“Nay, lad, she could no’ have managed that. She was seein’ to my needs yester eve.”
Connor’s mouth fel 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 car
ried ye home.”
“Yer tel in’ me I’ve been lyin’ abed for seven days!” he bel owed, 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 wel . I’ve given you an order, lad, and I expect it to be carried out. Bring the lady to me
The boy rushed headlong from the room, almost bowl
ing over Iain and Fergus as they entered his chambers.
“What’s got you riled, brother? We heard you bel ow from down below,” Iain asked after he’d righted the lad. Rory folded his arms over his chest, eyeing the two
LORD OF THE ISLES
43
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 rest
less, 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 noth
ing 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.”
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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’l send him to hel myself.”
“Aye, I thought that’s how you’d feel. I’ve sent a couple of men into the vil ages to keep an eye on him,” Fergus in formed him.
“Eat yer parritch, brother.” Iain gestured to the bowl the lass had left, and pul ed up a stool alongside him.
“And how is it I have parritch? I was under the impres
sion 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 tel 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’ kil ed anyone as yet.”
