open again, he cursed inwardly and scrambled back to his hiding place, cracking his head on the rail as he did.
“Aileanna?”
“Yes?” She sniffed.
“I’m thinkin’ yer in need of a father, seein’ as how yer tangled up with the MacLeods. And since ye have the look and name of one of my own, I’m goin’ to be lookin’ to ye as though ye are. If that’d be al right with ye.”
“Yes . . . yes, that would be wonderful.”
“Good, ’tis settled then. And, Aileanna, tel the lad I ken he’s under the bed and I expect to see him in the salon mo mentarily.” With that said, the old meddler slammed the door. Rory stood, rubbing his head. “What do you think yer doin’ tel in’ him he can stand in fer yer father? Do ye no’
ken what that mon wil put me through?”
She shrugged. “It made him happy, and I think it wil be nice to have someone stand up for me.”
He snorted. “As if you canna’ stand up fer yerself. And if you couldna’, Fergus, Iain, and Mrs. Mac would be quick to do so.”
“I know, and now I have Alasdair, too. It won’t be so bad, Rory. Can’t you humor him, just a little?”
He looked at Aileanna, her bonny eyes shining, and thought if it pleased her, the least he could do was try. If she could bring a little joy to the MacDonald’s life, so be it. “I’l no’ make any promises, but fer now we’l let it be, as long as you remember yer no’ a MacDonald, yer a MacLeod.”
“Not yet I’m not.” She grinned.
LORD OF THE ISLES
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“Aye. Yer mine, and wel you ken it.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and took her lips in a deep, slow kiss, savoring the taste of her.
“Rory,” she said against his mouth. He pul ed back to look at her. “I don’t think Alasdair . . . my father wil be too happy if you don’t join him in the salon.” He heard the laughter in her voice, saw the mischievous light in her eyes. He gave her one last hard kiss. “Yer as stubborn as he is. I shouldna’ be surprised if you truly are his kin.”
“Rory,” she cal ed to him as he strode to the door. “I’m glad to be home.”
Her words touched Rory deeply, and it made him more determined than ever to make her his wife. “No more than I am, mo chridhe.”
Ali took her place on the dais between Rory and Alas
dair, saying hel o to Aidan, Fergus, and Iain, who looked like they shared a good joke no one else was privy to. She narrowed her gaze on them, and looked to the two men on either side of her. “Is there something I should know?”
“Nay . . . nay, my pet, everythin’s fine. Shal I fix yer plate fer ye?”
Rory scrubbed his hands over his face and the other three men laughed into their mugs. Ali patted Alasdair’s hand. “I can manage, but thank you for the offer.” She nudged Rory and he raised a brow, looking down his nose at her. Fergus said something to Alasdair and drew his atten
tion from her.
She leaned into Rory and asked, “What’s put you in such a bad mood?”
He took a deep swal ow of his ale before he answered.
“You’l find out soon enough, and you have only yerself to blame.”
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“What are you talking about? Blame for what?”
“Aileanna, eat before yer meal grows cold,” Alasdair chided.
“But I—”
“Nay, eat, and then we’l talk,” Alasdair said firmly, tap
ping his spoon against her plate.
She heard Rory’s low chuckle and turned to him. He shrugged. “’Tis yer own fault.”
After her third mouthful, Ali couldn’t take it anymore.
“Is someone going to tel me if you came to an agreement or not?”
Alasdair leaned around her to look at Rory. “Wil ye tel her, or shal I?”
Rory tipped his mug at the man at her side. “By al means, do the honors.”
“Aileanna, we’ve agreed to a truce.”
“Oh, thank God.” She blinked back tears, placing a hand over her heart. A deep sense of relief flooded through her.
“You might no’ want to thank him just yet,” Rory mut
