Текст книги "My brave highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Chapter Nineteen

That afternoon, Dirk waited in the second floor corridor while Aiden insisted on immediately moving his belongings from the chief's bedchamber so that Dirk could move in.

Dirk was not overly eager to occupy the room that had always been his father's bedchamber. It didn't feel right. His father should be there. It made Dirk miss him all the more. But if the clan expected him to use this room, he would.

Maighread moved along the corridor like a graceful evil spirit. His muscles tensed with the need to choke the life from her bony body, but he restrained himself. Isobel followed along behind her. What the hell was she doing? He wanted to forbid Isobel from talking to her. Hadn't he told her not to trust the hag?

"What do you want?" Dirk asked his stepmother, fury gnawing at his insides.

"I'm here to talk to my sons," she said with a cultured innocence that was so patently false he almost laughed in her face. "You may have fooled everyone else, but you haven't fooled me. An imposter won't remain chief of this clan for long." Her glare said he might not be dead yet, but he soon would be.

"Don't threaten me," he warned. "You'll regret it."

"I'm not threatening anyone. I'm merely stating the truth. If you truly are Dirk, why did you not return when your father was alive?"

Regret speared him. That was the one thing he wished he had done. Of course, she'd said it because she knew it would cause him pain. He blanked his expression.

"I know why," Maighread continued in her self-righteous tone, pointing her finger at his chest. "Because he would've seen through your lies. He would've known you are not his son."

She was full of horse dung.

"The clan kens who I am," Dirk said. "And Aiden kens who I am. That's all that matters now. Your opinion means naught. I'm no longer a wee lad that you can slap to the ground as you did in the past."

Isobel gasped. Standing to the side, she studied Maighread with a critical eye.

"Don't believe his lies," his stepmother said, never taking her hate-filled green gaze off him. Her mouth wiggled as if she were holding back another smirk. "I've never slapped a child."

Dirk snorted. "We both ken that is a lie." He remembered the first time she'd struck him. Not long after Aiden was born, Dirk, no more than six summers, had been standing over the cradle, the wee Aiden grasping his finger. He had been amazed at the strength in the babe's tiny hand. Maighread entered the room yelling, ordering him to get away from her babe. Icy fear rushing through him, he'd stepped back but it had been too late. Maighread's hand had smashed into the side of his head and he'd gone tumbling into the corner. He'd narrowly missed whacking his head against the stone wall. His ear had rung for the rest of the day.

She'd struck him at least a dozen times, maybe more. He'd lost count. Her abuse always came when he had the misfortune of finding himself alone with her. He'd stuck as close to his father or his uncle as he could. She'd always acted like a saint in their presence.

Once he'd grown taller and started training with a sword, the physical abuse had stopped. He noticed, by the wary look in her eye, that she feared him a little. But that was when she'd shoved him down the stairs. She was done torturing him; she simply wanted him dead.

As she stood before him now, he smirked and lifted a brow, returning her favorite spiteful but confident expression. Oh, he knew she could hire someone to do a lot of damage, but he didn't fear her.

He had two trustworthy guards. He would also choose two guards for Isobel while she remained here. He didn't think Maighread would try to harm her, but if she discovered Dirk liked Isobel more than he should, she might seek revenge another way. He wouldn't underestimate her again.

"You can return to Tongue anytime you wish," Dirk said.

"You can't throw me out of my own home."

"This isn't your home. 'Tis mine. Everyone kens you prefer the new manor house at Tongue over this drafty old castle. Although the house is on my lands, I will allow you to live there."

"Hmph. That house and the lands around it were a gift to me from Laird Griff. You don't own the land or the house."

"We'll see." He shrugged, knowing she was wrong. "If you stay at Tongue, we'll get along fine." He was being more then generous, for his father's and Aiden's sakes. If not for them, he'd escort her to the dungeons. If only he had solid proof or a witness that she'd murdered his cousin, Will, and tried to kill Dirk. If McMurdo would confess… but without proof, if he imprisoned her, he risked the wrath of the powerful Gordon clan. Once she attempted to murder him again, though, he'd catch whoever she hired and get the truth out of him.

"You'll not be telling me what to do. I'll stay here as long as I wish," Maighread said.

"Is that what you think?"

"Indeed."

Dirk sent her a forbidding grin. How he would enjoy tossing his stepmother out on her arse.

"Laird MacKay would roll in his grave if he knew an imposter was treating me this way."

"You had sacks of wool pulled over Da's eyes. He thought you were a bonny angel, and he could see naught past that. He was blind to the truth about you and your conniving ways."

"An imposter lecturing me about truth?" She turned on her heel, moved to the chief's bedchamber door and stepped inside. "I want to have a word with you two," she said to her sons.

Dirk hoped Aiden would stay at Dunnakeil, but he couldn't wait for Maighread and Haldane to vacate the premises.

"What are you doing spending so much time with her?" he asked low, for Isobel's ears only.

Frowning, she pursed her lips into a silent shh.

"If she and Haldane don't leave in the morn of their own free will, I'll have them forcefully removed," he said.

Isobel gave a quick nod, but looked uncertain of his decision. "Might it not be better to keep them close at hand so you can see what they're up to?" she whispered. "The devil you know… and all that?"

"I don't trust her anywhere near me… or you. I wish you wouldn't spend so much time with her."

Isobel shrugged, glanced back at the door, then faced him again. "I must congratulate you on becoming chief," she whispered, a triumphant look in her eye.

"I thank you, but the troubles are only beginning. Unfortunately." He glared at the bedchamber door, knowing Maighread would redouble her plotting efforts.

"Are the injured guards recovering?"

"Aye, one had a shallow flesh wound. The other awoke with a headache."

A moment later, Maighread stepped out of the chief's chamber and moved toward them. "I've heard rumors about the two of you in bed together." She grimaced, making Dirk want to smash the woman's face in. "I find this hard to believe, Isobel, after you told me you couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. That you found him to be a disgusting brute," Maighread said.

Had she truly said that? Dirk stared hard at Isobel, trying to discern the truth. 'Haps he had been a brute in bed last night, but he'd not been himself.

Isobel's mouth hung open. "I didn't say that!"

"Are you calling me a liar? I understand your game now. You think if you pretend you're interested in him that he will protect you from the MacLeods. You want to use him."

"Nay, none of this is true! I'm not using anyone. I'm simply trying to get home." Isobel's face reddened and her eyes gleamed with ire.

"I'm not daft, lassie. Your mother and father would be so disappointed in you. No good man will have you after you've aligned yourself with an imposter who stole a title and land; that's a certainty."

"Enough!" Dirk said. "Go!" he told his stepmother and pointed down the corridor.

She clenched her teeth, giving a slight snarling appearance. But she turned to leave.

Tears glistened in Isobel's eyes as she glared after Maighread. "You're wrong… about all of it!"

"Keep lying, little one," Maighread called back, then followed her sons as they exited the chief's bedchamber, carrying a trunkful of Aiden's clothing down the corridor to a smaller room.

Dirk studied Isobel, trying to discern the truth, but at the same time wanting to choke his stepmother for making Isobel cry. Even if they were angry tears.

Though he knew Maighread was a liar, he hated her all the more because she'd planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Did Isobel find him disgusting and brutish? Considering what happened last night, it was possible. He couldn't remember if he'd been too rough with her. He hoped not. The last thing he'd want to do was hurt her.

"That woman is truly mad," Isobel whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I said none of those things."

He wanted to believe her. But a doubt lingered in his mind. Was she using him simply to escape the MacLeods? Or was her attraction to him genuine? Had she drugged him last night so he'd give in to his desires for her… so he'd be forced to marry her? Women were fond of manipulation to get what they wanted. What if he became like his father, allowing attraction and lust to blind him to a woman's cunning ways? He shook his head and forced himself not to look at Isobel, for he couldn't think logically when he did.

"Surely you don't believe her." Isobel grasped his hand and peered up into his face. He avoided her eyes. "You were the one who told me she lies and she is untrustworthy."

"Aye," he admitted.

"Haldane probably told her he walked in when I was warming you last night. Besides, she's obviously realized I'm fond of you."

Fond of him? He detested the way his heart sped up with hope. He even longed for something beyond fondness.

"Dirk?" Isobel touched his face, her cool hand against his skin, stroking the scratchy roughness of his beard stubble, her midnight eyes gazing into his with a plaintive expression, silently begging him to believe her.

Everything deep inside compelled him to trust her, but the rational part of his mind fought against it. All he could think of was how easily Maighread had fooled his father, perhaps much like this. But he didn't know.

He took Isobel's hand into his own. He wanted to kiss it, but refrained. He stroked her palm, then released her. He didn't know….

He didn't understand the many nuances of emotion he saw in her eyes, nor the intensity she made him feel. Could he trust her, or himself?

After having just been named chief of the clan that morn, he didn't ken who he was anymore. His own view of himself had shifted drastically. Somehow he felt validated, more worthy than he had in years. At the same time, he wondered if it was too good to be true. Would it last? Could he successfully lead the clan?

Aye, he could. He had to. It was his legacy and what his father expected of him.

"Chief," someone said behind him. It took Dirk a moment to realize they were talking to him.

Abruptly, he turned. One of the clansmen stood there, staring at him. "Aye?" Dirk asked.

"The clan elders would like to meet with you now."

What could they possibly want this soon? It must be of vital importance. "I'll be right there."

Once the man had disappeared down the spiral stair, Dirk turned back to Isobel. "Just stay away from her. And watch your back. None of us ken who we can trust yet."

She nodded, sadness lingering in her eyes. He wished he could say more, comfort her, but he needed to think about everything that was happening so fast and figure out how he felt about it.

He descended the stairs to find the clansman waiting at the bottom. "They await you in the library, m'laird."

Laird. That title made his pulse shoot skyward. Several of his friends were lairds, but he was unsure if he could get accustomed to the title.

He entered the library to find Uncle Conall and five clan elders awaiting him.

"Have a seat, lad," Conall said, waving to the head of the table.

"What is this about?" Dirk took the seat indicated.

"Well… now that you're chief, 'tis time for you to be thinking of marriage," Conall said.

A laugh burst from Dirk's mouth before he could prevent it. A brief, disbelieving laugh. "I've been chief for a few hours, and already you want me to marry?"

"Nay. I don't," Conall said, glancing nervously at the elders. "But there is the matter of an agreement the clan elders, your father and Lady MacKay made with Clan Murray while you were away. Almost five years ago, in fact. I couldn't prevent it without revealing to everyone that you still lived."

"What agreement?" Dirk asked with dread.

"The chief of the Murray clan signed a contract that his eldest daughter would marry the chief of Clan MacKay," his great uncle Hamish said.

"Surely you mean she is to marry Aiden." His brother had already said he was supposed to marry a Murray lass.

"'Haps, but in the event Aiden wasn't able to be chief, because of his health, Haldane would step in. That's why we all decided the contract should say the chief, rather than a specific son of Griff. But now this applies to neither of them. You are the chief."

Annoyance twisted through Dirk's vitals. "I made no agreement to marry anyone."

"Nay. But your father did, and as you ken, chiefs arrange the marriages of their children, especially a first born son. The contract specifies she is to marry the MacKay chief who follows Griff in line."

"Aiden followed my father. He was chief for a month or so."

The elders grinned as if he were naïve and shook their heads. "That doesn't count. He was not truly chief because you were still alive. And now you are chief. It's as if he was never the chief. Besides that, Laird Murray would not go along with it. He'd want his daughter to marry the current chief. To rile him is dangerous."

"This is madness," Dirk growled. "I was not even here when the agreement was made. My father thought I was dead. He would've never intended for me to marry the Murray woman. He intended it for Aiden or Haldane."

"Aye. But his intentions mean naught now. All that will stand is the contract, the written word. You must honor your father's contract," Hamish said.

"And if I don't?" he challenged.

The elders squirmed, mumbled and rubbed their grizzled beards.

"It could mean war, lad. You don't want to provoke the Murray chief," Phelan said.

"Aiden had planned to marry her. He told me so," Dirk said. "He still can. He's second in line to inherit now, which means he's tanist. No small position."

"But he's no longer chief. That won't suffice. The Murray chief will not hear of it."

Dirk leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "What is a chief's purpose?" he asked them.

They exchanged confused and concerned looks with each other. "To lead the clan and protect them as a father does his children. Surely you ken this."

Dirk nodded. Of course he knew, but did they? "Does the chief make decisions?"

"Aye," Hamish said hesitantly.

"Is the chief's word final?"

They shrugged, then grudgingly said, "Aye."

"Well then, I'm making a decision and my word is final. Nay." He rose and left the room, slamming the door behind him. After crossing the great hall, he strode outside. Damnation, he would not be pushed around and dictated to by his own clan, especially not when he was supposed to be leading them. He didn't care if the elders held seniority.

Dirk hadn't been around when this damned contract was created, nor did they have him in mind, and he refused to be bound by it. He would talk to the Murray chief and negotiate with him. He had not even spoken to the Murray lass and had only seen her a couple of times. Isobel, on the other hand, might already be carrying his heir. Such a chaos of powerful emotions surged through him when he thought of her, he didn't know what he was feeling. His heart pounded like a war drum, and he tried to put it from his mind.

Erskine followed at a distance across the bailey. Dirk was glad he took his body-guarding position seriously. Although Dirk was not yet used to the idea of being followed around at all times by an armed warrior. He'd taken care of himself for years. But all chiefs were heavily guarded, so he'd best get accustomed to it.

The bracing cold air and bright sunlight helped clear his head.

Damn, how the elders irked him. They couldn't make him their leader one moment, and then order him around the next. Either he was chief or he wasn't, but he wouldn't be somewhere in between. Nor would he have someone else telling him who he would marry.

There was naught wrong with the Murray lass. She was bonny enough. But she wasn't Isobel.

He'd compromised Isobel, but he knew not how he could marry her without setting off a war. The MacLeods and the Murrays would be coming down hard on them for breaking all sorts of contracts.

"Hell," he muttered. How did he get himself into such a predicament?

Inside the stables, he paused. Inhaling the scents of horse and hay helped him relax. Isobel. Damnation, the lass drove him mad. He craved her every moment, but he couldn't have her again. Not now. He didn't even know whether he could trust her.

Although his memories of last night were fuzzy, he kept recalling how he'd kissed her here in the stables several nights before. How she'd kissed him back with abandon and an eagerness he had never before experienced. Surely that couldn't be feigned.

As he'd consumed her mouth, relishing the sweet female taste of her, he'd yearned to let loose, to rip the clothing from her body, to lay claim to her in every way possible. And now, apparently, he had, but the memories were too vague to appease him. It had been more like a dream. He needed to know, with sharp clarity, how it had felt to be with her.

He'd been her first, and some deep, primal part of him roared that she was his… that she should be his. But she wasn't. Not yet. And a contract somewhere said she belonged to another man.

***

Dirk was angry with her. That was all Isobel could think about. How could he possibly believe she thought him disgusting and brutish?

She slipped up the tiny flight of spiral steps, hoping to find a secluded spot to be alone and think. Beitris had dogged her every step, asking questions about why she'd spent the night alone with Dirk again. She'd pretended to be headed out to walk on the beach, and Beitris had thought her mad for that idea. In truth, Isobel didn't want to go out into the cold wind.

She followed the stairs upward to a conical tower on the southwest corner of one section of Dunnakeil and closed the small door. The rare afternoon sunlight shining in the two tiny windows was just what she needed to perk up her mood.

Since he was now chief, Dirk was busy with clan affairs. He always would be and he'd likely have little time for her. Though she needed to spy on Maighread and find out her plans, she couldn't stand to look at the woman after the lies she'd told Dirk. Nor would Maighread trust her any longer.

Taking a deep breath, Isobel glanced around the diminutive circular stone tower room. At one time, guards must've been stationed here, but after further additions to the castle, it was no longer needed for this purpose.

She squinted out the wavy glass window, unable to see clearly what was below, but at least she could enjoy the sunlight for a few moments without freezing. The rhythmic movement below was waves crashing onto shore and sliding across the sand. It reminded her of the day she'd walked on the beach, then found Dirk at the church. Having seen him little today, she missed him, especially after the intimacy of sharing a bed last night.

He'd said he could barely remember what happened. What annoyed her most was that he suspected her of drugging him. Certainly, she'd wanted to lie with him but she would do naught underhanded to seduce him. How could he not know this?

Should she search him out and assure him of the truth or give him some breathing room? How could he trust such a duplicitous woman's word over her own? After what he'd been through, with the attempts on his life, Isobel could understand that he would find it difficult to trust anyone. Even her.

For most of the day, she'd been unable to think of much beyond their lovemaking. She couldn't believe the profound intimacy they'd shared and how much she'd enjoyed it, craved it again. No one could've ever explained coupling to her sufficiently. 'Twas simply an act she'd had to experience to believe. Although she felt wicked for indulging with a man who wasn't her husband yet.

How pleasant and amazing marriage must be for women who were truly attracted to their husbands… and surely attraction led to love.

She shook her head, trying to put last night from her mind.

Focusing on her surroundings again, she realized this tiny tower room reminded her of the one in the castle where she'd grown up. When she was ten or twelve, she'd daydreamed about being a bride someday, and marrying the handsome man she would fall in love with. Her naïve fantasies were modeled after her parents' happy marriage. And she'd always imagined her favorite love ballad, The Laird o' Logie, being played at her wedding banquet.

When her wedding to Jedwarth came to pass, it had been nothing like she'd imagined. 'Twas naught but a business arrangement. Her husband hadn't been a handsome man her own age, and she certainly wasn't madly in love with him. There were no genuine smiles. Only forced ones. The wedding feast had been grand, but she'd barely known anyone and none of her favorite ballads were played. No one had even asked her what she preferred. It was all arranged. All she had to do was show up and say I do.

She was a grown woman now who knew what reality was. Not a silly child caught up in daydreams. Perhaps her favorite ballad would never be played on her wedding day, but she could play it herself for she'd learned it long ago.

Standing before the window, she took her small flute from the pouch on her belt and placed it against her lower lip. After positioning her fingers, she played scales to warm up. Her splint hampered the movement of one of her fingers but she could play well enough by lifting and lowering the finger and not bending it. After a minute, she paused, then started playing the ballad. She hoped she remembered it all. Years had passed since she'd practiced it. She missed a few notes here and there, but it was a fair rendition since she had no audience.

After a moment, she drifted back many years to when she was a young lass filled with hope for a bright future. Tears burned her eyes and caused her vision to blur. After dashing them away, she played the next verse, the words of the romantic tale streaming through her mind. It was about a young laird who was taken prisoner by the king, but then rescued by his lady love.

A creak sounded behind her. She jumped and turned toward the door, wiping the annoying tears from her eyes.