“’Tis no’ the point,” he grumbled. “I bedded you, I’l wed you.”
Ali’s hand clenched into a fist, itching to strike the ar
rogant look from his face. “In my time, it doesn’t matter, so you’re off the hook. Marry Moira MacLean. I know you, Rory MacLeod. It’s kil ing you to give up on a union you think wil save your clan. Just do it. I don’t have any thing to offer you.”
He shuttered the emotion in his eyes, and Ali’s stomach lurched. She was right. He’d marry her, but at what cost?
He’d resent her. She would be the reason there could be no al iance between the MacLeans and the MacLeods.
“There wil be no union with the MacLeans. You and I wil wed. ’Tis the end of the discussion.” He lifted her easily into his arms and strode to the door, jaw set. Ali wanted to fight him, to leap from his arms, but he was too strong, and she was too sore, too tired, too devas
tated by the turn of events.
Once they were inside her chambers and Rory had placed her careful y on the bed, he looked down at her, running his fingers through his hair. “I doona’ understand you, Aileanna, but I tel you we wil wed.” She could hear the steel in his voice.
“No . . . we won’t.” Ali thumped her pil ow and turned her back to him.
“Yer bloody stubborn, lass,” he grumbled. She heard his frustrated sigh as he padded across the floor. There was a clunk, like he threw something, and then the sound of the fire roaring to life. The smoky smel of peat perme ated the room.
The bed dipped when he sat at her side. He stroked her back and she was barely able to contain her shiver at his 214
gentle touch. “Wil you no’ tel me why yer fashed, Aileanna?”
She shook her head, misery twisting her insides. Rory blew out a ragged breath. He leaned over her to kiss her forehead. “We’l talk on the morrow, Aileanna, but mark my words. You wil be my wife.”
Chapter 18
Arms crossed, Ali watched from the bed while Mrs. Mac flitted about her room, doing her best to ignore her. Unable to bear the frigid silence any longer, Ali asked, “Are you never going to speak to me again?”
Mrs. Mac avoided meeting her eyes. Hands on her wel rounded hips, she surveyed the room. “Och, now, I’m busy is al .”
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Mrs. Mac. I didn’t know what else to do,” she offered quietly. The older woman nodded. “I ken how you felt, but ’twas hard you tryin’ to leave without a good-bye. I . . . we thought you cared for us a wee bit, you ken.”
“I do, and I don’t think any of you understand how hard it was for me to think of leaving you al .” Ali blinked back tears at the memory of just how difficult it had been. None of them knew how much they’d come to mean to her.
“Och, wel , yer here for good now. Al wil be as it should be,” Mrs. Mac stated succinctly. Ali narrowed her gaze on her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” If Mrs. Mac thought she was marrying Rory any time soon, Ali planned on setting her straight. 216
“’Tis like I said. The fairies meant you fer our laird, and
’tis how it wil be. He’l no’ marry Moira MacLean now.”
“He’s no’ marrying me either. I mean not . . . I’m not mar
rying him—no matter what he thinks.”
A wide grin split Mrs. Mac’s lined face. “Ah, so he came to his senses and asked, did he?”
“No.” Ali scowled. “He didn’t ask—he told me. But I won’t marry him, Mrs. Mac, so you can wipe that sil y grin off your face.” She flung back the covers in an attempt to get out of bed.
“Och, no you don’t. Yer to stay in bed. You need yer rest.
’Tis what the laird has ordered.”
“He’s the bossiest, most aggravating man I’ve ever met,”
Ali said, flopping onto the pil ows.
“Aye, he is, but he’l make you a good husband, of that I’m certain.”
“Yes, if al you want is someone to protect and take care of you.”
Mrs. Mac frowned, making herself comfortable on the side of the bed. “You doona’ want someone to look out fer you?”
“Of course I do, but he only wants to marry me because of those damn fairies. He feels responsible for me, guilty about what happened. But in the end he’l resent me, Mrs. Mac, for his not being able to marry Moira. The welfare of the clan is more important to him than anything else.”
“Ah, I see the way of it. You want his love, to hold his heart.”
“Aye—oh for God’s sake, yes, that’s what I want.”
