Текст книги "My brave highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

Isobel.

For Dirk, seeing her here in the cemetery was so unexpected, he was at a loss for words. And his body was still in high-alert defense and attack mode.

Removing his hand from his sword hilt, he felt daft for the sudden rush of alarm that had near made him strike before he saw who was behind him. His pulse thumped in his ears like a drum. This wasn't the first time it had happened. Expecting to be ambushed at any moment tended to do that to a man.

"Pray pardon. I didn't mean to startle you," Isobel said, frowning. "Are you well?"

He drew in a deep breath, then blew out the tension, forcing himself to relax. "Aye. What are you doing outside the gates? The highwayman could venture into these parts."

She frowned and glanced about. "I simply had to get outside while the weather was halfway pleasant. If it makes you feel any better, I have a dagger in my pouch."

It didn't, but he supposed that was better than nothing.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was but admiring my memorial plaque," he said in a dry tone and motioned toward it.

She moved forward, her eyes scanning the carved stone. "Oh," she breathed. "Brave and noble. I agree with that."

Her words meant more than he could say. "I thank you," he murmured.

When her dark eyes found him again they were misty. "Your clan missed you."

"No more than I missed them."

"But you knew they were here. They thought you were gone… permanently."

"Aye, there is a difference," he admitted. He especially knew that to be true now that his father had passed. It touched him deeply that Da had such a fine plaque carved in his honor.

She glanced at the plaque again. "Faraid Head… where is that?"

"Over two miles that way." He pointed over the wall toward the massive stretch of land on the opposite side of Balnakeil Bay. "'Tis inhospitable with naught but sand dunes and sea cliffs."

"What happened?"

Too much to explain it to her now. A mixture of dark emotions converged on him, memories of what he'd gone through that night. To know Lady MacKay was so greedy she was willing to kill for what was rightfully his… while he, at age fifteen, endured the pain of a serious injury and the fear of hanging off the edge of a cliff for hours in the darkness and wind, the waves crashing below where his best friend had died, not knowing if he would be able to climb back to the top or if he would also fall to his death. And then the gratitude of surviving. Nay, 'twas too much to relive now. And he rarely talked about it.

"I'll tell you sometime," he said, staring toward the harsh headland, thinking of Will and missing him more now that he stood at his grave. He didn't want to call Isobel's attention to it, nor did he want to talk about his cousin at the moment. More urgent issues were at hand.

"We need to talk," he said.

"I thought we were." She bit her lip but a faint grin slipped out, distracting him, pulling him up from the depths of dismal emotions. His past vanished like morning mist as he focused completely on the here and now.

Isobel.

Loose strands of her dark hair escaped the cowl and fluttered in the wind, tempting him to capture them and twine them about his fingers. Her cheeks and lips were rosy from the chill air… and her dark eyes entrancing.

Damned if she wasn't a wee seductress.

He glanced away to better focus on what he'd wanted to say. "I mean we need to talk about something serious."

"There is naught more serious than a memorial plaque," she said with a straight face.

He snorted and grinned before he could stop himself, unsure why her words struck him as humorous. He shook his head. "I think we should head back to the castle afore dark. 'Tis growing colder with the setting of the sun."

She nodded and proceeded between the graves toward the exit.

He held the weathered wooden gate for her, then fell into step beside her on the trail of wet, compacted sand up the hill toward the castle.

"I wondered whether you had sent my brother a missive letting him know I'm alive and well. He'll worry when the MacLeods tell him I've vanished," she said.

"I was planning to. But then I got to thinking the MacLeods might intercept the messenger or the missive and learn where you are. For your own safety, I thought it best to wait a bit."

She nodded. "Very well. I'd rather they not find out where I am at all costs."

"I also have to figure out which servants are trustworthy and who might best serve as messenger." 'Twas almost two hundred miles to Dornie. He needed to send someone who'd been to Dornie before who was also hale and hearty enough to withstand the cold weather. In truth, he should probably send two servants on such a long, arduous and dangerous journey.

Aside from that, he'd hate for anyone, including her brother, to show up and take her away so soon. It would be for the best, of course, but he was not entirely sure he was ready to let her go. He was being imbecilic, for there was no future with her. Still, he could not help but enjoy spending time with her and talking, even if they discussed trivial matters.

"You were walking on the beach?" he asked, wondering what possessed her to wander out in the cold.

"Aye, 'tis warmer today and the wind less fierce. And I have never seen such a beautiful beach." She paused for a moment to glance back over Balnakeil Bay, tinted by the soft light of gloaming.

"There are many lovely beaches around Durness." And most ladies wouldn't have ventured outside, beautiful beach or not. He was drawn to her resilience.

"I had to get some fresh air and light," she said. "My chamber is warm and cozy but a bit dark."

He'd have to see about finding her a better chamber if, or rather when, he became chief. He had no doubt the clan would decide in his favor, especially if Aiden stepped down. Haldane would protest, but what good would it do the lad? He might have the temperament of a gale storm but was ultimately powerless. What had angered Dirk most was the way Haldane had spoken about Isobel, calling her a whore. Dirk might yet have the opportunity to teach the whelp a lesson about respect for ladies and members of the nobility.

"And how is your finger today?" Dirk asked.

"The swelling has gone down a wee bit." She paused, holding her hand out to him.

He took it gently, eager for any excuse to touch her. "Your hand is cold. And 'tis a bonny shade of green today."

She grinned, temptingly.

More than anything, he wished to kiss her hand. But he wasn't a gallant or a rogue like Lachlan, or even Rebbie. Dirk was not one to tease women or make them giggle. He wished he was. He wished he could change and become more like his friends.

When Isobel gazed up at him with such beguiling dark eyes, he was near spellbound. He didn't want to tease her; he wanted to kiss her. Not just her hand, but her lips. But that he must not do again, even though the kiss and her soft, delectable lips had haunted his dreams all night.

She was still betrothed to another. A betrothal was a legal and binding contract.

He released her and continued up the hill at a slow pace, waiting for her to catch up. "Lady Isobel, I find I must apologize for what happened in the stable last night."

"For the kiss or for snapping at me afterward?"

"Both." His face burned despite the cold wind.

"Nonsense. I'm glad you're not angry with me. 'Haps I am the one who should apologize."

"Nay, there's no need of it."

"Good. Because I'm not sorry."

Did she have to be so damned honest and look so enticing at the same time?

"Glare at me all you wish." She smiled. "'Twas a bit of indulgence, aye?"

He focused forward again, determined not to get pulled in by her allure. "Aye. It won't happen again."

"A pity," she mumbled, but he heard her clearly despite the gust of wind that near shoved his breath back down his throat.

Damnation if she wasn't pursuing him. Was she mad? Or was she trying to avoid marriage to a MacLeod? If he stole her, there would be clan wars. He feared no one, but he wouldn't put the lives of his clansmen on the line because of his own lusts.

If she'd been unattached, he wouldn't have a problem dallying with a widow. In fact, young widows were his favorite to share bed-sport with. They were somewhat experienced and often deprived. Eager.

Isobel had kissed him eagerly last night. But he didn't indulge with young widows who were spoken for, even if they were near irresistible.

"Was that all you wished to talk about or was there something else?" she asked when they neared the open portcullis.

"There is more. We'll talk in the library."

***

"This is the room my father always used to conduct official business," Dirk said, opening the ancient carved oak door.

Isobel entered but could see little in the dimness. Pausing inside the open door, she watched Dirk light a candle from the low-burning hearth fire. He used this to light two more candles in a candelabra sitting on the worn table. Two benches sat along each side of it, and chairs at either end. Old faded tapestries depicting galleys filled with warriors decorated two of the stone walls.

She wouldn't have called the room a library for, although there was one bookcase, it contained no books. Just some loose parchments and rolled documents. The window was tall and narrow with a splendid view of the bay in the gloaming.

"Have a seat." Dirk motioned toward a carved, regal-looking chair by the hearth where a peat fire burned.

"'Tis your chair. I cannot possibly—"

"Nay. 'Tis no one's chair at the moment."

She sat on the chair's worn blue velvet cushion and held her hands closer to the fire. "I'm certain they'll name you chief at the hearing." They were mad if they didn't. She had never met a man more suited to be a chief.

"I'm hoping they will. And I'm relieved that Aiden doesn't truly wish to be chief. If he did, this would be much harder." He turned one of the chairs at the table and carried it closer to the hearth for himself.

"I'm certain of it." She admired the close bond between Dirk and his younger brother and loved the thought that Dirk didn't wish to hurt the lad. "His gift is music rather than leadership."

"Indeed. As you know, Haldane went to retrieve his mother."

She nodded, remembering the young man's scathing response to her. She'd be happy if she never had to face him again. He was a menace.

"You know Maighread Gordon, of course," Dirk said.

"Aye. Since she and my mother were friends, she came to visit a few times when I was growing up. My mother thought highly of her."

"She can have a charming façade at times, but it hides one of the most cunning and evil minds I've yet seen."

"I know she tried to kill you."

Dirk's eyes narrowed. "Who told you?"

"Your aunt, Effie. She warned me to be careful."

"I want to warn you of the same thing. My stepmother may appear friendly and kind on the surface but, to be sure, she is always scheming for her two sons."

"'Tis hard for me to imagine," she said. At his lifted brow of skepticism, she added, "But I believe you."

"I know her only too well. I can easily imagine what she'll do when she arrives."

"What?"

"First, she will try to discredit me, and then she will try to murder me again. Or rather, she'll hire someone."

Isobel expected the same, but still, the blood in her veins ran cold. She nodded. Though she knew not how, given that she was a woman, not a trained warrior, but she had to protect Dirk. Or at least watch his back. She would find out if Maighread was truly the one who'd tried to have Dirk killed or whether it was someone else. How could a mother, a caring friend to Isobel's mother, make a plan to kill her stepson, an honorable man? Did she have a hidden madness?

"How did she try to murder you before? I know you don't wish to speak of it, but I'll feel better prepared if I know more about how she operates."

A pained shadow passed over Dirk's clear blue gaze. He rose and paced from one side of the dim room to the other. He paused at the window and stared out over Balnakeil Bay.

"I had ridden out to the cliffs at Faraid Head with my cousin, Will," he said. "We were about the same age. Da had sent us to watch for approaching galleys. He was awaiting a shipment of supplies from Glasgow. 'Twas summer and we were to stay the night. Will and I were going to take turns keeping watch. But while I was asleep, someone attacked him. I awoke to sounds of sword fighting and Will calling my name. Because of the short nights in summer, 'twas late but still gloaming. Someone—a man—dressed in black shoved Will off the cliff's edge before I could get to them. I was in shock. My cousin was my best friend—like a brother to me. 'Twas too late. There was naught I could do to help him."

"Oh, Dirk." Isobel's heart ached for him. She could only imagine the shock and grief of losing a best friend and family member while also in danger herself.

"The murdering bastard wore a deep cowl over his head and I couldn't see his face in the dimness. I didn't recognize his sword or clothing. He advanced toward me, swinging his sword. I was fairly well-trained with the sword, but he was better. He was a man in his prime—tall, broad of shoulder, much bigger than I was at the time. I fought hard for several minutes. I'd never before seen battle and that was the first time I'd truly wanted to kill someone. But all my rage and determination were for naught. I made a misstep and he disarmed me, flinging my sword away. Just before he shoved me off the edge of the cliff, he said, 'Lady MacKay sends her regards.'"

"How terrible," Isobel said, swiping the tears from her eyes. Her heart broke for him. He'd been so young and vulnerable. "How did you survive?"

"I slid down the cliff and a sharp rocky crag plowed into my back and caught my plaid. I was in so much pain I didn't realize what had happened at first… that I was safe for the moment and alive. I was able to climb onto a rocky ledge. The murderer couldn't see me. I was about fifteen feet down. He must have thought I'd fallen onto the rocks in the sea below, then he left."

"You were fortunate."

"Aye, but my cousin was not. I never saw him again, not even his broken body, but my uncle wrote to me that Will had washed up on shore days later."

She shook her head, imagining him, a youth of fifteen, barely more mature than a child, stuck on the side of a cliff, in pain, mourning the loss of his beloved cousin. Not knowing if he would live or die himself.

"Uncle Conall threw a rope down and pulled me to safety the next morn," Dirk continued.

"How nightmarish," she said, blinking back the burning tears in her eyes.

Showing no emotion himself beyond the reflection of the dark memory in his expressive eyes, Dirk glanced at her for a second, then turned away.

"I think it was canny to let everyone think you'd died."

"My uncle said it was the only way to protect me. He took me just south of Inverness to live with my mother's clan."

"Did they treat you well?" she asked

"Aye. The MacLeries are an honorable clan, well thought of and upstanding. After a couple of years with them, I went to university as is the required custom for future chiefs. My uncle and the MacLeries provided for me until I could make it on my own. I was a paid mercenary for a while in France with Rebbie and another good friend, Lachlan."

"That sounds exciting."

Dirk shrugged. "I much prefer Scotland, despite the colder weather." He stood for several moments in silence, staring out the window, as if some of the memories played out in his head. "Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that you should be careful around Maighread. Trust her as you would a poisonous viper. I'm hoping that since she and your mother were friends, she won't have any reason to harm you or pull you into her manipulations, but be ever vigilant. She is unpredictable. Who can say how her mind works?"

***

Nolan MacLeod sat leisurely before the hearth fire in the solar at Munrick Castle while Torrin, the chief, paced. His long brown hair, fashioned in a queue, was still mussed from his mantle's cowl. He'd just arrived, an hour after dark.

"Where the devil did Lady Isobel go?" Torrin demanded, his dark green eyes glinting… with suspicion or rage? Nolan had to make sure Torrin knew naught of his actions right before the lady's disappearance. Could Torrin care more for his betrothed than Nolan had suspected?

"If I knew that, brother, I'd go retrieve her for you. She vanished in the night. Ran away, most likely back to her brother."

"Why didn't you and the men go out searching for her?"

"We did. But we didn't realize she was gone until the next morn. She'd had several hours to make good her escape." 'Twas only partially a lie. Nolan had sent out Torrin's men looking for her, but he was not about to go out in the cold, wind and snow himself.

"In the morn, I'll take a dozen men and go out searching for her," Torrin said.

"Och. Almost a week has passed now. She could be anywhere, even in Dornie if she took a galley from one of the ports south of here."

"She couldn't travel so far alone, with only her maid. No guard to protect her. She is more likely dead, frozen to death someplace. Saints," Torrin rasped, shaking his head. His brother had more of a conscience than he did and looked mightily troubled at the moment. "Damnation, I wish I'd been here. Why were you not watching her?"

"I was." Aye, Nolan watched her intently at every opportunity. She was a curvaceous lass, with a slender waist and generous breasts. No man in his right mind could avoid watching her when she was in the room. "But she was cunning. She pretended to retire early, just after supper, and that's when she slipped out."

Torrin scratched the three days' worth of dark stubble on his chin. "I don't understand why she'd want to leave."

"'Haps she feared your terrifying reputation. You are seen by some as a war-loving and harsh chief."

Torrin shrugged, appearing far less than fearsome at the moment. Nay, in fact, he appeared defeated. Nolan wanted to smirk, seeing his strong older brother near brought to his knees with distress over a lass. Nolan didn't envy his brother the chieftainship. Nay, 'twas his success with the ladies Nolan envied. If he could bed some of the lovely lasses Torrin had bedded, he'd be a happy man. But nay, Nolan had botched things when he'd gotten a chieftain's daughter with child and been forced to marry her. Torrin hadn't even tried to help him escape the strangling bonds of matrimony. He'd sided with the lass's father, telling Nolan marrying her was the only honorable thing to do. He still hadn't forgiven him for that.

"No one has reported finding a body," Nolan said, rubbing the tender spot on his scalp where that witch had clouted him.

Torrin's dark brown brows lowered and he shook his head. "Mayhap some damned outlaw kidnapped her and is even now torturing or abusing her."

Nolan almost grinned at that image, but managed to control himself. He hoped someone did abuse her severely after what she'd done to him.

"I simply don't understand why she would slip out of the castle. Surely she knows the dangers of traveling without protection."

"Does anything women do make sense? Most of them are daft, including my own wife."

Torrin glared at him for a long moment. Aye, Nolan knew his brother rarely approved of his viewpoint. But Nolan was simply being honest; he had little patience for women and their thoughts and actions. He wanted to bed them, not listen to their imbecilic ideas.

"I already sent a missive while I was in Lairg, notifying her brother," Torrin said, pacing to the mantel. "If she's returned home to him, she'll not get out of the arrangement so easily. I want her and the clan needs that land."

"Aye, no doubt she is a scheming and conniving bitch."

Over his shoulder, Torrin pinned Nolan with a glare. "She didn't strike me as such when I met her."

"Well, I never trusted her. You can tell by the look in her eye that she's a rebel. 'Tis doubtful she'd obey a word you said. I wouldn't want a disobedient wife. Besides that, she's probably barren."

"We don't know that," Torrin snapped. "'Haps her first husband was impotent. He was around three score years, after all. She's the loveliest lady in these parts. She appears healthy and capable of birthing bairns." Torrin shrugged. "But maybe I'll negotiate for a temporary marriage now, if I can find her. That way, I can make certain she's fertile before I marry her."

Nolan nodded, wishing he could find out if she was fertile. He almost had. "'Tis a good idea, and if you find out where she is, I'll be happy to go retrieve her for you, brother."

***

The next day, Maighread Gordon strode through the front door of Dunnakeil as if she were queen of all of Scotland and England too. Disgust stabbed through Dirk and nausea rose within him. Strangely, he felt as if he were fifteen summers again, rather than a man full grown.

Damn her.

He squared his shoulders and ground his teeth together. She was no longer a match for him. He was a highly-trained, skilled fighter, and she was a thin, gray-haired widow.

Her eyes lit on him, then widened. Her face blanched. But she quickly hid her astonishment. Or was it fear? Aye, she had to be a wee bit afraid of him now, given his size. Regardless, 'twas clear she recognized him.

Her scathing green eyes raked over him in exactly the same manner they used to. If ever evil had stood in this room, 'twas now.

Haldane entered behind her, as did two more ladies, several servants and her men-at-arms. She traveled with a large party, and each of them would require watching.

He knew she couldn't resist coming to see for herself if indeed Dirk MacKay had risen from the dead.

"Who is this imposter I hear has come to take over the clan and castle?" Maighread asked in a raised voice to the room at large.