother shared with Fergus. He ignored them. The emotional tur moil of coming home was taking its tol , and he was anx

ious for his bed.

He looked up to see Mrs. Mac cross the courtyard to greet them. She was flanked by Janet, Maureen, Mari, and old lady Cameron. The women looked none too happy. Rory sighed. It would be awhile before he saw his bed. He glanced at Fergus and Iain. “Bloody hel , what have we come home to?”

“I doona’ ken, but they look plenty fashed at you, lad,”

Fergus said, watching as the women drew near.

“Ladies, is there a problem?” They crossed their arms and glared at him. “Since I’ve just come home, I doona’

ken what I coulda’ done wrong.”

“Why did you no’ bring our lady home?”

Rory blanched, a tight pressure building in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mac. I didna’ make it back in time.”

“Och, and what does that have to do with it? Al this time her bein’ at Armadale and no’ with us. ’Tis no’ right. Get yer horse and go and get her.”

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get the words out. “Mrs. Mac, she’s no’ at Armadale.” He pul ed her aside and lowered his voice. “Did you no’ see the fairy flag? I had to send her back. I was too late to save her. There was no other way.”

Mrs. Mac ducked her head. “’Twas no’ the fairy flag you raised.”

Chapter 27

Ali sat up in bed, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Not again,” she groaned into her palm. The wave of nausea passed, and she flopped onto the down-fil ed pil ows. A long, drawn-out creak drew her attention, and she cracked one eye open to see her aunt peek around the door.

“Oh, poppet, yer il again this morn.” Fiona swept into the room. Her royal blue silk skirts swished over the stone floor as she made her way to Ali’s bedside, a look of concern in her kind eyes. “Mayhap we should have someone see to ye. I havena’ said a word to yer father. I didna’ want to worry him, ye ken, and ye always perk up by midday, but real y, my pet, this has gone on too long.” The bed dipped when she sat to stroke the hair from Ali’s clammy forehead.

“Aunt Fiona, I think you’ve forgotten I am a doctor. I’m quite capable of seeing to my own care, more competent than most of the heal . . . oh, good Lord.” Maybe not so competent after al . Ali felt like giving herself a couple of knocks on the head, but didn’t, afraid it wouldn’t have the desired effect. Instead of knocking some sense into her, she’d probably throw up—again.

How stupid could she be? Pregnant. She was pregnant. It certainly explained why she’d been so tired of late. A 318

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symptom she’d ascribed to lack of sleep when she’d been too afraid to close her eyes in case the fairies stole her away. Missing her period and her overwrought emotions, she’d put down to stress—stress and missing Rory.

“What is it, Aileanna? Is it serious, poppet?” Her aunt’s eyes fil ed and she twisted her hands in her lap. Ali drew Fiona into a reassuring hug. In the few short weeks she’d been at Armadale her aunt had loved and cared for her like a mother. “No, it’s nothing. I mean, it’s not nothing, it’s just that, wel , I’m pregnant.” Ali gri maced, not sure how her aunt would take the news. Lying back, Ali rested her hand on her stil flat stomach. She smiled, fil ed with an excited bubble of wonder and joy. She was having a baby—Rory’s baby. A man she hadn’t seen in weeks. A tiny bit of her happiness dissi

pated. He hadn’t responded to her letters and the little nig

gling of doubt was getting harder to ignore. Fiona’s mouth dropped. “A bairn . . . yer havin’ a bairn?”

Ali chewed on her bottom lip. “Umhmm. Rory’s baby.”

“Laird MacLeod. Of course—good, that’s good.” Her aunt’s brow furrowed and she tapped a finger on her lightlylined cheek. “Wel , there’s no time to waste, then,” she said after a moment of silence, flipping the covers off Ali. Ali arched a brow. “If you don’t mind, Auntie, it might be best if I lie here for a little longer.”

“Oh, of course, I didna’ think. I’m sorry, poppet.” She patted the coverlet into place and resumed her seat. “Now,

’tis most important we get in touch with Laird MacLeod.”

Ali sighed. “I tried. As soon as I knew the fairies’ magic wasn’t going to work I sent him a letter—more than one actual y. He hasn’t responded, and it’s been a couple of weeks now.” Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Ali plucked at the satin comforter. Fiona’s brow furrowed. “I didna’ ken ye sent a letter. Did yer father?”

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Ali nodded. “I didn’t know how to send it without his help.” And Alasdair had fought her tooth and nail, until the tears. When Ali had begun to cry, he gave in. Her usual y mild-mannered aunt cursed under her breath. “That mon, sometimes I’d like to shake him. Aileanna, I doubt verra much yer father sent yer missive. He’s no’ relented aboot yer seein’ the MacLeod, no matter what he’s led ye to believe. ’Tis what the gatherin’ this night is aboot. There are plenty of potential suitors on the guest list.”

Ali groaned. “Aunt Fiona, you have to make him stop. The only man I want is Rory, and that’s not going to change, especial y now.” She patted her stomach to make her point.

“I’ve tried, but he’s a stubborn old goat. ’Tis like talkin’

to a wal —a big, thick one.” Her aunt gestured just how thick with her hands. “Mayhap ’twould be best if ye doona’

mention the bairn.”

“I didn’t plan on tel ing either the father or the grandfa

ther, at least not for a while.”

“I understand ye no’ tel in’ yer father. He’s liable to cal the lad out, but why would ye no’ be tel in’ Laird MacLeod?”

Ali rol ed her eyes. “Thanks for that comforting thought, Auntie. As for Rory, I refuse to let him marry me just because I’m having his baby. And as soon as he finds out, that’s exactly what he’l expect. Not that there’s much chance he’l find out anytime soon.” She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “He must know I’m here, Aunt Fiona. I’m worried he’s having second thoughts about us, that he regrets using the clan’s last wish, espe cial y since it didn’t work.” There was something else, something she herself had a difficult time thinking about. How would Rory feel when he found out he was in love with his late wife’s sister?

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nonsense, and ye ken it as wel as I do. From what ye’ve told me, the lad loves ye, and I ken ye love him. Which leaves me to wonder why ye’d no’ want him to marry ye even if it was on account of the bairn.”

Ali released a frustrated breath. “Auntie, I’ve told you before. I’l not have Rory MacLeod marry me out of a sense of duty. I want him to marry me because he loves me, because he doesn’t want to live without me. And I won’t have him bul y me into it, which is exactly what he’d do if he found out I was pregnant.”

Fiona chuckled and patted her knee. “Wel , poppet, I’d say we have our work cut out fer us.”

Ali blinked back tears at the sight of her father and aunt waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The look of love and the pride in their eyes made her heart swel . In the short time she’d been with them, she’d come to love them both dearly.

“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.

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Only when he felt her tremble did he reluctantly ease back, his breathing harsh, hers the same. “Yer cold.”

Her eyes searched his face as though memorizing every detail. He winced, realizing what he must look like, what he must smel like.

“I’m sorry, mo chridhe. We’d just returned from Lewis and I rode straight to Armadale. I ken I doona’ smel par ticularly fine at the moment.”

She grinned and wrinkled her nose. He laughed and kissed the turned-up tip before he ran his hands down her arms and held her out from him. “I’m goin’ to ruin yer bonny gown.” Aileanna slid her arms around his neck, clos ing the space between them to bury her face in his chest.

“I don’t care. My God, Rory, I thought I’d never see you again.” Her lips brushed his chil ed skin, and then her shoulders shook, her tears dampening the front of his tunic.

“Shh, love, doona’ cry,” he crooned, stroking her silken tresses. “I’m here now. I’l never leave you again.”

She tipped her chin and gazed up at him. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs and smiled down at her. “I thought I’d lost you forever, Aileanna. It wasn’t until I came back from Lewis that I learned you were here, that the magick didna’ work.”

Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. “I was so scared, Rory. I kept waiting for the magic to happen, waiting for it to take me away from you, from everyone.”

The look of anguish in her face tore at every fiber of his being. “You have to believe me, mo chridhe, I never would have raised the flag if I’d thought there was any other way. I couldn’t let you die. I—”

She shook her head and pressed two fingers to his mouth. “I know.” Her lips curved in a gentle smile. “I know you felt you had no other choice. I understood what the decision cost you. How difficult it was for you to use the clan’s last wish, and I loved you for that.”

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He gave her a fierce kiss. “I couldna’ do anythin’ but. I love you, Aileanna, ye must ken that.”

She touched his cheek. “I do. I love you, too.” A shadow darkened her luminous blue eyes. “But I don’t understand why I’m stil here. Why the magic didn’t work.”

He gave her a wry grin, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Mrs. Mac. She didna’ want to risk you findin’ the flag and leavin’ us. She switched the silk. It was no’ the real flag I raised that day.”

Aileanna sagged against him. “I wish I had known.”

He cradled her head against his chest. “You and me both, my love,” he murmured. She threaded her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. Her kiss was achingly sweet.

“Get yer filthy paws off my daughter, MacLeod.” Mac

Donald’s angry words crackled in the stil ness of the night. Rory’s head whipped up. Lost in Aileanna, he had no warning of the other man’s presence, and he cursed his inattention.

Aileanna groaned. She squeezed Rory’s hand. “Let me handle this.”

He shook his head, looking past her to the older man who stood on the garden path. “Nay, this is between me and MacDonald.” He gently placed her out of harm’s way, ignoring her protests. In four angry strides, MacDonald closed the distance between them. “Yer no’ welcome here. Get off my lands, MacLeod.”

“’Twil be my pleasure, but I wil na’ leave without Aileanna.”

“Over my dead body. I’l no’ give ye another of my daughters after what ye did to the last.”

Rory heard Aileanna gasp.

“I did everything in my power to save Brianna and you bloody wel ken it. As fer Aileanna—”

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“Ye’l no’ have her,” the man bel owed. “Ye godforsaken MacLeods and yer bloody flag took her from me the first time. Ye’l no’ be takin’ her from me again.” He thumped Rory in the chest with his fist. Anger hazed his vision and Rory thumped him back, going toe-to-toe with the raving lunatic before him. “She’s mine, and no’ you or anyone else wil keep her from me.”

“She’s no’ yers, she’s mine, and I’l no’ see her wed to ye. I’ve got men inside, good men, better than the likes of ye, beggin’ fer her hand.”

Heat blasted through Rory. He fisted his hands, the temp

tation to hit the man overwhelming. “Ye canna’ promise her to another. We’re as good as wed. She’s been in my bed.”

Aileanna’s outraged gasp pierced his temper and he cursed, turning to apologize to her. Smack.

The MacDonald’s powerful fist glanced off Rory’s cheek, hitting him square in the eye. Rory stumbled. His battlehoned reflexes took over and he planted his fist in the MacDonald’s eye. With a bel ow of rage, the older man charged him, and the two of them landed in a prickly bush. Pummeling each other, they rol ed off the bush and onto the hard ground.

“Stop it, stop it!” Aileanna’s pained cry froze their fists in midair. Rory lowered his hand and rol ed onto his back, as did the MacDonald. The two of them stared wide-eyed at the glorious angel who looked down at them—a very angry angel. Her stormy blue eyes flashed, and Rory winced at the string of curse words coming out of her innocent-looking mouth.

“Aileanna!” came the MacDonald’s shocked response.

“Doona’Aileanna me. Bloodthirsty highlanders, the two of ye. Doona’ think either of ye have a say over me. I’l decide who and when I wed. And ye can wipe that sil y grin off yer face, MacLeod. I didna’ say I was marryin’ ye.”

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When the MacDonald chortled gleeful y, she shook her finger at him. “And ye, paradin’ yer merry band of suitors before me. I’l no’ wed any of them, and I can tel ye they’l no’ want to wed me, a woman who carries the MacLeod’s bairn.”

She cursed. Pivoting on her heel, she stormed from the gardens, leaving them lying in stunned silence on the frozen ground.

Chapter 28

The sure-footed old goat managed to get to his feet before Rory did. But Rory imagined it had less to do with agility, and more to do with the fact that he stil reeled from the emotions Aileanna’s sharp tongue elicited. Despite her anger, the memory of her thick brogue brought a smile to his face. The knowledge he was to be a father warmed his heart with a depth of emotion he’d thought only Aileanna could cause him to feel. But her stub born unwil ingness to wed him was a punch to his gut more debilitating than the one the MacDonald had delivered. Once Rory managed to get to his feet, he rushed to catch up to the old man. They reached the door to the keep at the same time, jostling each other for entry. Their shoulders squeezed together as they tried to get through the door. Rory grunted, took a step back and shoved the old goat inside. Fol owing him through the dimly lit corridor, he matched the MacDonald stride for stride when he saw Aileanna speaking to an older woman at the foot of the stairs. Bathed in the warm glow of torchlight, she took his breath away. She no longer wore her mantle and Rory drew his gaze from where the large ruby glinted between the generous hol ow of her creamy white breasts. If he hadn’t, 330

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the evidence of how much he wanted her would be visible to anyone who cared to look.

“Aileanna, we need to talk.” Rory barely managed to keep his frustration in check.

“Aileanna, ye and I have much to discuss,” the MacDon

ald said pointedly, giving Rory a little shove. She regarded them with a haughty stare. “I’m not in the mood.” She tossed her hair and headed up the stairs. The delectable sway of her backside left Rory fighting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and make off with her into the night.

over his shoulder and make off with her into the night.

“Poppet, ’tis best fer al if this matter is settled.”

Rory heard her sigh, then she turned to meet the older woman’s beseeching gaze. “Al right, Auntie, we’l meet in the salon.”

Auntie? Rory narrowed his gaze on Aileanna. What the bloody hel was she playin’ at?

“Nay, we have guests, Fiona. ’Twould be best if we left this until the morrow, and I’l no’ have this mon anywhere near my daughter.”

Rory thrust his fingers through his hair. “Are you daft, mon? She’s as much yer daughter as I am yer son.”

Aileanna held up her hand. “Father, not another word out of you until we have some privacy.” She tipped her head toward the entrance of the grand hal where a smal crowd gathered.

“Aileanna, you doona’ understand. He’l make our lives a livin’ hel if you continue to let him believe yer his daughter. Doona’ pander to the mon, love.”

Alasdair gave a snort of self-satisfied laughter and clapped Rory a staggering blow to his shoulder. “Welcome to hel , my boy.”

The older woman intervened before Rory could re

spond. “Alasdair, see to yer guests while—” She stopped midsentence, her lips pursed. “After ye’ve put yerself to LORD OF THE ISLES

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rights, that is. Laird MacLeod, I’l see ye to yer rooms and mayhap a bath would be in order.” She wrinkled her nose, a twinkle in her eyes.

They were mad, the lot of them. Including the bonny mother of his child, whose soft giggle hadn’t escaped his notice. Remembering his manners, Rory brought the woman’s hand to his lips. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Fiona.”

Ali looked up from where she sat, legs curled beneath her on the overstuffed armchair. Her father and Rory, with a matching purple hue surrounding their left eyes, entered the salon together. If the expression on their faces was any thing to go by, it was not by choice.

When her eyes met Rory’s, her breath caught in her throat. His damp hair, pushed back from the chiseled lines of his gorgeous face, brushed the snowy white linen that encased his broad shoulders. The tan suede pants he wore heightened the al ure of his narrow waist and long, mus

cular legs.

As though he sensed the direction of her thoughts, his beautiful mouth curved in a sensual smile. That and the promise in his eyes caused Ali’s stomach to do a slow rol . A commotion behind the men drew her attention. Fiona, fol owed by two young serving girls carrying platters, en

tered the room.

“I thought mayhap ye could use some sustenance, Laird MacLeod.” Fiona smiled at Rory, motioning for the plat ters to be placed on the table behind her. Ali groaned when the smel of roasted meat wafted past her nostrils. Rory strode to her side, a look of concern in his emer

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fingers tipped her chin. She nodded, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult for her to speak. Rory stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“Good.” He crouched beside her, bringing her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry if my words in the garden hurt you, love.

’Twas no’ my intention.”

Her father’s loud grumbling was becoming difficult to ignore. When Fiona elbowed him, he glared at her. “What was that fer? Ye canna’ expect me to stand quietly by while he . . . he tries to seduce my daughter.”

Rory shot to his feet, rounding on her father. “Ye canna’

possibly believe that Aileanna is yer daughter.”

Ali’s nails dug into her palms, afraid of Rory’s reaction when he found out she was a MacDonald, Brianna’s sister.

“Laird MacLeod, please sit.” Her aunt nudged him into a chair opposite Ali. “Alasdair, you, too.” She pointed to a chair a good distance from Rory. “I think ’twould be best if he hears it from ye, poppet.”

“Aileanna, what’s goin’ on here?” Rory’s voice was harsh, edged with steel. Ali swal owed hard. “He’s my father, Rory. No.” She held up a hand to stop his angry protest, then proceeded to tel him al she had learned since the day he had raised what he thought was the fairy flag. Rory shook his head slowly. His mouth opened and closed.

Her father leaned back in his chair, a wide grin splitting his handsome face. “At a loss fer words, lad? ’Tis a wel come change.” Alasdair chortled.

Ali was tempted to smack him.

Rory took a deep swal ow from the goblet of whiskey her aunt had pressed into his hands midway through Ali’s halting explanation. He lifted his gaze to hers. “So, yer Brianna’s twin, then?”

Ali nodded. She looked down at her hands, the crim

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son velvet twisted through her fingers. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, too afraid of what she’d see there.

“Aye, and now yer free of any guilt ye may have had fer takin’ Aileanna from her time. In truth, ye brought her back to us, and we must thank ye fer that,” her aunt said in an obvious attempt to relieve the tension in the room. Ali held her breath when her father began to mutter about it being because of the MacLeods she’d been stolen away in the first place. But it didn’t appear as if Rory even heard him. He sat, deep in thought. As the silence dragged on, the knots in Ali’s stomach twisted.

“Alasdair,” Fiona said, jerking her chin at Rory, a deter

mined look in her eyes.

Her father left his seat to pace in front of the hearth. Coming to an abrupt halt near Rory’s chair, he shot Fiona a disgruntled look. “It appears, MacLeod, that I have no choice but to give ye my daughter’s hand in marriage. If no’ fer the bairn she carries, I can tel ye I’d no’ let ye near her. I’ve arranged fer the priest to be here on the morrow.”

Rory scrubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head. “Ye ken as wel as I do, Alasdair, I canna’ marry Bri anna’s sister.”

Ali’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t breathe, her worst fears confirmed. Now that he knew who she was, Rory didn’t want her. She choked back a sob. Tears streamed unchecked down her face.

“Aileanna, what is it?” Rory came to her side and gently wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

“You don . . . don’t want to mar . . . marry me anymore,”

she sobbed.

With a tender smile, he took her hands in his. “You doona’ understand, mo chridhe. ’Tis no’—”

“It’s because I’m Brianna’s sister.” She hiccupped. “You can’t love me because . . . because I’m her sister.” Heart broken, Ali cried al the harder.

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“Shh, yer goin’ to make yerself sick, love. Look at me.”

He cupped her face between his roughened palms. “There is nothin’ in this world that would make me stop lovin’

you, mo chridhe. You misunderstood me. ’Twas marryin’

you before a priest that I was speakin’ aboot.”

Ali swiped at her tears. He loved her. The knots in her stomach loosened ever so slightly. “You don’t want a priest to marry us?”

He arched a brow. His deep chuckle rumbled over her.

“As I remember it, you were no’ plannin’ on marryin’ me in the first place.” He tilted his head to look at her. “Are you tel in’ me you’ve changed yer mind?”

She sniffed, then nodded. The thought of losing Rory overrode any of her sil y sensibilities, and they were sil y when she considered how much she loved this man. He stood and pul ed her up along with him. Wrapping her in his arms, he held her close. “Then we’re as good as wed,” he proclaimed with a grin.

“What?” she squeaked, easing out of his arms.

“Aileanna, because yer Brianna’s sister, a priest wil na’

marry us until I get dispensation from the pope. If ’tis im

portant to you, I wil , but ’twil take some time. I ken this may sound odd to you, but al it takes for us to be legal y wed is fer us to agree that we are. We have witnesses.” He nodded toward her father and her aunt. “Although even that is no’ necessary. This one, here”—he flattened his palm to her stomach, a heated look in his eyes—“is the only one we truly need.”

Ali drew her gaze to Alasdair and Fiona, who stood to

gether a few feet away. “Is this true?”

Her aunt gave her a watery smile. “Aye, ’tis how many are wed in the highlands, poppet. ’Tis legal.”

Her father’s mouth opened as though he planned to argue the point, grunting when Fiona elbowed him. He turned on her aunt. “Woman, what has gotten into ye?” He rubbed his

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stomach then looked at Ali, his expression softening. “Aye, my pet, yer now wed to . . . to him.”

“Oh.” She looked up at Rory. “We’re married?”

Rory laughed. “Aye.” He turned to her father and aunt.

“And if ye doona’ mind, I’m takin’ my wife to her cham

bers. She needs her rest.” With that said, he swung Ali into his arms and strode from the salon, leaving her aunt chuckling and her father sputtering behind them.

“I have a feelin’ I’l pay fer that on the morrow,” Rory said wryly. “Where’s yer chambers, love?”

“In the East Wing, fourth door on the left.” Ali waved her hand in the direction of her room. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she snuggled closer.

Rory groaned.

She lifted her head. “Am I too heavy?”

He snorted. “Nay, yer room is too far.” He quieted her re

sponse with a hard kiss that had her squirming in his arms. Breaking their kiss at the sound of feminine giggles, Rory growled at the two young maids. The girls squealed and ran in the opposite direction. Ali laughed. “You’re fierce, Lord MacLeod.”

“Aye, and you best remember it. Now, please, tel me this is yer room.”

She looked up. “It is.”

“Thank God. You’l have to open the door. My hands are ful at the moment.”

Ali rol ed her eyes and lifted the latch. Once they were inside, Rory kicked the door closed. He laid her on the bed, stretching out beside her. His eyes drifted shut, and he released a contented sigh. Ali raised herself up on her elbow and pressed her palm to the dark shadow that lined his jaw. “You’re exhausted.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “Aye.” Rol ing onto his side, he nudged her onto her back. “But I’d have to be dead no’ to be able to show you how much I missed you.”

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She trailed the tips of her fingers along his cheek. “I think you should let me take care of you, Lord MacLeod. After al , I am the doctor in the family, and I know just what you need.”

Rory grinned. “You do, do you?” His expression turned serious. “Aileanna, yer al I’l ever need. I love you.” He slid his lips back and forth over hers, then kissed her thor

oughly, deeply, in a slow and possessive kiss. He cradled her head with one hand while the other traced along the edge of her necklace.

Ali sucked in a ragged breath when feather-light fingers dipped beneath the neckline of her gown, stroking her breasts. He lifted his mouth from hers. “I think ’tis time to rid you of some clothes.” His voice was deep and husky. Placing a palm on his chest, Ali pushed him onto his back. Coming up on her knees, she knelt beside him.

“Funny, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Ali leaned over and tugged the soft leather boots from his feet, tossing them beside the bed. She ran her hand up his leg, over his hip, stroking him beneath the waistband of his pants. The hard muscles of his stomach rippled. Ali pushed his shirt aside, dipping her head to trail her tongue over his lightly bronzed skin. Rory sucked in a harsh breath. “Doona’ tease me, love. I’ve been too long without you.”

He didn’t look amused when Ali chuckled. “Patience, my lord,” she said as she tugged his pants over his hips, raising a brow at his lack of underwear. Seeing her expression, Rory shrugged. “’Twas bad enough I had to borrow his trews and tunic. I bloody wel wasna’ goin’ to borrow the old goat’s braies.”

Ali fought back a smile. “Rory, that’s my father you’re referring to.”

“Aye, doona’ remind me,” he grumbled, raising his hips so Ali could relieve him of his pants while he shrugged out LORD OF THE ISLES

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of his shirt. His powerful, naked body, golden skin stretched tight over rippling muscles, was a feast for the eyes. A feast she was only too happy to partake of. Ali ran the tip of her finger along his jutting erection. His long, thick shaft twitched, and he groaned. “The priest was right—yer a witch,” he growled.

“Hey.” She twined her fingers in his chest hair and tugged lightly.

“Rough, too, but I like it.” Rory grinned. Reaching for her, he hauled her within easy reach of his nimble fingers and unclasped her necklace, tossing it on the bedside table. He worked at the hooks of her gown. Seconds later, he had her bared to the waist. “You must have had a lot of prac

tice to be able to get me out . . . ah.” She moaned when he reached up to cup her breasts, sucking one nipple and then the other into his hot, wet mouth.

She let out a startled cry when he tossed her onto her back. He lifted his head and winced. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you, love?”

Ali slowly shook her head from side to side, as anxious for him to be rid of her clothes as he was. Rory tugged her gown over her hips, then froze. Searching her face, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Aileanna—

the bairn, I forgot.”

He caressed her bel y, then dipped his head to drop a soft kiss there. The muscles in her stomach contracted. Her core grew slick and hot with need. With one last gentle pat to her bel y, he dropped onto his back, an arm over his eyes, his breathing ragged.

Ali struggled out of the rest of her clothes and came onto her knees beside him. She lifted his arm from his eyes. He cracked one eye open. “You can’t be serious?”

she muttered.

“I doona’ want to hurt you or the bairn. We can’t . . .” He waved his hand at their naked bodies. 338

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His eyes widened when Ali straddled him. She brought her face within inches of his. “Rory MacLeod, I am strong and healthy. So is our baby. Trust me—not making love to me at this moment is much more harmful to my health, and that is definitely not good for the baby.”

His eyes searched hers. A slow smile curved his ful lips. “We canna’ have that, now can we?” He threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her mouth to his. “Yer certain?”

“Positive,” she murmured before she nibbled the corner of his mouth, sweeping the tip of her tongue over his lips, tasting the smooth, rich flavor of whiskey. She delved inside the moist heat to thrust and parry with his tongue. With her kiss, she showed him how much she loved him, how much she needed him. Rory groaned and wrapped her in his arms. “You canna’

ken how much I’ve missed you, missed this.”

Ali blinked back tears. She didn’t want to cry, not now. Raw emotions simmered too close to the surface, and she could only nod her agreement.

She eased out of his arms. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” Her voice deepened with desire. Rory’s eyes darkened. “Whatever you say, my love.”

His long, hard erection jerked against her. Ali leaned forward with her hands pressed to his broad chest and slid up and down his shaft.

“Ride me.” His thick brogue grew more pronounced. Ali wrapped her hand around his pulsating shaft and guided it to where she was throbbing and needy. She low

ered herself slowly. Taking him inside her, her sheath em

braced him. He arched his hips, fil ing her to the hilt. She rode him, panting, groaning when he kneaded her breasts with his big, rough hands. He pul ed her down to him, drawing her nipple into his mouth. He suckled hard. LORD OF THE ISLES

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She opened her eyes. He devoured her with his, her love and passion reflected back at her.

“Come fer me, Aileanna.” His voice was thick with desire. She leaned back, her fingers digging into his strong, muscular thighs. He plunged in and out of her, stroking her nub with his talented fingers. He seared her with his touch, branding her as his. Ali felt the intensity building at the center of her core and shuddered as the sensations washed over her. She shattered at the same time as Rory let out a low, guttural groan and came inside her. Later, lying spent in Rory’s arms, she brushed the pad of her thumb across the ful bottom lip of a mouth that had brought her to unbelievable heights only moments before. He smiled and dropped a kiss on her forehead. He tugged a silver band from his baby finger and brought her left hand to his mouth. Rory kissed the tip of each of her fingers before sliding the ring onto her fourth one.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, admiring the intricate mark

ings on the thick silver band. “Was . . . was it Brianna’s?”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She wished it didn’t matter to her, but it did. “What are you doing?” she protested when he slipped the ring from her finger.

“I had the ring made before I went to Lewis, Aileanna. Can you see the etchin’ on the inside of the band?” His voice was gruff. He held the ring so it gleamed in the moonlight, tilting the band so she could see the engraving. She squinted. “I can’t read it.”

“It says, ‘you and no other’.” He slid the ring back on her finger. “There is no other fer me, Aileanna, but you. Yer sister and I married, as most do in my time, fer the better