LORD OF HER HEART
He kissed the tears from her cheeks. “I do love you, Aileanna, and I’m no’ marryin’ Moira. I willna’ go through with the betrothal, no’ now.”
“Don’t…don’t lie to me. Lust isn’t love—that’s what you said, didn’t you? I won’t come second to anyone, Rory, not even your dead wife. I deserve more.”
He gave her a slight shake. “Stop. Why will you no’ try to understand? Aye, I desire you as I never have another, including Brianna. But I do love you, Aileanna, more than I should. And I canna’ let you go. I willna’ let you go.”
“Did you just say you aren’t marrying Moira?”
“Aye, ’tis what I said,” he growled.
She hesitated then asked, “And you love me?” She lowered her eyes and her cheeks flushed. “As much as you loved your wife?”
“The love I feel for you is no’ the same as my love for Brianna was. Canna’ you understand that?”
“Aye, I can.”
He blinked, then grinned. “I’ll make a Scot of you yet, mo chridhe.” His eyes darkened. “But now all I want is to make you mine…”
Lord of the Isles
Debbie Mazzuca
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
This book is dedicated to the
memory of my father, Norm LeClair.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you.
You are my hero, and always will be.
Thanks…
To my amazing husband Perry, and our three incredible children, April, Jess, and Nic. Your love, encouragement, and support, mean the world to me. I love you very much.
To my mom, my sister, and brother, for their enthusiastic support. No one could ask for better cheerleaders. I love you.
To Ludvica, my adopted daughter, for being the best reader a writer could ever hope for.
To my friends and mentors in ORWA. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you, especially Coreene, Vanessa, Teresa, and Joyce.
A special thanks to my dear friend and critique partner Lucy.
To my agent Pamela Hardy for believing in me, and making my dreams come true. You’re the best!
To my editor John Scognamiglio for taking a chance on me, and for your patience while guiding me through the publishing process. You’ve been a pleasure to work with.
To my many family and friends. I can’t name you all, but you have my deepest gratitude and love.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter 1
The red hatchback came to a grinding stop at the bottom of a desolate gravel road, and the driver flipped off the meter. Wide-eyed, Ali stared at the back of the bald man’s head. “You’re kidding, right?”
The cabbie shrugged. His eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “I canna’ make it up the hill, lass, on account of all the rain we’ve had. My car’s too heavy you ken, but Dunvegan’s just up the road a bit,” he said in his thick brogue.
Ali leaned forward, peering past the rhythmic swipe of the windshield wipers to the mist-shrouded trees and the faint outline of a stone tower just beyond them, and released a resigned sigh. She shouldn’t be surprised. Lately, where she was concerned, if something could go wrong, it did.
“Okay then, what do I owe you?” she asked as she dug her wallet from the bottom of her black leather satchel.
“Two hundred pounds,” the older man answered as he opened the door and heaved himself off the front seat.
Ali let out a soft whistle before she followed after him, her low-heeled shoes sinking in the mud. “Can you give me a receipt, please?”
Her agent and best friend, Meg Lawson, had told her the magazine would pay all her expenses and Ali wasn’t about to argue. It meant more money to go toward the hefty student loans she’d accumulated while going to medical school. And the sooner they were paid off the better. It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to take the modeling job in the first place. The money was great, and she’d get a chance to see some of Scotland—at the very least Skye, where the photo shoot was taking place. She just wouldn’t think about why she had the time to take the job. If she did, she’d cry, and she’d done enough of that already.
“Aye.” He lifted her luggage from the trunk and settled the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder. “I wish I could help with yer bags, lass, but I have a bum knee and wouldn’t be much good to you.”
“No problem.” Ali managed a tight smile as she dragged the heavy suitcase around the back of the car, its wheels getting stuck in the mud. She thanked the man and shoved the receipt he handed her into her bag before heading out on what she hoped would be a short walk to Dunvegan Castle.
The trek was slow going, with the wheels of her suitcase getting stuck in every rut on the narrow, unpaved road. Her mud-splattered black shoes were waterlogged from the puddles she couldn’t seem to avoid. In an attempt to save her jeans from ruin, she bent down and rolled them several inches above her ankles. She buttoned the navy blazer she wore over her white blouse—a blouse that had been crisp and clean when she left New York twelve hours earlier, but now was as limp and dirty as she was, or would be, after her little adventure.
Five minutes later she had to admit it wasn’t so bad. The air was fragrant with the heady aroma of flowers, the misty rain warm and gentle on her face, and the scenery amazing. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, and then she heard an ominous rumble, and a bolt of lightning crackled across the gloomy afternoon sky. Within seconds the clouds opened up and the rain came down in buckets. Ali shook her head and laughed. What else could she do—cry?
Rounding a bend in the road, a massive gray stone edifice came into view, and she felt an unexpected spurt of excitement. It looked like something out of a fairy tale with its majestic towers