Lord of The Isles by Mazzuca Debbie

Author:Mazzuca, Debbie [Mazzuca, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp
Published: 2010-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

Ali listened to every footfall, every creak in the hall outside Rory’s room. She timed her search of his chambers to when they’d be dining in the hall. Mrs. Mac had unhappily informed her that a new agreement was being drawn up and would be signed after the evening meal. With luck, Ali figured she had several hours to look for the flag. But there had been several delays before she had the chance to sneak unseen from her room.

Mari and Connor had come to check on her and report on Ina’s progress; Fergus, to apologize for smacking her behind, although he informed her it was well deserved; and Iain, to share what had taken place between his brother and Moira. He said Rory told Moira in no uncertain terms how he felt about his servants being abused, and accident or not, he would not constitute it happening again. And although she’d be lady of Dunvegan—Iain had shuddered as he said the words—Mrs. Mac would see to the staff and oversee the keep much as she did before.

Ali had tearfully thanked him, saying a silent good-bye as she had to all of them. No one commented on her tears, and Ali figured they assumed she grieved because Rory was going through with the betrothal. They were right, but her tears were for them, too. They’d become the family she never had.

Ali sniffed and wiped the moisture from her cheek. She kept her gaze averted from the bed, but the memories refused to be kept at bay. Rory’s hand on her naked body, his mouth on hers—him lying there wounded and in pain, but still managing to tease. Every little detail of their time together flashed before her. How could she leave…how could she not? It was only when Ali relegated all she stood to lose to the recesses of her mind that she had the strength to move ahead with her search.

The wall. He said the wall.

She placed both palms alongside the doorframe and slowly worked her way around the room. It seemed like hours had passed. Her arms ached from stretching and pressing every inch of the walls, stone and paneling alike. Painstakingly she checked for signs of wear. Knowing she had little time left, and half the room still to explore, she had all but given up. Then the panel creaked beneath her palm. She tapped lightly—it was hollow.

She was tempted to use the knife she wore strapped to her thigh—the one Callum had given her—but was afraid to damage the wood. A tremor of nervous excitement ran through her as she slid her nails along the edge. The wall moved. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as inch by inch she worked it open. Behind the panel she discovered a closet-like space. On the dusty floor sat a black trunk. Ali knelt beside it, closing her eyes when it squeaked open, her nerves scraped raw, every sound magnified a hundred times.

Slowly she opened her eyes. On top lay the cream colored square of silk.

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