Lord of the Isles

Rory let out a ragged breath. “Give her my dirk.”

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Debbie Mazzuca

Ali wrapped her arms around her waist, and shook her head. She was furious at what he wanted her to do. He was wide awake, for God’s sake. She walked to the hearth and swiped a tear from her cheek. She heard Fergus coming toward her. Taking her hand, he placed the knife in her palm. He rubbed her shoulder and bent his head to her ear.

“You can do it, lass. The fairies wouldna’ have sent you if you couldna’.

“Yer the only one who can save him.”

Chapter 3

Fairies. Only you can save him. The words echoed in Ali’s head. She turned to gape at Fergus. “What the hel are you talking about?”

The big man shot a furtive glance over his shoulder before saying, “Hush, you canna’ let the laird ken what I’ve told you.”

“Know . . . know what? That you think I’ve been sent by fairies?” she hissed.

“Och, now, lass, doona’ fash yerself,” Fergus pleaded, keeping his voice low.

“I’m holding a knife, preparing to cauterize the wound of a man who is wide awake, and you’re tel ing me I’ve been sent by fairies . . . fairies . . . for God’s sake. And you expect me to stay calm?” She glared at him.

“Aye.” He grimaced. “Please, lass, I promise I’l explain everythin’ to you once ’tis over.”

Ali’s brain swirled with images and emotion, panic lead

ing the way. She felt like she’d been tossed into another world where everything she knew didn’t matter, and her confidence plummeted. She didn’t trust her abilities, not here, not now. She wanted to run as far and as fast from Dunvegan as she could. Part of her hoped it was a nightmare 28

Debbie Mazzuca

and that she’d wake up, but she knew it wasn’t. Just as she knew the man in the bed was real, and beautiful, and strong. So unlike anyone she’d ever met before. And she couldn’t run away and leave him to bleed to death. Ali glanced over her shoulder at Rory. His eyes locked with hers. He gave her a weak but encouraging smile, as though somehow he sensed her distress. She knew then she wasn’t going to leave him—not yet.

“You have no choice, lass, it has to be done,” he said quietly.

Ali gave him a brisk nod. He was right. Fairies aside, no one else was stepping up to volunteer for the job. The sooner it was done the better—for both of them. She thrust the knife into the flames, letting out a yelp of pain when the handle heated along with the blade.

“Fergus, did you no’ wrap the hilt?” Rory growled. Sheepishly, the older man shook his head and retrieved the knife.

“Sorry, lass.” He dug through a battered chest and found a piece of leather and a cloth to wrap around the metal shaft before reheating it over the flame. After handing it to Ali, he went to stand behind Rory. She shook her head and pointed to where she wanted him. “I need you to hold the wound together while I sear it closed.”

The man paled.

“Iain, it would be better if you sit behind your brother and hold him by his shoulders,” she advised the younger MacLeod, whose mouth was set in a grim line. “Right about there, Fergus.” She motioned once more to the side of the bed, grateful he would shield Rory’s face from her line of sight. “Now press the edges together. No . . . no, I don’t want to burn you. Al right, much better.” She tried to ignore Rory’s agonized curse. In an effort to center herself, Ali closed her eyes, only to find herself back in the operating room with a panicked LORD OF THE ISLES

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Drew, her supervisor and ex-boyfriend, yel ing accusations at her, the equipment flatlining—a young mother dead.

“Lass, are you al right?” Fergus’s tone was gruff with concern.

“Yes . . . yes, I’m fine.” I wil be. I have to be. You didn’t make the mistake, the little voice in her head reminded her. Drew did. You’re a good doctor, no matter what he said. Heat leeched from the red-hot steel blade to Ali’s palm. A stinging reminder of where she was, and what she had to do. Before she lost her nerve, Ali lowered the blade to the wound. The sizzling sound was quickly drowned out by Rory’s shout of pain. His body jerked, then went stil . Ali gagged as the smel of burnt flesh assaulted her nostrils. She pressed a fist to her mouth, and Fergus gently removed the knife from her trembling hand.

“Yer a brave lass,” Mrs. Mac crooned, wrapping a com

forting arm around Ali. “Come, I think you could use some lookin’ after now.” The woman gently guided her away from the bed.

“But . . . I . . .” she began to protest, looking to where Rory lay unconscious in the bed, his blue-black hair a sharp contrast to his paper white skin, his ful sensuous lips pul ed into a thin line of pain.

“Fergus and Iain wil watch over him fer now. I’ve pre

pared a hot bath fer you and laid out a change of clothes.”

There was nothing else she could do for him, other than pray the wound didn’t become infected. If it did, Ali didn’t know if she’d be able to save him. “Thank you.” Exhausted, her muscles aching, Ali al owed herself to be led away. Mrs. Mac opened the door to an adjoining room. “’Twas the Lady Brianna’s. Come,” she said when Ali hesitated in the doorway of a room twice the size of Rory’s. The fourposter bed covered in maroon satin looked inviting, but it was the large wooden tub-like structure in front of a blaz