saulted his senses. Bodies packed twenty deep lined the wal s. It took time to reach the dais in front of the room as those around him clamored for his attention. Looking out over his clan, the mantle of responsibility settled over his shoulders. His father had entrusted them to his care. They were as much his legacy as the land and the riches that went with his title—maybe more so. Every decision he’d made since assuming his role as laird had been for the good of his clan. His marriage to Brianna had 84
been one such decision. Their union brought peace and stability to his people, but with her death, they were once more mired in the constant turmoil of war. His thoughts turned to Aileanna and her eloquent plea for peace. It was as though she assumed he took pleasure in the battle, but that was far from the truth. She didn’t understand. How could she?
She was a woman.
As though his thoughts conjured her up, she stood in the entrance to the hal , her bonny face pale. The somber color of her simple gown didn’t help, but the choice had been a good one. She looked prim and proper, with the col ar but toned up to her throat and the cap hiding the bounty of her long, flaxen hair. Although, when Rory looked at her, al he could see was the outline of her voluptuous curves and wisps of hair that escaped the tight confines of her cap to caress the delicate beauty of her face.
From where he sat, he sensed her vulnerability. She was strong, but he could feel her fear, see it in the way she twisted her hands. She wasn’t daft. She had good reason to be afraid.
Eyes lowered, she took a cautious step forward. The tenor of the room changed. Al conversation halted, and a menacing silence resonated in the hal . Aileanna flushed, and Rory noted the rapid rise and fal of her chest. If he could, he would go to her and offer his reassurance, but that would be a foolish move on his part. Rory’s hand came to rest on his dirk. His muscles coiled with tension, ready to spring into action if the need arose. He would protect her even if it meant one of his own would die. He’d let no harm come to Aileanna. Iain, Fergus, Connor, and even Mrs. Mac would do the same. He could see it in the grim determination on their faces. Aileanna cast a sidelong glance at the young maid who now entered the hal behind them. The wee lass would LORD OF THE ISLES
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move no farther, frozen in place by fear. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Connor and Mrs. Mac tried to nudge her forward. Even though he imagined their words were ones of reassurance, they did no good. It was only when Aileanna took Mari’s hand in hers and whispered in her ear did the lass gather the courage to move forward. Aileanna squared her shoulders and looked out over the crowd as though she dared them to do or say anything against the young girl at her side. She’d swal owed her own fears in defense of Mari. Rory felt a surge of admiration wel within him. There was no denying it; Aileanna Graham was an amazing woman, and he was drawn to her like he’d been to no other. But he refused to act on those feelings. She was under his protection, nothing more. For both their sakes he had to keep his distance. The priest, surrounded by members of his flock, was only now becoming aware of the women’s presence. The priest’s chest puffed out like a rooster, and Rory knew he was getting ready for his tirade. He caught the man’s eye and shot him a fierce look. It was a look Rory had per
fected over a decade of being laird. He had Fergus to thank for the ability. Since the death of his own father, the older man had stepped aptly into the rol of surrogate. Rory trusted him like no other, and seeing him sit at Aileanna’s side brought him a measure of calm.
A buzz of excitement hummed in the air as those gath
ered anticipated what was to come. Rory cleared his throat to gain their attention. “The first charge to be dealt with is the charge of witchcraft brought against the young maid, Mari.” Out of the corner of his eye he spied Aileanna draw the wee lass closer. And he would have to be blind not to have seen the aggrieved look she shot him. What did she expect? As laird he had no choice. “Who has evidence to support this charge?”
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The priest leapt to his feet. “I do.”
Brow quirked, Rory regarded him evenly. “I would imag
ine so, since yer the one to bring the charge against the child. Are there no others?”
“Aye,” a voice shouted from the back. The rotund figure of the cook pushed his way to the front of the room and pointed to the lass cowering beside Aileanna. “Three of my chickens died fer no reason the day after she arrived.”
He heard Aileanna’s undignified snort. “He probably fed them the slop I insisted he throw away,” she muttered. Both Fergus and Iain barely managed to suppress their mirth at her comment. He shot the lot of them a forebod ing look. “Cook, was the lass anywhere nearby when the chickens died?”
“Nay, but—” the man sputtered.
“Did you no’ have several chickens die a few months past?”
“Aye, but—”
Rory gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Are there no others?” He noted some movement at the back, and for their benefit hardened his tone as he added, “Think twice before you cast aspersions on the girl. I wil demand evi dence of yer charge; if there is none, I wil assume you cast it for no other reason than malice and wil no’ look kindly on the one who does.”
The priest’s eyes darted from left to right, scanning the crowd. He appeared to be trying to cajole the woman beside him to come forward, but she shook her head, eyes downcast.
He glared at her, then came to his feet in a show of blus
ter. “Laird MacLeod, as the Kirk’s authority in these matters no other witness is required,” he began self- importantly.
“My evidence alone should be enough to convict the lass.”
Rory raised a brow, tilting his head. “And yer evidence is?”
