Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (13 page)

“Ye canna’ do it yerself, lass.” The woman placed gnarled hands over Ali’s and between the two of them they managed a full turn of the spit.

Beads of sweat dripped from Ali’s forehead and she lifted her arm to wipe it from her face. “Has any of the water been boiled or heated? I have to get Cook to drink something.”

“Aye.” The woman pointed to an iron pot that hung toward the back of the flames.

“Thank you. You should get out of this heat, too, at least for a little while,” Ali suggested as she carried the pot to the table, her hands wrapped in linens. Although, despite her age, Ali thought the old woman looked in better condition than the rest of them.

“Nay, I’m good, lass. I’ve no’ been here long.” She gave Ali a gap-toothed smile.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to help,” Ali said as she filled the last of the mugs. “I just have to get them to drink this and find some way to cool them off.”

“There’s a well at the back of the kitchens. Throw a big bucket on Cook. It should do the trick.” Cackling, the woman walked to the other end of the room, well away from the open flames.

Ali managed to get the mugs to her patients without spilling more than a few drops. The girls drank greedily. She held the mug to Cook’s mouth, trying to get him to drink, but had little success. “Girls, you make him drink, slowly though, and I’ll get some water from the well.”

“I can help ye, my lady,” the petite girl with the curly brown hair offered.

Ali noted her flushed cheeks. “As long as you think you’re up to it.”

“Aye, I’ve been workin’ in the kitchens fer a long time. This day’s worse than most, but I’m more accustomed to it than the other girls.”

“Thank you…”

“Katrina, my lady.”

With Katrina’s help Ali wet down Cook, the girls, and unintentionally herself. They helped to settle Cook beneath the big oak tree she’d spotted not far from the well. The girls insisted they were fine and accompanied her back to the kitchen. In companionable silence, Ali and the young girls, along with the old woman, worked together. Ali was regulated to more of a fetch-and-carry position, which suited her just fine. Their assumption that her lack of knowledge was a result of her being a lady worked in Ali’s favor.

Drenched with perspiration and splattered with grease, her cornflower blue gown hung on her like a rag. Ali sank onto a stool and surveyed the three trestle tables that groaned under the weight of the food. “That’s it, ladies. There’s enough here to feed an army.”

“But…but, my lady,” one of the girls sputtered, “Lady MacLean will no’ be pleased. ’Tis no’ all of her menu.”

“Katrina, you said you’ve worked in the kitchens a long time. Is this enough food to feed the numbers they’re expecting?”

“Aye, more than enough.”

“But Lady MacLean wants it special.” The other girl was clearly upset, winding her apron around her fingers.

Ali sighed. With a hand to her back, she rose to her feet. “You leave Lady MacLean to me.” She heard a familiar cackle from the back of the room and smiled. Removing the apron one of the girls had given her, she set it on the stool. “You’ve all done a wonderful job, and I’m sure it’s a meal Lord MacLeod will be proud to serve his guests. I’m going to head back to the keep now. Leave Cook to sleep for a bit longer, but if he takes a turn for the worse, come and get me.”

“My lady,” Katrina called out as Ali went to leave. “Thank ye fer all yer help. ’Tis no’ often a lady would lower herself to aid the likes of us.”

Ali’s throat tightened, and she swallowed past the ball of emotion. “It was my pleasure and, Katrina, in no way did I lower myself. Don’t ever think that.”

“Lady Aileanna, have a care around Lady MacLean,” the old woman advised, her pale blue eyes piercing even from across the dimly lit room. “Laird MacLean as well. The two of them have it in fer ye. I’ll do what I can to help ye, lass, but it would be best if ye had a care.” Having said her piece, the old woman slipped out through a back entrance Ali hadn’t noticed before.

“Who…who is that?” Ali asked, turning to the girls.

“’Tis old lady Cameron. She holds sway over much of the clan. A good one to have in yer corner with what—” Katrina began before she clapped a hand over her mouth.

The frame of the door creaked when Ali leaned against it. “Obviously
Lady
MacLean’s accusations have spread far and wide.”

“We doona’ believe them, Lady Aileanna, and we’ll tell as many who will listen,” Katrina promised. The other girls chimed in their agreement.

“Thank you. Now why don’t you all go out and sit under the tree with Cook for a bit.”

The four of them smiled, but it seemed they chose to ignore her suggestion as they busied themselves with one task after another. Ali left them, her protest dying on her lips. She might object to their being treated like slave labor, but it was obvious they didn’t feel the same. They were proud to provide for their clan, and it wasn’t Ali’s place to disabuse them. She wouldn’t, but she was going to make damn sure their efforts were appreciated.

Exhausted, Ali barely managed to shove the heavy doors to the keep open. The air in the cavernous entrance was decidedly cooler than the kitchens—a welcome relief. She lifted her hair to shake out some of the dampness and noticed the gleaming floors and the high sheen of the wood paneling.

Ali rolled her eyes—Moira MacLean. She wondered how Mrs. Mac and Mari had fared. Hopefully they’d had the good sense to hide out in her room. Two serving girls smiled wanly at her greeting. Just as she was about to take the stairs to her room, she heard Mari cry out.

Ali rushed into the great hall, following her young maid’s panicked cry.

Mrs. Mac swayed on top of a very tall wooden stool, broom in hand. “For God’s sake, Mrs. Mac, what are you doing up there?” Ali called out as she hurried across the room.

Ali reached her side and steadied the makeshift ladder. “You get down from there, right now.”

“Och, I’m fine. I’ve only one more of the banners to clean,” Mrs. Mac protested in a tired voice.

Ali took the broom from her and handed it to Mari. “I’ll do it. I’m taller than you are. Come on, off you get.”

Mrs. Mac sighed. “’Tis a bossy one you are,” she said, climbing down from her perch.

Ali reached out to steady her. “Look at the two of you. You’re exhausted.”

“You doona’ look much better yerself, my lady. I didna’ think her highness would put you to work as well.” Mrs. Mac raised a brow.

“She didn’t. It’s a long story,” Ali said as she carefully climbed to the top of the stool, steadying herself with a hand on the stone wall. “And where is her
ladyship?
”

“She’d be havin’ her toilette seen to,” Mari said, handing her the broom.

Ali beat the long banner. Clouds of dust billowed in the air, making her cough. “Is that right?” She seethed as she pounded the cloth with renewed vigor.

The continuous loud thwack of the wooden broom hitting stone drowned out the sound of the men returning home. It was why when Rory’s deep voice called out to her, Ali, who was lost in her own thoughts, forgot where she was and jumped. Losing her footing, she grabbed hold of the edge of the banner. The stool toppled over, leaving Ali to swing precariously above the floor. The panicked cries of Mari and Mrs. Mac drowned out everyone but Rory.

Rory’s heart slammed in his chest at the sight of Aileanna clinging to his clan’s colors. “Bloody hell, lass,” he yelled, positioning himself beneath her. “What are you doin’?”

“What does it look like?” She glared down at him, her eyes flashing.

“Let go and I’ll catch you.” He held up his arms, widening his stance.

“No.” She jerked her head in the direction of the stool. “Just put it back up.”

He sighed. “Aileanna, ’tis broken. Now do as I say and let go.” Rory didn’t have to cajole her further. The fabric gave way with a loud rip, and whether she liked it or not, Aileanna landed with a whoosh in his arms. If he could go by the look in her stormy blue eyes, she didn’t like it one bit.

“Rory, yer back,” a voice of pure femininity called out breathlessly. When Rory turned with Aileanna in his arms, Moira’s sweet smile of welcome faltered. A degree of iciness frosted her manner. “What goes on here?”

He had barely set Aileanna on her feet when she strode toward Moira. “What’s going on here is everyone’s practically killing themselves catering to your every whim. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you?” Aileanna cried, her voice shrill, an accusatory finger wagging in Moira’s pale face.

Rory grabbed her arm. “That will be enough, Aileanna.”

She whirled on him, jabbing her finger in his chest. “Will it? Is it enough that she practically killed Cook demanding a meal fit for a king, and in this heat?” Her chest heaved, and white-hot anger radiated off her.

Moira sobbed into her hands and her delicate shoulders trembled. “Oh, Rory, I didna’ ken. I only meant to make ye proud.”

He looked from one woman to the other. Aileanna’s rage was barely contained. “You will apologize to Lady Moira, Aileanna.” It was not right her going off on Moira like she did. The MacLeans were guests in his home, and Moira had obviously meant no harm.

Aileanna narrowed her gaze on him. She picked up the broom from the floor and slammed it into his chest. “If you want an apology, do it yourself. And while you’re at it, you might want to do the rest of her bidding. That way you may have some servants left by morning.”

“Aileanna, you will come back here and apologize,” he roared to her retreating back.

“Stuff it,” she yelled at him as she marched up the stairs.

“Stuff it. She told me to stuff it. Do you ken the meanin’ of that?” Rory asked Fergus, who stood across from where he sat at his desk in the relative quiet of his study.

His old friend shrugged, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I take it to mean she’s a wee bit fashed with you.”

“With me? The woman is daft, goin’ off on poor Moira like she did.”

Fergus crossed his arms over his chest and raised a bushy brow. Rory threw up his hands in disgust. “You canna’ mean to defend her. She goes too far. Even you who are bewitched by the lass have to admit ’tis so.”

“Aileanna’s a healer, lad, and was angry at the state of yer help. Did you no’ take note of the look of her? I’d say she fared no better than the rest.”

Rory leaned his elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples—he had. She’d been wet and filthy, a bedraggled mess, signs of weariness visible on her pale, drawn face. He had been concerned about her, more than he cared to admit, but before he could question her, Moira had entered the hall and Aileanna sprang into action like a crazed woman.

“What the hell went on here?”

“Doona’ ask me, lad. Have you forgotten…I was with you?”

Rory glared, in no mood for humor. “Callum!” he roared. Despite the closed door, he had no doubt the man was close enough to hear him.

Callum entered and shut the door on the curious faces gathered outside. “You called, my laird.” He fought back a grin.

“’Tis no time for jokes, Callum. Now, tell me what went on to put Aileanna in such a state.”

The big man held Rory’s gaze. “She tried to see to some of the clan and they shunned her. Wouldna’ let her near them on account of Lady MacLean’s accusations in the hall this morn. I ken she was hurt by it, though she didna’ say much.”

A stab of guilt twisted in Rory’s gut at the thought she suffered on account of him. If he had not been busy placating Moira, he would have defended Aileanna himself and not left it to Fergus and Iain. The clan had obviously taken his silence to mean he concurred with Moira’s accusations. Moira’s sweetness reminded him more of his late wife than Aileanna, who so closely resembled her physically, and he found himself trying to protect Moira as he had failed to protect Brianna.

He cleared his throat. “And that was it?”

Callum shrugged. “We met up with wee Jamie, takin’ himself off to join ye in the glen he was.”

Rory grunted. “Janet would no’ be pleased.”

“Nay, she wasna’. She’d been helpin’ Cook in the kitchens and Lady Aileanna offered to take her place so she could tend to the lad.”

Rory stared at the man, certain he misunderstood him. “You canna’ mean to say she worked in the kitchens.”

“I ken it was what she intended on doin’. But I’m no’ certain Cook would let her past the door.”

“I’m certain he wouldna’. Fergus send Iain to speak with Cook. He has a way with the mon.”

“I’ll see to him myself. Iain is busy seein’ to Aileanna.”

The muscle in Rory’s jaw pulsated. His hands clenched into fists. The thought of his brother comforting Aileanna brought him to the edge of his control. Both men eyed him expectantly, as though they awaited an outburst, but he refused to give them the satisfaction. He denied them the confirmation that she’d gotten under his skin, into his heart. He knew that’s what they thought. Fergus had said as much.

When Fergus opened the door to leave, Cyril and his cousin pushed past him. Fergus shot Rory a questioning look and he shook his head. Well aware of what Cyril wanted, Rory thought it best Fergus was out of earshot.

“Rory, what do ye intend to do with that…that woman?” Cyril demanded, waving his hands in a dramatic fashion.

“Doona’ worry, I’ll deal with Aileanna in my own way. Now if you have nothin’ further to add, I need to speak to my housekeeper. Callum, tell Mrs. Mac I’d like to have a word with her.” Callum gave him a curt nod and went to do his bidding, leveling Cyril with a cold, hard stare before he left the study.

“Well…well, I never.” The man puffed up like a peacock. “Yer household is in sore need of discipline if ye ask me.”

Rory reclined in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I didna’. Aidan, you look to be gearin’ up to give me a piece of yer mind. Why doona’ you get if off yer chest?”

“Nay, cousin, sittin’ back and enjoyin’ the wee show is all.” Aidan leaned against the book-lined shelf and grinned. “I hope Lady Aileanna will be joinin’ us fer the evenin’ meal. The lass is verra entertainin’ and has an interestin’ way with words. Stuff it—is that what she told ye to do?”

Before Rory could respond, Cyril hotly interrupted. “Ye canna’ mean to have that woman join us this eve, Rory. ’Twould be most upsettin’ to poor Moira.”

“I’m sorry fer that, Cyril, but I fear I doona’ have much choice. If I did, several members of my household will see I pay fer the slight.”

His cousin guffawed. “I never thought I’d see the day the great Rory Mor was brought low by a woman.”

Rory stifled his response when Mrs. Mac entered his study, drying her hands on her apron. It didn’t take much to note her displeasure upon seeing Cyril there.

“Cyril, Aidan, I’ll speak with you later.” He dismissed the two men.

They had barely left the room when Mrs. Mac said, “You’d best get on with it. I have much to see to with all the guests aboot to arrive.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mac. I didna’ ken the invitation had been extended until it was too late. I think Moira—” Rory stopped himself, well aware Moira MacLean was not one of Mrs. Mac’s favorites. He thought it best not to tell her Moira had assumed by this time the betrothal would be as good as done, and thought to celebrate with her kin this eve. Rory didn’t have the heart to deny her, but still, he would not commit to making the announcement and had spent most of his time on the field, avoiding Cyril.

For some reason his cousin had kept his pestering to a minimum, but every so often Rory had sensed Aidan watching him. They’d been close as boys. Aidan had fostered with them in his youth, and Rory thought him as much a brother as Iain.

“What is it yer wantin’ to ken?” she asked, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead.

“What was Aileanna doin’ in the hall?”

“Cleanin’ the banner in my stead.”

“And why were you cleanin’ the bloody thing in the first place?”

“’Tis what her
ladyship
demanded. Wantin’ the keep all shiny fer her kin. Showin’ off what she’s marryin’ into.”

“Mrs. Mac, I doona’ think—”

“Och, well, I ken that.” She looked down her nose at him.

Rory kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck, looking up when Fergus reentered the study. “Did Cook allow her in his kitchens?”

“He didna’ exactly let her—”

Rory threw up his hands. “You see, ’tis as I thought. I kent Callum must have been mistaken.”

“Nay, you didna’ give me a chance to finish. The kitchens were like a bloody inferno and the lass got them out of there. Cook was in a bad way. He’s still no’ himself. I’ve sent him to his bed, but doona’ worry, the lasses have it under control. There’s food enough for an army. You’ll no’ be disappointed.” The censure in the look Fergus gave him irked Rory, and the one Mrs. Mac added to it didn’t help.

“I ken what the two of you are thinkin’, but yer no’ bein’ fair to Lady MacLean. She’d no’ hurt a fly. She only meant to please me.”

Mrs. Mac grumbled something about stupid men and left the room without so much as a by-your-leave.

Rory stood abruptly and his chair scraped across the floor, punctuating the tense silence between Rory and his old friend.

“Just so you ken, the lasses were singin’ Aileanna’s praises. She worked alongside them fer most of the day. I gather old lady Cameron was there as well. I ran across a few of the men she tore a strip off when they dared to say a word against Aileanna. It seems our lady has another protector.” A wide grin split Fergus’s face.

Rory tamped down a surge of pride for Aileanna and what she’d done. It was admirable; she was an incredible woman, but it did not give her the right to go on as she had in the hall, ranting at Moira, and worse, taking him to task in front of his men and guests.

“Where are you goin’, lad?” Fergus questioned him as he left the study.

“To speak to Lady Aileanna,” he shot over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time, unwilling to consider his need to go to her.

His brother descended the staircase as Rory ascended, and Iain grabbed hold of his arm. “You’ll no’ upset her, Rory. She’s exhausted.”

Rory shook off his hand and leaned toward him. “I will do as I see fit, brother. And no’ you, nor anyone else will tell me otherwise.”

His brother thumped him in the middle of the chest with his finger. “Doona’ do it, Rory, or you will answer to me.” Iain didn’t back down as he so often did in their confrontations, and it surprised and angered Rory.

His brother had all but declared Aileanna his, and Rory, who remained in control at all times, even in the heat of battle, felt the thin rein he held on his temper snap. He saw red. His blood boiled. He grabbed Iain’s hand and shoved him hard against the wall.

The pounding of feet on the stairs penetrated the veil of rage that filmed his eyes. Fergus grabbed hold of the arm he drew back to pummel his brother with, and Aidan wedged himself between them, his eyes glinting with amusement. “’Tis quite the show yer puttin’ on fer yer guests, cousins, but might I suggest we take this up at another time. And I must insist ye let me partake in the sport. ’Tis been a long time since I’ve gone a round with the two of ye.”

Rory broke free of Fergus and lowered his hand, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side. Aidan clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Mayhap ’twould be best if ye saw to the lass after ye’ve had time—” His cousin met Rory’s gaze and he shrugged. “And mayhap no’.”

Iain tried to shove Aidan aside, but their cousin held firm. “Rory!” his brother shouted over his cousin’s shoulder.

Aidan shook his head, turning to pin Iain in place. “Doona’ be a fool, lad. Come, leave yer brother be and have some ale with me.”

Rory didn’t wait for Iain’s response. He ignored the excited chatter below and brushed past the two maids who gaped at him as he strode down the corridor toward Aileanna’s room.

Mrs. Mac had informed him last eve she’d set Aileanna up in his mother’s chambers, a room Rory hadn’t entered in years. His parents’ suite in the east wing of the keep held bittersweet memories for him, and he’d wondered at the time if Mrs. Mac had taken some perverse pleasure in placing her there.

Rory leaned against the wall outside Aileanna’s room, allowing the coolness of the stone to calm the raw emotion that warred within him. He’d almost convinced himself his cousin was right and he should confront Aileanna at a later time. But the iron handle was already beneath his hand, and he eased the door open before he could stop himself.

Stepping across the threshold, his jaw dropped. His breath stuttered in his chest at the sight that greeted him, and he couldn’t move. His gaze riveted on Aileanna in her bath. Her lush curves, full, milky white breasts and satiny smooth skin glistened. If he was a gentleman he’d leave, but he’d warned her before he wasn’t, not with her. He couldn’t pull his eyes from her dusky rose nipples, her narrow waist, or the gentle curve of her rounded hip, even if he wanted to. He was enchanted, bewitched. She drew her long, slender legs toward her as she washed her hair beneath the water.

He should leave before she saw him. Before he could no longer contain the raging heat unfurling in his belly and kneel at her side to take those jutting nipples into his mouth. Cup her breasts in his hands, knead them, taste every sweet inch of her.

His cock throbbed in the tight confines of his trews, begging to be released, to drive into her. He had to get out of there, but as he turned to go the door inexplicably slammed closed. Aileanna emerged from beneath the water, eyes squeezed shut. Her long hair formed a curtain over her breasts; only her nipples peeked through, pebbled, primed for his attention.

“Oh, thank goodness, Mari, I’ve got soap in my eyes. Hand me a towel, please.”

Rory couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to her, a pull too great to deny, like a raging thirst needing to be quenched.

She rose from the tub and stood but a breath away, so beautiful, so ripe. He could touch her if he dared. Trail his finger alongside the bead of water that dripped from the tip of a rosy bud over her flat stomach to rest in the silky curls at the juncture of her thighs. His fingers itched to stroke her there, to dip inside her moist velvet heat and make her moan in pleasure. Soft sounds he had heard her murmur once before, and had never forgotten. His breathing grew ragged, and his hand hovered above his stiff cock.

She reached out blindly and Rory picked up the toweling from the floor and placed it in her outstretched hand. “Thank you,” she said as she brought it to her face. “Tell me, has his highness stopped his ranting and raving?” Her words were muffled behind the toweling.

“He has,” he said, his voice thick and low.

Ali squealed. Her feet slipped as she tried to leap from the tub holding the towel in front of her. The soap blurred her vision, but she didn’t need her sight to know it was him. His deep smooth voice, his clean masculine scent, and the tingle of awareness she always felt whenever he was in the same room left her with no doubt it was Rory.

Big hands, calloused and strong, gripped her upper arms to steady her. “Let go.” She pounded on his chest as he hauled her from the tub.

“Shh, lass, you doona’ want to draw a crowd.” His heated breath caressed her ear.

“Why? Because they’d find out their laird spies on women while they bathe?” Her face flamed with the knowledge he’d watched her. The huge bulge pressed tight against her stomach told her so.

“How…how long were you standing there?”

Rory exhaled a shaky breath. “Too long. Give me a moment, Aileanna, and I will apologize as I should.” He didn’t let her go. He took several long, deep breaths and then released her. Taking a step back from her, he ran his fingers through his wavy black hair.

“Close your eyes,” she demanded. He locked his gaze with hers, and Ali’s fingers tightened on the towel that barely covered her naked, damp body from the hunger that glittered in his heavy-lidded gaze.