Текст книги "My brave highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Chapter Thirteen

Dirk's stepmother thought him an imposter?

He snorted and sent her a contemptuous smirk. Her words were so daft they didn't deserve a response. 'Twas obvious she'd recognized him the instant she'd entered the great hall. She was the same as she'd always been—a liar and manipulator.

"He is no imposter, m'lady," Uncle Conall said, sounding as annoyed as Dirk felt as his voice echoed off the high ceiling. "He is in truth Dirk MacKay, son of Laird Griff, as you can plainly see."

"Nay." Maighread's eyes narrowed on Dirk. She pointed an accusing finger and moved forward, but stopped three feet away. "That is not Dirk MacKay. He has been dead for many years."

Dirk couldn't stop his sinister smile as hatred and a vile need for revenge coursed through his veins. He'd never harmed a woman, but was sore tempted now. He clenched his fists in restraint.

"I'm certain you wished me dead, stepmother. But I'm not," Dirk said.

"I would never wish you or anyone dead. But you cannot prove you are the man you claim to be." Her condescending, harpy voice grated on his nerves.

"Ask me anything you like. Maybe you'd like me to recite my ancestry back to the tenth century."

"Hmph." Her haughty look told him she was less than impressed. "You could learn that from anyone in the clan."

"Ask me something about my childhood. Something only I would know." Brow lifted, he waited while her mouth opened and closed mutely. "Afraid you might be proven wrong?" he asked.

"We all remember Dirk, m'lady," his father's senachie, Phelan, said. "All the older members of the clan do. We were present at his birth and watched him grow from a wee bairn to a tall, strong lad."

"That lad looked nothing like this imposter," Maighread proclaimed, scanning the clan elders. "Have the lot of you gone senile?"

The elder men frowned and exchanged vexed glances, some giving her the evil eye. But she ignored them, instead glaring intently at Dirk.

"I'm a wee bit larger than the last time you saw me," Dirk said, crossing his arms over his chest. Standing straight and tall, he towered over her. The first time he'd seen her, when he was around four or five, she'd dwarfed him and stared down at him as if he were a loathsome, mud-covered mongrel pup.

The last time he'd seen her, when he was fifteen, they had been of about the same height. But now, he was at least a foot taller than she.

"He looks like his father and his grandfather," Ranald, his father's sword-bearer, said.

"He looks nothing like my dear, departed Griff, God rest his soul," she said with deceptive piety. "And I never saw his grandfather so how would I know?"

"'Tis him, m'lady. He has the birthmark," Phelan said with calm confidence.

Dirk had always liked the man and his dramatic stories which glorified his father's battles and hunting expeditions.

"What birthmark?" Maighread demanded.

"On his back, Mother," Haldane said.

"Dirk never had a birthmark."

"You didn't give birth to Dirk nor were you a mother to him when he was a wee lad. How would you know whether he had a birthmark or not?" Uncle Conall asked.

"I… well." She sputtered for a moment.

"Open your eyes," Conall said. "You can clearly see 'tis Dirk."

"Were you not the one who said Dirk fell off a cliff and died?" Maighread demanded. "Did you lie?"

"Aye, someone tried to murder him," Conall said, his dark gaze boring into his sister-in-law. "I lied to protect him. He was several feet down the side of a cliff where someone had pushed him. Without doubt, a hired assassin. I threw a rope down to Dirk and pulled him back up. Then, I helped him slip away to another part of the Highlands so he would be safe until he was grown."

"I wonder…" Dirk said. "Why did the assassin say to me, 'Lady MacKay sends her regards,' right before he pushed me off the edge?"

Murmurs and grumbles moved through the great hall as two dozen or more clansmen looked on, taking in every word.

Maighread gasped, her face turning pale. "I have no inkling! But it proves naught. Anyone could say that to implicate me. But since you're not really Dirk, you made it up, of course."

"The assassin you hired, who murdered Will MacKay, thought those were the last words I would hear," Dirk said. "He wanted me to know who'd hired him, but he wanted me to take that information to my watery grave. It didn't work." Dirk gave a bitter but satisfied smile.

Her four brawny guards moved forward to stand beside her. At least two of them were from the Sutherland clan. He knew not the other two.

"This is a madman!" she accused, her gaze scanning the suddenly restless MacKay clan. "How can you possibly believe him? He's a lying imposter. And even if he were Dirk MacKay, lies are easy to make up. He's trying to steal the chieftainship from Aiden."

The clan's mutterings continued as they discussed the topic and speculated about Maighread's guilt. Dirk was happy to see so many of his agitated clansmen were on his side. He had not planned to confront her at first glance, but the time felt right.

"Chief Griff MacKay would be appalled at the behavior of this clan!" she said. "I have been with you more than twenty years. How can you doubt me or suspect me of such treachery? You should be ashamed of yourselves, believing every word this pretender says."

"What if he isn't a pretender? What if 'tis proven he is Dirk?" Conall asked.

"Well, then, he's lying about what the assassin said. 'Tis easy enough to make up such a story. And if he is Dirk, he's the one who murdered Will MacKay and then ran away so he wouldn't get caught."

"Why on earth would I murder my best friend?" Dirk asked. Surely anyone who believed such a thing would be foolish.

"And why on earth would I murder my stepson?"

"So that your son can inherit, of course," Dirk said. "'Tis what you've always wanted, is it not?"

Drawing herself up regally, she ran her haughty gaze over each face in the room until she noticed Isobel. Halting, Maighread frowned and moved toward her. "Isobel MacKenzie? What on earth are you doing here?"

Dirk narrowed his eyes. How long had it been since the two had seen each other? He didn't want Maighread anywhere near Isobel. She might try to hurt her, or she might fill Isobel's ears with lies, poisoning her mind against Dirk or the good people of the clan. He cringed, imagining Isobel being influenced in any small way by his witch of a stepmother.

Isobel talked low but Dirk understood her words. "I was caught out in a snowstorm with my maid and Laird MacKay helped us to safety."

Isobel had never called him Laird MacKay. Why was she doing so now? To test Maighread and see how riled she'd become? Dirk almost smiled at the bold move.

"Laird MacKay?" Maighread demanded.

"Aye. Dirk. Your stepson," Isobel said in a guileless tone, her eyes wide and naïve. What a wee actress.

Maighread lifted a brow and glared back at Dirk. "My dear girl, he is not Laird MacKay, nor is he my stepson, of that I'm certain."

Isobel's dark gaze met his, communicating sympathy and cleverness, then she gave a covert shrug. He'd already told her Maighread would try to discredit him. Dirk knew the hag only too well. But would Isobel start believing Maighread over him?

"Come, we must talk, Lady Isobel… or should I call you Lady Jedwarth?"

Jedwarth? Dirk had neglected to ask Isobel what her first husband's name had been. Saints! He hadn't imagined he'd been the widely-known Earl of Jedwarth. She was a countess. Surely that made her even more sought after as a wife, aside from her beauty. Not that it mattered to him, but it probably did to the MacLeod.

Maighread turned back to the men. "We will sort this out later." Her eyes scanned the room. When they landed on Jessie, she said, "Have the servants bring food and drink to the solar." She then motioned to the two women who had traveled with her. "Come, ladies."

Jessie glared with great venom after their stepmother. Apparently, she liked her about as much as Dirk did. Muttering words Dirk couldn't hear, Jessie turned and stomped away toward the kitchen.

Isobel and Maighread being together did not set well with Dirk. He worried Maighread would hurt Isobel, especially if she disagreed with her. Since the two other ladies were with them, surely Maighread wouldn't become violent.

But, with her lies, she might also turn Isobel against him.

Dirk approached Rebbie where he stood by the massive fireplace. "I need a word with you," he said in a low tone, then led the way to the library. Once Rebbie was inside, Dirk closed the door.

"That woman knows who I am, and she knows the clan recognizes me," Dirk said. "Without doubt she will keep saying I'm not Dirk, but she knows the clan will pay her no heed. Her only recourse will be to try to murder me again. I'll need for you to watch my back."

"Of course. But 'haps you also need a couple of personal bodyguards," Rebbie said, his dark brown eyes far more serious than usual.

"As of yet, I know not who I can trust completely within the clan, aside from Conall and Keegan."

"But Keegan is what, third or fourth in line after you to inherit, correct?"

"Indeed, but we've always been close. I wouldn't suspect him of treachery. Nor Conall. He's in line to inherit too but he's always helped me, even more than my father did. They are loyal to the core."

"In my opinion, Keegan would make a good bodyguard. Mayhap he would do it as a favor to you."

"Aye, and once I'm chief, I'll make sure Keegan has a higher-ranking position." Dirk thought of the group of lads he spent much of his time with as a youth. Erskine had been a good friend. He was the son of his father's sword-bearer, and he'd always been destined to be Dirk's sword-bearer, a hereditary position passed down through the clan. Was he already Aiden's sword-bearer? He hadn't thought to ask, but it might not matter. If Aiden was loyal to Dirk, likely Erskine would be too.

"Erskine is another possibility. Wait here and I'll see if he is about." Dirk returned to the great hall and scanned the two dozen or so present. Erskine talked with Keegan near the entrance. While Keegan resembled Dirk a great deal, aside from his sandy hair, Erskine was smaller of frame with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Still, he had a wiry strength and Dirk had seen him best larger opponents when they were younger.

Dirk approached them. "Could I have a word with both of you in the library?"

"Aye," they responded with great interest and followed him.

Once inside the more private room, he closed the door. "Have a seat." Dirk motioned toward the chairs and benches surrounding the table, then took one himself beside Rebbie. "I'm not chief yet, of course, but if all the elders and the majority of the clan decide in my favor at the hearing, I will be. I hold no ill will toward Aiden. He is my beloved brother, but most everyone can agree he isn't suited to be a chief."

Keegan and Erskine murmured their agreements.

"Are you Aiden's sword-bearer?" Dirk asked Erskine.

"Aye. I'm glad to be sword-bearer for either you or Aiden." His dark eyes narrowed. "But not Haldane. If he ever becomes chief, my family and I are leaving."

Dirk nodded. He sounded loyal. "I thank you. You've always been a good friend, Erskine. Aiden knows who I am and I believe he will resign. He's already told me he'd rather I be chief. If that happens, my stepmother may try to have me murdered again."

"I was surprised to hear she was the one behind your disappearance. But it all makes sense now. I can't believe no one told me." Erskine sent a baffled glance at Keegan.

"We kept the secret well." His cousin shrugged and smiled smugly.

"I need two men I can trust to watch my back, aside from Rebbie. Sometimes he is distracted by the lasses."

"Aye and a pretty one arrived with your stepmother, Lady Seona Murray," Keegan said with a grin, obviously referring to the young, dark-haired, blue-eyed lass who'd stood with her mother or aunt behind Maighread. So, she was the lass Maighread wanted Aiden to marry.

"Och, you make me sound completely useless," Rebbie protested. "Truth is, Dirk is so distracted by a certain dark-eyed, voluptuous lass that someone could charge him from the front, sword drawn, and he'd likely not see them if she was in the room."

Dirk's face heated. Damnation, how he hated blushing. "This is serious. Let's try to focus."

"I'm being most serious. Anytime he's around Isobel, he'll need two bodyguards, one to watch his back and one to watch his front," he told the other two men.

They chuckled and eyed him. "I thought she was betrothed to someone else," Keegan said.

"Aye, she is. And let's not change the subject," Dirk said, determined to get back on topic. "My stepmother likely won't try anything herself. She'll get one of her servants or one of her guards to do it. She'll be creative. Her mind is more twisted and devious than anyone I've ever met, but she hides it from those closest to her. Her friends, hell, even my own father had no inkling how conniving she is."

"I certainly remember what happened when you were almost killed," Keegan said, his blue eyes stormy and troubled. "You're like a brother to me and you're the rightful chief and laird. I'll be honored to be your personal guard if that's what you're wanting."

"Aye. I would like that. And I thank you," Dirk said, feeling grateful and humbled to have another good friend. He turned to the son of his father's sword-bearer. "Erskine, we were ever friends when we were lads. 'Twas likely a miracle you were not with Will and me when the disaster at Faraid Head happened."

"'Tis true."

"Would you be willing to be my personal guard as well, at least until I know who else I can trust?"

"Aye, I'd be more than happy to."

Surely Dirk could trust these two men. He hoped. He hadn't been around them in twelve years, so he wasn't one hundred percent certain of anything. He had to figure out which members of the clan were trustworthy and which ones Maighread might pay to murder him.

***

Isobel followed Maighread into the castle's south-facing solar. The weak winter sun shone through the three narrow windows, highlighting the blue and gold Turkish carpet spread upon the floor. The two ladies who'd arrived with her followed also.

"Close the door," Maighread told her servant once they were all inside. "This is my best friend's daughter, Isobel MacKenzie, countess of Jedwarth." Maighread told the two women. "And this is Lady Seona Murray and her aunt, Patience Murray. Lady Seona is to marry Aiden."

Isobel curtseyed. "A pleasure to meet you both."

The two women returned pleasantries.

Seona was young, perhaps a score years and her aunt was about two score. Both were attractive, dark-haired and shared a strong resemblance with their oval faces, ivory skin and full, Cupid's bow lips.

They took seats around the fireplace, except for Maighread, who paced. The maid added bricks of peat to the glowing, smoking coals.

"I cannot believe that man claims to be my stepson. And what lies he tells. I hope none of you believe his insane accusations against me."

"Nay, of course not, m'lady," Patience said.

Seona merely shook her head. Isobel did the same, not wanting Maighread to suspect she was on Dirk's side.

Maighread appeared to accept their words and calm herself. She sat in a chair opposite Isobel. "'Tis a grand surprise to find you here, Lady Jedwarth. What were you doing out in a snowstorm?" Maighread asked.

"Please call me Isobel," she said, stalling for time. She truly hated being called Lady Jedwarth, and she was not yet prepared to reveal all. Isobel's mother had trusted Maighread with all her secrets, but Isobel didn't, given that Dirk accused her of being a murderer. And she knew the other women not at all. They might have clan ties to the MacLeods, which meant Isobel couldn't reveal all about her escape from Munrick. "'Tis a long story. And I wouldn't wish to bore you ladies," Isobel said.

Maighread sent her a sympathetic smile, or was it patronizing?

"Are you the same Isobel MacKenzie who was to marry the MacLeod chief?" Patience asked.

Isobel felt the blood drain from her face. How did she know?

"When we passed through over a month ago, we stopped at Munrick for two nights rest before continuing north. They talked of how they were expecting Lady Isobel MacKenzie to arrive soon to marry their handsome young chief."

Isobel forced an uncomfortable smile. "Aye, that would be me."

"What happened?" Patience persisted.

"I… would rather not say."

"You ladies warm yourselves. Lady Isobel and I will go see where the food and drink are." Maighred waited for her at the door.

With dread, Isobel pushed up from her chair and followed, suspecting she was going to be questioned intensely.

The older woman led her to an alcove at the end of the corridor. "I could tell you didn't wish to discuss it with them listening, but I am deeply concerned about what happened to you, lass."

Isobel's stomach ached, for she was uncertain who this woman truly was, her mother's trusted confident or a soulless murderer. Either way, Isobel didn't want Maighread to become suspicious. She needed to gain her trust in order to find out her plans. Would the murderess try again to kill Dirk?

Isobel wrung her hands. Either way, Lady Patience had already revealed that Isobel was betrothed to Torrin MacLeod. There was no need to deny it any longer. "Do you promise not to tell anyone?" Isobel asked. "It is a delicate situation."

"Of course, my dear girl," Maighread cooed as if Isobel were five instead of twenty-five. "Your mother always trusted me with her deepest secrets, and you can too."

"Very well. I thank you for your confidence," Isobel said, pretending she believed nothing of Dirk's accusations. "You see, my brother signed a contract for me to marry the MacLeod."

"I'm certain your mother would say that was a poor choice." Maighread shook her head. "And did you marry him?"

"Not yet. We're betrothed. But because of… something that happened, I had to leave. Snow was pouring down. Fortunately, Dirk MacKay and his friend came upon us between Munrick and Ullapool. I'm not sure we could've made it to shelter if not for their help."

"Goodness. What on earth could've happened to cause you to run away during a snowstorm?"

Isobel stared at the floor, burning with humiliation. Now she needed a reason for leaving the MacLeod. She could think of no better excuse than the truth. It didn't matter if Maighread knew what Nolan did. Maybe if she confessed such a traumatic experience, it would cause Maighread to trust her and commiserate with her.

"A certain member of his clan was treating me badly."

Maighread's eyes widened as if she were eager to devour the gossip. "Who and what did they do?"

"His brother… accosted me and tried to force himself on me."

Maighread gasped. "You poor dear. Your brother will seek revenge, surely."

"I hope not." She cringed, loathe to imagine her brothers or any of her clansmen losing their lives because of this insanity. "I simply want to leave and forget about them."

"Your brother didn't waste time in trying to get you married off again, did he?" Maighread shook her head in apparent exasperation, but Isobel doubted her sincerity.

"Nay."

"Well, I'm glad you are safe here now. 'Twas unfortunate Jedwarth could not get you with child before he died. Especially a boy child. If he had, you'd be in a much more secure position as mother of an infant earl."

"Aye." She would like to have a child, but at the same time, she feared the earl's family would've tried to take over raising the babe and she would've been forced to the side. In the Highland tradition, her child would've been sent to foster with a prominent family. Her older brother had fostered with a lesser chieftain for seven years, during which she rarely saw him.

"Laird Jedwarth was a close friend of my family, as you know," Maighread said. "A good man."

Isobel nodded. She didn't want to think about her former husband, nor be called by his name any longer. The past needed to stay in the past. She was looking to a happier future.

"But how on earth did you escape Munrick without the MacLeod chief knowing?" Maighread asked.

"He was away in Lairg."

"Ah, so his younger brother thought he had the run of the henhouse, did he?"

"More like a wolf in the henhouse," Isobel said, remembering his viciousness.

"And how did you escape this despicable brother of his?"

Isobel shrugged. "I might have wounded him." And she didn't regret it either. She hoped he had a headache for a fortnight.

Maighread laughed. "You injured him, my dear girl?"

"I fear I did. I had to knock him on the head to stop him. He passed out and that's when I made good my escape in the night."

Maighread chortled. "You are so much like your dear mother. I miss her terribly. She was indeed my best friend for almost five decades. And you are the image of her as well. To look at you takes me back to my youth." She shook her head. "Come, let's rejoin the other two ladies."

Isobel followed her back to the warm solar. The maids were serving refreshments of bread, cheese and wine.

"Please have a seat and tell me what you know of this fellow who calls himself Dirk," Maighread said.

Isobel frowned, unsure how to respond. Maybe she could discover what Maighread truly thought. "You don't believe he's Dirk?" she asked, accepting the mulled red wine in an expensive crystal glass from the maid. Maybe Maighread was going senile if she didn't remember her stepson.

"Nay! That man?" she asked in outrage and motioned toward the great hall. "He looks nothing like Dirk."

Maighread was either mad or a gifted liar. Isobel remembered Dirk from her youth and he was definitely the same person. Indeed, he was about a foot taller and his shoulders twice as wide. His square jaw and chin were stronger, but his piercing pale-blue eyes had not changed. She would never forget his bewitching eyes, nor his rich, ginger-colored hair.

"He's an imposter who thinks to steal my sons' heritage away from them. I won't let that happen. If you had sons, you would understand," Maighread said passionately.

Isobel nodded. She supposed she would, but… Dirk was still Dirk. And Isobel could see the woman might well do anything to protect what she perceived as her sons'.

"I should hope you would be able to easily prove he isn't the heir," Lady Patience said. "Seona is to marry the chief of MacKay, whoever holds this position."

"Well, it won't be this outlaw calling himself Dirk. You can be assured of that. Aiden is the chief and will remain so. You have naught to worry over, dear Seona," Maighread told the young woman.

Seona glanced about uneasily and Isobel wondered what she was thinking. Like Isobel, she was in a precarious situation, probably worried about what the future held for her. Her fate was in the hands of others… most of whom didn't give a fig about her happiness or well-being.

But 'twas clear to Isobel that she was an intelligent lass who no doubt had fond wishes and grand dreams of a bright future, just as Isobel did. 'Haps she even wanted to find love. Indeed, what lass didn't wish to find love? This was usually out of the question for chiefs' daughters. Few love matches were formed, at least not for first marriages. Alliances between clans were far more important. All young ladies could hope for was a husband who didn't beat them and a clan who treated them with respect.

A new thought rampaged through Isobel's mind. If Seona was bound by contract to marry the chief… and Dirk became the chief… did that mean Dirk would have to marry her?

Surely not if he hadn't been in on the agreement between clans. Wouldn't any such contract be null?

Why should it matter to Isobel anyway? She wouldn't be marrying Dirk. After what he'd said last night, she knew he was a man who followed the rules and traditions of their society. He believed in honoring contracts, vows and pledges. Well, she did too normally, but the situation with the MacLeods was extreme.

Anyway, Dirk was a man of his word. No matter how much he might have enjoyed the kiss—and he had—that wasn't going to sway him. Though she had little experience with physical interaction with men, it was obvious he'd been highly aroused and near out of control. Her heartbeat sped up like a fast-galloping horse with the memory of how Dirk had kissed her in a most sensual and carnally delicious way.

"Lady Isobel?"

She jumped, almost spilling her wine. Her gaze flew to Maighread. "Aye?" Her face heated.

"Are you well?"

"Indeed." She gulped the sweet, spiced wine, hoping it would calm her nerves.

"Are you saying you truly believe this outlaw is Dirk MacKay?"

Wanting to stay on Maighread's good side so she'd trust her, she didn't want to disagree, nor did she wish to lie and go completely against Dirk. What a quandary. "Mayhap," she blurted, hoping to stay impartial.

"But you only met him once before, correct?"

"'Tis true." Still, she remembered him clearly. He was someone she'd never forget—both handsome and fearsome. At the banquet they'd had at her clan's castle, Dirk had spoken to her once. Her feet had tangled in her skirts and she'd almost toppled down the steps, but he'd caught her arm and kept her from falling.

Careful, lass, he'd said in the deep voice he'd possessed even at fifteen. Of course, his voice was even deeper now, and at times a wee bit raspy from the cold wind. The sound of it gave her heated shivers.

The first time she'd met Dirk was brief, the words few. But his lingering and curious stares were among the details she hadn't forgotten. They had both been innocent to everything then. Whatever connection lay between them had not even been an infatuation. Just instinct and curiosity.

"I'm sure you've forgotten what Dirk was like in the past dozen or so years," Maighread said.

Hardly. Isobel sent her a vague smile, unwilling to argue. "'Haps."

"Surely the MacKay clan will be wise enough to realize his duplicity," Maighread said.

"They mentioned a birthmark," Lady Patience said. "Will the clan elders put so much faith in that as proof?"

"I'm not certain. But even a birthmark could be faked." Maighread's eyes narrowed.

"How would anyone know of it, especially if Dirk supposedly died twelve years ago?" Isobel asked, hoping she was the voice of reason.

"Someone from the clan, Conall perhaps, may have gone south and found someone who resembled Dirk in coloring and used some sort of stain or red dye to mimic the birthmark. Aye. I'm certain Conall is behind this. He wants his own son, Keegan, to inherit. Conall himself is third in line to be chief, and Keegan fourth. He's using this imposter as a puppet. That must be his devious scheme."

That was a stretch. If Dirk became chief, how would Conall or Keegan become chief? But Isobel refrained from asking. Clearly the woman was desperate and deluded, grasping at such ridiculous straws. Isobel wanted to remain as close to her as possible without angering her. Then she'd learn of any nefarious plans Maighread might be cooking up against Dirk.

"If he is an imposter, what happened to the real Dirk?" Isobel asked with as much innocence and naivety as she could. "Was it an accident?"

"Aye," Maighread said. "He and his cousin were out at Faraid Head, drinking whisky. Likely they were staggering around, too close to the edge of the cliffs, and fell." Maighread shook her head. "Poor daft lads."

What a lie! It took all Isobel's strength to remain in her seat and not leap up and yell at the woman.

"As for this imposter and Conall… I won't let them get away with it, that's a certainty," Maighread said, a vindictive gleam in her green eyes. "They should watch their backs."