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
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.”
“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
331
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
ald eyes. “Are you al right, mo chridhe?” His long, warm 332
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.
