Читать книгу Lord of The Isles - Debbie Mazzuca - Страница 10

“What are you doin’ tiptoein’ aboot, lad?” Rory grumbled. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright in bed.

The young lad ducked his head. “Sorry, my laird, I didna’ mean to disturb you.”

“Disturb me?” Rory jerked his chin toward the light filtering into the room. “From the looks of it you’ve awakened me none too soon. Where are my brother and Fergus? Breakin’ their fast, are they?”

“Nay,” the lad said, shuffling from one foot to the other.

Rory let out an exasperated breath. “Connor, I canna’ read minds, so you’d best tell me what’s on yers.”

“’Tis just that we’ve no’ eaten, Laird MacLeod. No’ since yester eve.”

Rory frowned. “And why would that be?”

“Cook quit.”

“Nay, lad, you must be mistaken. Cook wouldna’ do that.”

“’Tis the truth, my laird. He did.”

Rory cursed. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his muscles rebelled at the action. He stifled a groan at the wrenching pain in his side as he rose to his feet. Gingerly, he touched the site of his wound—the red, puckered flesh—and he thought of the woman who’d put it there. With the memory of her soft hands and their gentle touch on his heated skin, he felt himself harden. Sky blue eyes filled with concern, in a face as bonny as his wife’s. He shook the image of her from his head. No matter that the lass had the look of Brianna; no one could take his wife’s place. He was loyal to her memory. Swiving was one thing—a man had his needs—but love—nay, never again.

“Aye, Laird MacLeod.” The lad bobbed his head, eyeing Rory’s wound. “’Tis her that did it.”

“Aye, lad, the lass made a fair job of it, she did.”

“Nay…I mean aye, she did, but ’tis no’ what I meant. ’Tis on account of Lady Aileanna that Cook quit.”

“Nay, lad, she could no’ have managed that. She was seein’ to my needs yester eve.”

Connor’s mouth fell open; the tips of his ears pinked.

“Fer the love of God, ’tis no’ those needs I was talkin’ aboot. ’Twas my wound she saw to.” Rory began to think the boy meant to drive him daft.

“But…but, my lord, ’tis been seven days since we carried ye home.”

“Yer tellin’ me I’ve been lyin’ abed for seven days!” he bellowed, holding his side.

“Aye,” the lad squeaked.

“Get the woman and bring her to me, Connor.” Rory clenched his teeth as he reached for his plaid at the foot of the bed.

“She’s seein’ to the men that were injured. Mayhap ye should wait until—”

“Connor, you ken me well. I’ve given you an order, lad, and I expect it to be carried out. Bring the lady to me now.”

The boy rushed headlong from the room, almost bowling over Iain and Fergus as they entered his chambers.

“What’s got you riled, brother? We heard you bellow from down below,” Iain asked after he’d righted the lad.

Rory folded his arms over his chest, eyeing the two men. “Which one of you would care to explain how ’tis I’ve been abed fer seven days?”

The two men looked at each other, then shrugged.

“Why doona’ I take a guess—would it be Lady Aileanna’s doin’?”

“Aye, but ’twas fer yer own good, brother. You were restless, and she didna’ want you to rip open yer wound.”

“So you let her drug me? ’Tis too bad she didna’ have the means to render me unconscious when she closed my wound.” Anger reverberated in his voice and it had nothing to do with being awake when she had laid the blade to his side. Times were difficult, what with the MacDonald renewing the feud and King James sending the lowlanders to Lewis. It was no time for the clan’s laird to be laid out flat, and by a lass he didna’ ken.

Iain flushed under his scrutiny. “I brought the physician’s notes to her, the one you had see to Brianna. ’Twas there she found the herbs listed.”

“Now, lad—” Fergus began, then turned to the young maid who’d entered Rory’s chambers. Her fiery red hair was tucked neatly beneath a cap. “Leave it on the table. That’s a good lass.” Fergus laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder as she was about to leave. “Mari, this would be yer laird.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy and gave Rory a shy smile.

He nodded, masking his shock when the lass looked at him, one eye blue, the other green. “Welcome to Dunvegan, Mari.”

“Thank ye, my lord.” She bobbed again, then looked to Fergus for direction.

He nodded, waiting until the girl left the room before he explained. “Her mother brought her to us on account of that bloody priest. He’s been up to his tricks again, rantin’ aboot the lass on account of her mismatched eyes and red hair. Claiming she’s a witch, he is. He wanted to put her to the stake.”

Rory sighed, lowering himself into the chair by the fire. “The last thing I’d be needin’ right now is trouble with the Kirk, but if I hear he’s put anyone to the stake on MacLeod land I’ll send him to hell myself.”

“Aye, I thought that’s how you’d feel. I’ve sent a couple of men into the villages to keep an eye on him,” Fergus informed him.

“Eat yer parritch, brother.” Iain gestured to the bowl the lass had left, and pulled up a stool alongside him.

“And how is it I have parritch? I was under the impression Cook quit.”

“Aye, he did, but I managed to smooth his ruffled feathers.”

“And who would it be that ruffled his feathers in the first place—Lady Aileanna?” Rory asked, raising a brow.

“Aye, but—”

He interrupted his brother with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just tell me what she did.”

“’Twas more what she said.” Iain glanced at him, then sighed. “She told Cook his kitchens were no better than a pigsty, and she was surprised he hadna’ killed anyone as yet.”

Rory snorted. It was something he himself had meant to do, and he wasn’t at all certain that no one had died. But before he could admit as much, Connor returned.

“I thought I told you to bring Lady Aileanna to me.”

“I tried, but the lady says she’s busy and will come when she gets the chance.” The lad, head bowed, twisted his hands in front of him.

“She will, will she?” Rory muttered, rising to his feet.

“And…and she said I was to tell you you’d better damn well be in bed when she does,” Connor stammered, obviously quoting the lady verbatim.

Fergus covered a snort of laughter with a cough, shrugging when Rory shot him a quelling look.

“That’ll be all, Connor.”

“Rory, she’s lookin’ to the men who were wounded in the battle with the MacDonald. There are a fair number of them.”

“Yer quick to her defense, brother.” Rory narrowed his gaze on Iain. The lad had a reputation with the ladies, and he wondered if he’d charmed his way into Lady Aileanna’s affections—a thought that didn’t sit well with Rory, not with the memory of her naked in his arms and her passionate response to his touch. Fists clenched at his sides, he reined in the spurt of jealousy. An emotion he had no right or reason to feel, he reminded himself.

“Nay.” His brother gave an adamant shake of his head. “’Tis no’ like that.”

He ignored Iain. Lowering himself into the chair, he leaned back. “I appreciate the lass seein’ to the men’s care, but what I’d be needin’ to ken is where she’s from. Is there a chance she could be a spy sent by the MacDonald?”

Iain guffawed. “Brother, you’d think yer own mother a spy if she was alive.”

Rory shrugged. “You canna’ be too careful.”

Fergus cleared his throat. “She’s no spy, lad. She’d been kidnapped by those bloody lowlanders on the account of her healin’ abilities, but she escaped. I found her when I went back to the battlegrounds lookin’ fer our wounded.”

Rory scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking on what Fergus told him.

“I thought I told you to stay in your bed.”

He looked up. Aileanna Graham stood only a few feet from him, hands on her hips, more bonny than he remembered. The tops of her milky white breasts filled the square neckline of a gown the color of heather. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze to her face. His hands twitched at the memory of how she’d felt in his arms.

Bloody hell, if he didna’ get his heated thoughts under control they would all have a verra good idea what he was thinkin’.

His plaid would soon resemble a tent.

He cleared his throat. “Lass, in case you hadna’ noticed, I am the laird. I listen to no one.”

She arched a brow. “I know exactly who you are, Lord MacLeod. But you are also my patient, and until I decide you are no longer under my care, you will do as I say. Now get back into bed.”

He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her. “I’ll no’ get into bed. I’ve been in there long enough.”

“I think I hear Mrs. Mac callin’ fer me.” Iain rose from the stool and headed for the door with Fergus fast on his heels.

“Fergus, Iain, I expect a full update on the army’s condition before evenin’ meal,” he yelled, cursing when they shut the door firmly behind them without a word.

“That hurt, didn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over and placed cool fingertips to his forehead.

Rory shook his head, not certain he’d get the words out. His mouth had gone dry. He licked his lips. She was so close he felt the heat of her body; the scent of lavender enveloped him.

“Let’s get you into bed,” she said, slipping her soft hand into his. “I want to make sure you haven’t done any damage.”

“I told you, lass, I’m no’ gettin’ back in that bed.”

She sighed. “You’re a stubborn man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shaking her head, she knelt before him.

“Aye, often.” He bit back a groan when she tugged at his belt.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Eyes the color of sapphires, awash with concern, met his.

“Nay,” he muttered. Brushing her hands aside he undid his belt, dropping it to the floor.

She inched his plaid lower, exposing the wound, exploring with a firm yet gentle touch. Meeting his eyes, she lowered hers quickly, and he wondered if she could see the desire in his. He didna’ doubt it was there. He wanted her with a need that surprised him. Closing his eyes, he imagined his wife, tiny and fragile, so slight and delicate. The memory of Brianna served to dampen his desire for the woman on her knees between his thighs.

“Are you all right?” she asked, the timbre of her voice low and husky. She cleared her throat. “Lord MacLeod?”

“I’m fine, lass,” he said. “Are you finished with yer pokin’?”

“Yes.” She patted his knee and rose to her feet. “I’m surprised at how well you’ve healed. It’s quite amazing actually. You’ll be as good as new in no time. Now, if you don’t mind, I had better get back to your men.” She retrieved his belt and handed it to him.

Rory adjusted his plaid. “I’d like a word with you first.” He studied her, watching for a reaction.

“Oh.” She smoothed her hands over her gown. Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked at him.

“Fergus tells me you were abducted by the lowlanders.”

“Umhmm,” she murmured, twisting the long length of her braided hair between her fingers.

“Does it trouble you to speak of it?”

“No.”

“They didna’ hurt you, did they?”

She shook her head, perfect white teeth worrying her full bottom lip.

“Lass, look at me.” He stood up and tilted her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “You can tell me.”

“No one hurt me.”

He dropped his hand to his side. “How did you escape?”

“I…I don’t remember.” She dipped her head. “I think I must have hit my head.”

Rory framed her face with his hands, searching her eyes. She sucked in a startled gasp when he ran his fingers through her hair, probing her scalp. Her braid came undone, and silken tresses slid between his fingers. “I canna’ feel anythin’. Are you certain you hit yer head?”

She nodded, steadying herself with a palm pressed to his chest. He could stop; he had explored every inch of her head, but he didn’t want to, not when she felt so good leaning against him. He inhaled her soft, sweet fragrance, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in the delicate column of her neck. With a concerted effort, he brought his hands to rest on her shoulders.

“Aileanna, you ken as laird to the MacLeod clan ’tis my duty to see to their protection.”

She took a steadying breath, her breasts rising within the confines of her gown.

Pulling his gaze back to her face, he sighed. “Look at me, Aileanna.”

She stiffened. Raising her chin, she took a step away from him. “I’m not a danger to you or your clan, Lord MacLeod, if that’s what you’re implying. In fact, quite the opposite. I think I’ve cared very well for all of you.” A flash of temper flared in her eyes as she held his gaze.

“Aye, you have, and I thank you for that. I was remiss not to thank you earlier, but it seems someone decided to knock me out.” He tilted his head, looking down at her.

She rolled her eyes. “So, Iain was right. He said you wouldn’t be happy about that.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I had no choice. You were thrashing about and other than tying you to the bedposts, which probably wouldn’t have worked anyhow, it was my only option.” Her gaze traveled the length of his body, a delicate flush of pink tinting her cheeks.

“No man likes to be drugged, lass, especially a man responsible for others.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “And what do you think you could have done in the condition you were in?”

“More than most,” he answered truthfully.

“Right—king of the castle and all that.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Yer speech is verra strange, lass.”

“So is yours,” she grumbled, a stubborn set to her chin. “Are you finished with me now?”

“You said you were a Graham?”

“I did. What of it?”

“There’s no need to get prickly, lass.”

“I’m not prickly,” she snapped. “I’m just tired of being treated as though I’ve done something wrong. I haven’t.”

“Which Graham?” He fought back a smile, finding her temper amusing.

“I’m from the borders,” she said through clenched teeth, stabbing her finger into his chest.

He wrapped his fingers around hers. “Now—” he began, frowning when he saw the raised welt on the palm of her hand. “What’s this?”

She tried to pull her hand from his. “Nothing.”

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

“Yes. Now will you please let me go?”

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

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

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

“Umhmm.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We…we can’t do this,” she stammered.

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

She shivered, stilling his hand with hers.

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

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

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

“Nay.” He winced as he sat up.

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

“Where are you goin’, Aileanna?”

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

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

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

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