“Thank you, but I’m not very hungry.”
LORD OF THE ISLES
39
“A wee bit of broth, then. And, lass, though I’m sorry fer yer troubles I’m glad ’twas you the fairies brought to us.”
Moisture gathered in Ali’s eyes at the woman’s kind words. Afraid she might cry, Ali nodded and opened the door to Rory’s chambers.
When she entered the room, a young girl popped out of the chair beside the bed. Her mouth dropped open as Ali came closer. “My lady,” she stammered, bobbing a curtsy. Ali waved off the formality. “Please don’t do that. I’m not a lady. I mean, I am a lady, just not the kind of lady you mean.” She blew out an exasperated breath. It was obvious the girl didn’t know what she was talking about. “Has Lord MacLeod awakened yet?”
“Nay,” the young girl said, her eyes downcast.
“Wel , thank you for watching over him. I’l sit with him now if you have somewhere else you need to be.”
The girl bobbed another curtsy and scurried from the room with one last look at Ali. Taking a seat on the hard wooden chair the girl had va
cated, Ali looked at Rory. She smiled at the unruly wave of thick black hair that fel across his forehead, smoothing it from his face, pleased the skin beneath her hand was nei
ther hot nor clammy. Without thinking, she al owed her fingers to trail along his cheekbones, to his strong jaw. He stirred. Guiltily she looked up, but his eyes remained closed. Long lashes rested against sun-bronzed skin, with no sign of his previous pal or. When her fingers grazed his ful lips they twitched, curving into a smile. Butterflies quickened in her stomach.
Ali pul ed her hand away, shaking her head at her fool
ishness. This was no time to be weaving fantasies about the man, no matter how beautiful he was. She needed to come up with a plan to get home. The sixteenth century was no place for her. Wearily she stood and eased back the 40
bedding to get a better look at her handiwork. She winced. The wound was fiery red and swol en. Her gaze wandered over his broad chest, the hard mus
cles beneath the taut skin of his bel y. The man was in amazing condition. Muscles stiff, she lowered herself in the chair only to find Rory MacLeod looking at her. Or at least she thought he was, until she heard him say, “Brianna.”
He reached out to stroke his long, cal oused fingers along her cheek in a gentle caress. He smiled, then closed his eyes. His arm dropped back to the bed. Ali groaned. She had to find that damn flag. Chapter 4
“What are you doin’ tiptoein’ aboot, lad?” Rory grumbled. Gritting his teeth, he pul ed 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 fil
tering 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 tel 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 rebel ed 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 42
memory of her soft hands and their gentle touch on his heated skin, he felt himself harden. Sky blue eyes fil ed 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.”
