Текст книги "My brave highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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The wool curtain flicked aside as Dirk and Rebbie entered the room. Dirk's intense gaze met hers immediately. A strange, feverish heat covered her. What on earth was wrong with her? He made her uncomfortable, but at the same time, she wished she could do naught but study him at length. Instead, she focused on her boots again.

"M'lady, 'haps we should excuse ourselves," Beitris moved toward her.

"Aye, as soon as I tie this."

"I'll help." Beitris started to kneel. "Och." Flinching, she froze and grabbed her back.

"Beitris, are you well?" She worried about her maid and feared this journey through the snow was too much for her.

"Aye, 'tis only that the cold has seeped into my joints and stiffened them."

"Allow me," Dirk said. "It appears you're in much pain, mistress."

"My bones are not as young as they used to be. And I thank you, kind sir."

Isobel's face burned hot as the peat coals. "I'll manage."

"Nonsense." Dirk knelt by her feet and gently pushed her hands away. "The last thing you want to do is bump that broken finger." He quickly tied the leather strings and rose to his feet to tower over her once more. Very efficient. Everything he did was efficient, but this only served as a façade hiding his caring and concern.

"I thank you," she said.

He gave a brief bow. "We must hurry. We need to pass by Munrick Castle before daybreak, and before most of the men are awake. At all costs, they must not recognize who you are."

Aye, but what would happen if they did?

***

Just before dawn, they neared Munrick Castle. Isobel sat atop Dirk's massive black horse while he led the animal and carried a lantern. Rebbie, George and Beitris followed on horseback.

Her stomach aching, she wished they didn't have to pass the castle, but they couldn't avoid it. The immense granite Assynt Mountains stood tall and forbidding against the dark blue predawn sky. The rippling, dark loch reflected a few stars that peeped through the clouds. Between the mountains and the water lay Munrick Castle and the narrow trail.

The torches at the castle gates loomed ahead, the flames flickering wildly in the wind, their reflections dancing in the water. Isobel had hoped to never see this hellish place again. She pulled her cowl and the extra plaid blanket Dirk had provided more securely over her head, hoping none of the MacLeods would recognize her or her maid. Beitris knew to hide her face as well.

"Say naught," Dirk murmured back to her. "I'll take care of it."

She nodded, thankful she could trust him.

Closer and closer, Dirk led them all to the shadowy castle. They would not enter, she reminded herself.

Breathe.

Dark figures moved near the gates. Three guards were watching them. Their swords gleamed in the torchlight.

"Halt there! Who are you?" a man called out in Gaelic, approaching along the trail leading from the castle.

Oh dear heaven, the same guard she'd seen when she'd left here. If he saw her face or the worn plaid arisaid she'd been wearing when she'd left, he would surely recognize her. At least he wasn't one of the guards who'd searched the cottage the night before.

"I'm a MacKay," Dirk said in a commanding voice. Halting, he faced the guard. "Just passing through on the way to MacKay Country."

"Who is this?" The guard motioned toward Isobel.

Her breath stopped. She feared she'd pass out and topple from the saddle.

"My wife," Dirk said without any hesitation.

His wife? Isobel flushed with heat from her head to her toes, despite the frigid weather and being near frozen with fear.

Dirk motioned back to Rebbie. "And that is my friend, Robert MacInnis, and our two servants."

As the guard paced by her and moved toward Rebbie, she swallowed hard and prayed he would not drag her from the horse.

"We must make great haste," Dirk called. "My father is on his deathbed."

'Twas a pity that was not a lie too.

She forced herself to draw in air as she listened to the footsteps crunching in the snow, the minute clanks of weapons and bridles. One of the horses snorted. The chill, wet air seeped into her bones.

Dirk's wife? The thought would not leave her. Good heavens, to be his wife in truth. Although he was the most fearsome man she'd ever met, the thought of being his wife did not fill her with dread as her first husband did. Nor like the MacLeod she was now betrothed to.

Returning, the guard passed her again. "Well then. Godspeed, MacKay." He motioned them along and headed back toward Munrick.

A breath of relief rushed out, leaving Isobel shaky, weak and cold. Dirk led the horse forward at a brisk pace while he sent the occasional glance back toward the guards.

Even though it would be far more pleasant to daydream about being Dirk's wife, she'd best remain in reality and stay attentive. If Dirk's father was indeed on his deathbed, or had already passed, he would experience great emotional pain and grief, just as she had when she'd lost her parents. She shivered, praying his father was alive and well by the time they reached Durness. She remembered the older man when he'd been hale and hearty, a huge bear of a man with auburn hair flecked with gray. She even remembered how he'd laughed louder than anyone else.

What would Dirk's laugh sound like? She barely remembered one smile from him. Back then, he'd been rather quiet, watching everyone else with suspicion. His sharp gaze never missing a tiny detail. He was ever serious, as he was now.

He had even observed her more than she was comfortable with, his pale eyes assessing her.

She knew not why he unnerved her. Clearly, he was trustworthy. He had just saved her from the MacLeods.

She must think of a way to thank him properly.

***

Isobel's toes were numb with cold by the time they arrived at a place Dirk called Scourie that evening. They'd not even stopped to eat their midday meal and had instead eaten while moving forward. The wind through the passes and glens was brutal at times. Once they'd moved from the treacherous mountains to flat moorland that wasn't too soggy, Dirk had again ridden in front of her so they could make better time.

She was ashamed to even think of it, but she enjoyed riding behind him and holding onto him. He was so vital, strong and protective, he made her almost giddy. She found herself wanting to smile at the oddest times, when she really had naught to smile over. Her finger ached and her feet were near frozen, but what did that matter? The man in front of her made her more disoriented than the whisky he'd forced her to drink the night before.

With the cowl of his mantle lying on his back, she observed the rich luster of his copper hair and found herself wanting to comb the fingers of her good hand through it. But that would not be acceptable.

Dirk guided the horse to the largest cottage in the village, stopped and dismounted. He handed her the reins and glanced up at her. The blue of his eyes was different somehow, darker. Maybe it was because gloaming was already upon them and the sky had become heavily overcast again.

"I used to know the man who lives here. I'll be right back." He strode to the door and knocked.

A man with a bushy gray beard opened the door and stared at Dirk for a moment as they exchanged words.

"Dirk? Is that truly you, lad?" The man laughed then shook his hand heartily. "I thought you were dead."

"'Tis a long story I'll be glad to tell you sometime."

"Well, bring your friends inside out of the cold. I'll have Mattie bake a few more oatcakes." He disappeared inside the house, yelling for Mattie.

When Dirk returned to help her dismount, Isobel carefully laid her injured hand on his shoulder as he lifted her down.

"His name is Lewis MacLeod," Dirk murmured.

"What!" A MacLeod? Claws of ice seized her.

"Shh. He's a good friend of my father, and as you can see, he's far removed from most of the other MacLeods, but some of them do occupy this village."

"He might turn me over to the clan," she whispered, trying to keep her voice from shaking but unsure she'd succeeded.

"We're not going to tell him your real name," Dirk assured her.

"What name am I going by?"

He shrugged. "How about Liz MacDonald?"

She frowned, wondering how he'd come up with that. He must have been planning this for hours.

"Very well." She was afraid to ask him if he planned to continue the pretense of being her husband. If he did, she was fine with it. More than fine, actually. When he'd said she was his wife earlier, a wicked little thrill had spun through her.

Dirk motioned her ahead of him while he spoke to Rebbie and George… about her false name, without doubt.

"Since this man is a MacLeod, you are to call me Liz MacDonald," she whispered to Beitris.

"Ah. Good thinking," she said.

The door of the cottage opened. "Come in, come in, bonnie lasses, and warm your toes." The gray-haired man's jovial mood seemed genuine as he motioned them forward.

Isobel smiled and proceeded inside. "I thank you for your hospitality."

"'Tis my pleasure." Though the fireplace contained only glowing coals, 'twas much warmer in the room than outside. MacLeod added peat to the fire, then lit a candle to brighten the dim room.

Isobel stood before the small hearth warming her hands, while Beitris occupied a cushioned chair nearby. Dirk and Rebbie entered, depositing their bedrolls by the door.

"I thank you for allowing us to stay the night," Dirk said.

"'Tis the least I can do. Make yourselves at home. I'll show your man where to stable the horses," Lewis MacLeod said, then closed the door on his way out.

So as not to stare at Dirk, Isobel allowed her gaze to wander over the room. The cottage appeared to be a small manor house. The slate floors and the worn but good quality furniture proclaimed this owner was likely a landowner, though probably not a chief.

"Are you certain he won't mind all of us staying here?" Isobel asked.

"Nay. He's a good man," Dirk said. "I remember a time when I was just a lad that ten or twelve of us stayed here. We slept right here on the floor."

Isobel was certain they'd have to do the same. Though she was not accustomed to sleeping on the floor, she'd practiced it without complaint for the past two nights. 'Twas far better than being kept hostage by a barbarous clan of abusive men, even if they did have beds and straw mattresses.

She wiggled her toes, glad they were thawing out, although they did sting with the return of feeling.

Lewis returned inside with a gust of cold air and a friendly grin directed at Dirk. "It does my heart good to see you alive and well, Dirk MacKay, and newly married besides." He chuckled. "I can tell you've not been married long."

Heat rushed over her and she could think of naught to say. Why had he assumed this? Or had Dirk told him earlier?

"Um, aye," Dirk said. "I mean, nay. We've not been married six months yet."

"I could tell!"

She wasn't sure whether that was a lie or not. They indeed had not been married six months. She was unaccustomed to lying and unsure if she could keep up the farce. But perhaps pretending marriage to Dirk would be good practice. Where had that thought come from? Did that mean she wanted to be married to Dirk?

"Well, lad, you got yourself a beauty," Lewis proclaimed, eying her. He quirked a brow. "Is that a bruise on her face?"

"I fell from my husband's monstrous horse," she blurted. "And broke a finger in the process." She held up her hand to show him, hoping he believed her poorly thought out story.

"Och. You will have to be more careful. Which clan are you from?"

"MacDonald of Glencoe," Dirk said. "And this is my good friend, Robert MacInnis, Earl of Rebbinglen."

Lewis's eyes widened and he bowed. "'Tis my great honor to meet you, m'laird. I did not ken I had the privilege of hosting a man of such elevated rank."

"The pleasure is all mine. And I thank you for your generous hospitality."

The older man waved a hand through the air. "I only hope you are able to eat our humble food. I must say though, Mattie's Highland pie is tasty."

"I'm certain 'tis far better than the day old bannocks we've been eating."

"'Haps."

Isobel's stomach growled loudly in the moment of silence. She placed her hand against it, cringing.

"I'm thinking the lass is famished. Have you not been feeding her, lad?"

"Aye, when she's willing to eat," Dirk said, his face a bit flushed.

Was he blushing? Isobel could not imagine it.

Lewis laughed and motioned them toward a separate dining room. "I smell those Highland pies."

Isobel did too. The combined scents of baked venison, onions and other vegetables made her mouth water.

"Seat yourselves at the table and Mattie will bring out some food."

"Have you had word of my father?" Dirk asked, pulling out a chair for Isobel.

"Nay," Lewis said. "Only that he has been ill. I've seen no one from Durness in a month or more."

"I hope he still lives." Dirk seated himself beside Isobel.

"As do I, lad," the older man said. "Your da is a good man, one of the best in these parts."

Dirk nodded. The sadness in his eyes compelled Isobel to clasp his hand. She wanted to do more, perhaps pull him into her arms, and tell him she understood. Losing her own father had near killed her.

Staring down at her hand, Dirk gently squeezed her fingers for a moment, then released her. She pulled her hand away, feeling bereft, missing his warm strong hand. His touch was comforting, but also exciting.

"Why did I hear you'd died?" Lewis asked him.

Dirk sent a sharp glance her way. "'Twas a rumor that went 'round when I left."

"Gossips," the man grumbled.

Why had Dirk given her such a look?

Moments later, a gray-haired woman wearing a red kerch and a much younger one with brown hair and a sweet, angelic face served the steaming Highland pies. She assumed the older woman was Mattie, the cook Lewis had raved about.

The savory, baked onion scent made Isobel's stomach ache and grumble. The dish consisted of meat, onions, carrots and turnips in a flaky crust, served on a wooden trencher. Sliced oat bread was provided in the center of the table, and each person was provided a tankard of ale.

After Lewis said grace, he encouraged them all to eat-up.

Isobel didn't have to be told twice. After cutting the individually portioned pie apart and letting it cool for a few seconds, she devoured a large bite. "Delicious," she commented, tempted to moan in delight.

"Indeed," Dirk said.

Moments later, she glanced up to find Dirk watching her, questions in his eyes, before he focused again on eating. What was going through his mind? When she got him alone, she'd ask him why he was watching her with a strange, pointed look. Surely he didn't think she'd started the rumors about him dying.

"'Tis the best meal I've had in ages," Rebbie said once they'd finished.

Dirk and Isobel agreed.

After consuming more than she should have, she stood, proceeding from the room in front of the men. Beitris had eaten the same fare in the kitchen with the other servants.

"I have a small cottage next door," Lewis said. "My daughter and her family stay in it when they visit in summer, but 'tis empty now. Dirk, you and your bride can stay there tonight. I've had my manservant build a fire in the hearth. The cottage should be warm by now."

Heavens! Lewis MacLeod could not be serious. He expected her and Dirk to sleep in the same bed? Or were there two beds in the cottage?

"That isn't necessary," Dirk said. "I'm fine with sleeping here on the floor."

"Nonsense, man. With the beds here in this cottage and the one next door, there is plenty of room for everyone to have a soft, comfortable bed, even your servants."

"Sounds like a grand plan," Rebbie said. Though he held back a grin, humor danced in his devilish eyes.

Dirk shot a lethal glare at his friend, then his troubled gaze ran over Isobel. He turned back to Lewis. "Very well, then. I thank you for your generosity."

The older man gave a brief bow and headed toward the door. "I'll show you to the cottage, m'lady."

Chapter Six

"'Tis scandalous that you should spend the night with this MacKay stranger," Beitris whispered to Isobel in the wee one-room cottage that Lewis MacLeod had escorted them to. Dirk had suggested that Beitris get Isobel settled in first. Clearly he was stalling, which she was grateful for, because she needed a sponge bath.

She was unsure how she felt about this unusual situation. On the one hand, she deemed herself wicked for perpetuating the deception they'd begun earlier; on the other, excitement crackled along her nerve endings.

The cottage was cozy and warm with small stools and one high-backed wooden chair. A small table and a rudimentary kitchen with a cupboard occupied one side of the cottage, while a box bed sat on the opposite side.

"It may be scandalous, but he is no stranger," Isobel said. "I've known him since I was a young lass. Besides, we spent last night together in that abandoned cottage."

"With the rest of us," Beitris hissed. "Not just the two of you alone. You may have to marry him in truth after this."

"Nonsense." Isobel was surprised the idea didn't bother her as much as it should have. She'd agreed to marry worse men than him. "No one will know of it except Lewis MacLeod and those in our party. I can't imagine word will be spread about."

"I'll stay to protect you. If he tries to force himself on you in the night, I'll scream loud enough to wake the dead."

Isobel snorted. "Are you mad? Dirk is not going to force himself on me. He is not like Nolan."

"Men are unpredictable at times. When their desires get roused up, they can lose control and have no sense at all."

"Hmm." That sounded exhilarating… just the thought of Dirk's desires getting roused up.

Beitris's eyes widened. "Don't tell me this is what you want."

"I have never known a man, Beitris, as you are well aware."

"Consider yourself lucky! For a man to take you is one of the worst things imaginable."

Isobel frowned. "Were you forced?"

"Nay, not forced. But not something I would've chosen to do. It was simply a duty I endured for my husband."

"I wonder though if 'tis always so bad? I think my mother must not have minded it too much. Else why would I hear her giggling inside their bedchamber when I stood outside the door?"

"You stood at the door, listening? You were a naughty lass!" Her maid's mouth gaped.

"Not long." Isobel waved a hand. "Besides, I didn't know what was going on at the time. I thought perhaps Da was tickling her. Or maybe he had said something funny. I knew they enjoyed their private moments."

"Aye. Well, I've heard that some women do enjoy the bedding. 'Haps it depends on the skills of the man."

"That's an intriguing thought." She wondered if Dirk had any skills in the bedchamber. She still remembered the way he'd touched her, helping her on and off the horse, holding her secure so Rebbie could set her finger bone. Dirk touched her gently at times, firmly at others, but he had never been rough.

"Do not even consider it!" Beitris warned. "You are not a whore, m'lady."

"I should hope not. But if a woman were to enjoy… relations… with her husband, that would not be shocking or scandalous."

"That man is not your husband."

"I'm well aware." Though when she thought about wedding Dirk, it was far more appealing than the thought of wedding the MacLeod, or her former husband. "'Tis a ruse, Beitris. I'm certain Dirk MacKay will be a well-mannered gentleman and not lay one finger on me."

"He'd best be a gentleman." Beitris was near militant in her vehemence.

"Or?"

"Well… I don't rightly ken. I suppose I could stand on a table and box his ears."

Isobel grinned at that image.

"Don't let him near the bed." Beitris shook a finger at her.

"If he wishes to sleep in the bed, I can sleep in that chair or on the floor."

"I'm happy to hear you plan to be a virtuous lass."

"Of course. I always have been. Why would that change now? And please don't say anything to him. Men will sometimes do the opposite of what someone tells them out of spite." Not that Dirk would. But she didn't want Beitris embarrassing her with talk of what they shouldn't do. She was certain he knew.

But some wanton, rebellious side of her wished he would be very wicked tonight.

***

Hell, what was Dirk going to do now? Spending the night with Isobel, alone in a tiny cottage? How would he survive the night with his sanity intact? Already, arousal simmered just beneath the surface.

Rebbie and Lewis indulged in a dram of whisky as they sat before the fire. Dirk had refused the drink. He needed to keep a clear head. The men's conversation was an annoying murmur that Dirk couldn't pay attention to no matter how hard he tried.

His imaginings of Isobel preparing for bed would not leave his mind. No doubt her maid had already helped her remove her outer clothing. If the cottage was warm and the bed had several blankets, there would be no need to sleep in all her clothes as she had last night. He shut his eyes, picturing her in naught but a linen smock, the undergarment that most all women wore. Though he knew he was mad, he yearned to see her bare and generous curves.

"Laird Rebbinglen, I have a bedchamber for you." Lewis rose to show Rebbie to his room.

"I bid you goodnight." Rebbie sent Dirk a smirking grin as he by-passed him.

Smug bastard. "Goodnight," Dirk muttered.

He rose and paced, knowing he had to go to the tiny cottage or be seen as suspect. Of course, if he truly had been married to her for less than six months, he'd be eager to get her alone. That was the role he must play.

Lewis returned moments later. "I'm certain you're wanting to retire too. As I told your wife, the water in the bucket is fresh, just taken from the well. Should you need anything else, let me know. I hope you sleep well." The man winked as he opened the door.

"I thank you," Dirk forced himself to say, though he was certain he wouldn't sleep at all.

Carrying his bedroll, pack and lantern, he proceeded outside and along a stone walkway. The cottage was only a few dozen feet from the main house.

His wife. Och. What a grand lie. He had never before considered marrying, but when he one day inherited the role of chief of his clan, he would have to marry. 'Twas what the clan expected… that the chief sire an heir as soon as possible. Without doubt, his father—if he was still alive—would arrange a marriage for Dirk. One that would benefit the clan in some way, either by bringing in land and wealth, or new allies. But he could not think on a real marriage now. 'Twas too much to consider. He would focus on one step at a time—getting himself and his party safely to Durness.

He paused before the cottage entrance, his stomach knotting, then tapped a knuckle against the oak door. Moments later, Beitris opened it, gave him a warning glare, and rushed past. Before he could assure her he would not take advantage of her lady, she was gone, returning to the main house.

Upon entering the cottage, he glanced around the tiny room with a warm fire already burning. The lone candle on the mantel revealed Isobel standing by the box bed.

In the flame-light, her face appeared flushed, and her eyes were dark seduction with those long lashes. Arousal rushed through him. Saints! What was he supposed to do now? His instincts urged him to tear off his own clothing and lay her upon the bed while consuming her lush mouth. Nay, he could not follow his errant instincts; that was a certainty.

Depositing his bedroll on the floor and the lantern on the table, he distracted himself by running his gaze over the odd pieces of furniture, but his mind kept drifting back to the one box bed, large enough for two people at least. Most crofting families squeezed as many people into a bed as would fit in winter to stay warm. Sometimes that included the parents and two or three small children. But he would not be sharing a bed with Isobel this night, no matter how cold it was outside.

"You sleep in the bed and I'll take the floor." He lifted his bedroll of blankets.

"That wouldn't be fair." Her husky, sensual voice sent waves of warning and lust through him.

"Of course, 'tis fair. You're a lady." And since we're not really married… "I had no inkling he would do this. I certainly never meant to put you in a compromising position with the ruse about your identity."

"I ken it. You're an honorable man, Dirk MacKay. And I thank you for protecting me."

His face burned at her compliment. Was he blushing? Hell, he never blushed. But Isobel easily knocked him off kilter. She was lovely in the firelight, her midnight eyes bewitching. Her body was well concealed beneath that thick wool blanket she had wrapped about her, but he knew she was curvy in all the right places.

He enjoyed women as much as any man, but this was no time for a tryst… and certainly not with a lass betrothed to another man.

"You must tell me why you gave me such a sharp look when Lewis MacLeod mentioned the rumors about your death," Isobel said.

Dirk frowned. Had he done that? He'd have to guard his expressions more. "No reason." He didn't wish to speak of Maighread now. The fewer people who knew about his situation, the better. Anything he said, Isobel might run and tell his stepmother, being that the witch and Isobel's mother had been fast friends.

"I heard the rumors that you'd died," Isobel said. "But I didn't start them or spread them, if that's what you're imagining."

"Nay. I never thought so."

"Good. So… you were giving me a pointed look for some other reason. What was it?"

He tried to recall what she was talking about. "I was not aware of giving you a pointed look." He dropped his blankets before the hearth, knelt and prodded at the fire with the poker. Likely, he had exhibited a harsh expression, imagining Isobel telling Maighread he knew of her attempts at murdering him.

"Sometimes your lovely sky blue eyes are remarkably expressive," Isobel said. "Other times, you are like a stubborn granite cliff."

Lovely? What the devil? His defiant body responded to her compliment in ways it shouldn't have, a torrent of arousal simmering in his blood. 'Haps she'd drunk too much ale at the meal. He didn't know whether to thank her or disagree.

"I see." Though daft, that was all he could think to say. He had to change the subject and fast. Besides, he needed to learn more of her situation. "I wish you would tell me why Nolan MacLeod broke your finger and bruised your face."

She remained silent for a long moment and he felt her gaze on him. Needing to look into her eyes and compel her to tell him the truth, he set the poker aside, rose from the hearth and faced her. He tried not to stare at her wrapped in that blanket. Likely, she only wore a thin smock beneath. Although he didn't want to imagine her bare body under the delicate garment, he couldn't help himself.

"Very well," she said. "If you must know, he is a brute and a beast. And he tried to… to force himself on me."

"Damnation," Dirk muttered, the heat in his blood turning to fury. "He didn't succeed?"

"Nay."

Still, the bastard should be strung up by the neck. "How did you escape?"

She hesitated, as if considering, then shook her head. "'Tis best that you not know."

"You didn't kill him." If she had, those MacLeod guards who'd come to their camp last night wouldn't have been so benign. Nor would they have allowed the women to pass the castle without a search.

"Nay. At least, I don't think so."

"Considering they let us pass without any dispute, I'd have to say nay."

She sighed. "I'm glad. I certainly wouldn't want to kill anyone. Nolan had a dagger on his belt. I grabbed it, then we fought for it. I think I cut him shallowly, though it was too dark to see. When he came after me that final time, I knocked him on the head with a stoneware jug. He was out cold last I saw him, and bleeding a lot, but he was still breathing."

If she'd injured him so sorely, why had the guards and clansmen not been more hostile? Unless Nolan hadn't told them she'd injured him. Likely, he wouldn't want anyone to know he'd been bested by a lass, nor that he'd attempted to rape her.

"Where did this happen?" Dirk asked.

"In the bedchamber I was using at Munrick."

"Did anyone in the castle know about it?"

She shook her head. "Not while I was there. We slipped out and left that night, before anyone could learn of it. I knew if Nolan awoke and found me still there, he'd try to kill me."

"Without doubt," Dirk muttered, his muscles tensing with the need to grasp a sword in his fist and go after Nolan.

The knave wouldn't want his brother, the chief, to ken he'd wanted to rape his future wife. But she was right. Nolan would likely seek revenge against her if given the opportunity.

Hell. What had Dirk gotten himself into? Couldn't be helped. He wouldn't have left her out in that snowstorm to freeze to death. He was glad he'd run into her and been able to provide some assistance.

She was in a mess. Since she hadn't killed Nolan, the MacLeod chief would still want to marry her, given her beauty and whatever deal he'd struck with her brother.

"If Torrin MacLeod finds out where you are, he'll come after you," Dirk said.

She shook her head, dark eyes wide. "I won't marry him now. Not after his brother behaved so barbarously."

He couldn't blame her for that. And he was glad she didn't wish to marry the MacLeod, but often it didn't matter what the woman wanted. Mostly 'twould depend on her brother and what he decided. Dirk needed to talk to the man. When they reached Durness, he'd send him a missive.

"The MacLeod may even accuse me of kidnapping or stealing his bride," Dirk muttered, despising being accused of things he didn't do. And spending the night with her in this cottage, no matter how innocent, would only make it worse if the MacLeod learned of it.

"Nolan said Torrin had a mistress in the village, a woman he loves and has natural children with. He but wanted to marry me to bear him a legitimate heir… but mostly for the three-hundred acres that came with me."

"Ah." The bastard couldn't see that Isobel was worth far more than any three-hundred acres. But he knew land was often part of a dowry and sometimes a man wanted the dowry more than the wife. "Blood is thicker than water, lass. 'Tis not often a man will go against his own brother."