“I’m no’ hidin’ in my own keep,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He was your wife’s father, and I’m not going to flaunt that we’re together like . . . like this.” She waved an arm at the bed before her gaze frantical y searched the room.
“Bed . . . under the bed.”
“Coming, Alasdair,” she cal ed out sweetly as she 274
shoved him toward the bed and tugged at the plaid to cover the wet spot on her tunic.
“You would’ve and so would’ve I,” he muttered to him
self as he crawled beneath the bed.
“Shh!”
He heard her pad across the floor and the door creak open. He couldn’t believe he was hiding from Alasdair MacDonald like a wee lad, but Aileanna was right. He’d not rub the mon’s nose in their relationship.
“Sorry fer disturbin’ ye, my pet, but there’s somethin’
been weighin’ on my mind since we arrived.”
“Come in.” Rory heard the door close and Alasdair’s heavy footfal s as he came into the room.
“Has someone said anything to make you feel unwel
come, because if they—”
Rory rol ed his eyes. Now she protected his enemy.
“Nay . . . nay, ’tis no’ to do with the MacLeods. Get into yer bed. Ye must rest yer wee foot.”
The bed creaked and the toes of Alasdair’s boots stared Rory in the face. He barely resisted the urge to hit them.
“Alasdair, I’m fine,” he heard Aileanna laughingly protest. Rory’s fist came within an inch of the old man’s foot. “Now tel me what’s bothering you. You look upset.”
“Ye ken when I first saw ye I was no’ myself and ye in
troduced yerself as Ali Graham.” She must have nodded because Alasdair continued. “But upon our arrival I heard Rory refer to ye as Aileanna. Why is that?”
“That’s my name. Ali is short for Aileanna. Alasdair . . . Alasdair, what is it?”
The man staggered and Aileanna must have made him sit down because the bed dipped, and Rory now faced the heels of Alasdair’s boots.
“Ye remember how I told ye Brianna had a sister, a twin?
Her name was Aileanna. Nay, doona’ look at me like that. Ye ken wel enough how much ye look like Brianna, but even
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more ye have the look of my wife. Ye have her ways, too, and yer name—’tis too much to be only a coincidence.”
Rory sucked in a pained breath and nearly choked on the dust beneath the bed. He brought his hand to his mouth. Alasdair MacDonald had his faults, but he’d lost much and handled it better than most. Rory didn’t wish him to suffer further, and he knew how difficult it would be on Aileanna. But she wouldn’t lie to the man, even if it was to ease his pain. She was honest and compassionate, and somehow he knew Aileanna would find a way to re lieve Alasdair’s disappointment.
“Alasdair, you have to believe me when I tel you there is nothing I’d like more than to be your daughter, but I’m afraid I’m not.” She paused, and Rory could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she planned out her wee story. It was not as if she could tel him the fairies had stolen her from her own time. “I told you I never met my father, and that’s the truth, but my mother spoke of him often. She said he was from . . . from England, and he had . . . red hair . .
. red like an apple, and . . .”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Alasdair.” Rory heard the raw emotion in her voice and he thought she was just as disappointed as Alasdair, even though she’d know there was no way the old man could be her father. Rory had sensed when she spoke to him about her life that she’d missed out on having a family, and it had left her deeply scarred. It was something he hoped to rectify by making her his wife, part of his clan.
“Nay, ’twas only the hopes of an old man. I’m sorry, Aileanna. Ye get some rest now, lass, and I’l see ye later.”
He heard Aileanna sniff, and groaned inwardly. There was nothing he hated more than when she cried.
“Now, I didna’ mean to make ye weep. Dry yer eyes—
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there ye go. Doona’ worry, my pet, I’l be fine. I’l see myself out.”
At the sound of the door closing, Rory began dragging himself from beneath the bed. When it slowly creaked
