Текст книги "My brave highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

She shrugged. "'Haps Torrin is natured like Nolan. I don't know them well enough to say."

"I met them when we were all young lads, but I don't know them well either. 'Haps they're both savage outlaws." One thing still puzzled Dirk. "Why have you not married before now?"

"I did. That marriage was also arranged by my brother. I'm a widow."

Dirk frowned, thunderstruck by this news. Why hadn't she told him she'd been married? He supposed the subject never came up. And what business was it of his, anyway?

"I'm sorry to hear of your loss," he said. "What happened?"

"He was older, more than twice my age, and he became ill shortly after we wed."

"I see." 'Twas common practice for older men, especially chiefs, to secure young beautiful ladies as wives. 'Twas fortunate for them, but he could see how the women might not appreciate it much, unless the older men spoiled them. He wondered how her husband had treated her. And how long he'd been dead. Dirk had a lot of questions for her, but he should not ask them. He wasn't as nosy as Rebbie.

"Go to bed if you'd like," Dirk said. "I'll sleep right here before the hearth. You can even close the doors of the box bed for privacy."

"Nay," she said quickly. "I hate closed-in places. I'd prefer to leave them open."

"Very well." Damnation, he did not need this temptation.

***

Isobel watched Dirk, standing before the fire and pacing about the room. He barred the door, then moved back to the fireplace. The light brightened his hair to golden flames. He'd pulled off his mantle and doublet and now only wore a linen shirt. The firelight shined through the thin material, revealing the outline of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and the muscles of his arms.

This situation felt odd to her, but also thrilling. She wished her real wedding night, the one she'd had a few years ago, could've been more like this. Her first husband had been an older man, and besides that, he'd been unable to perform his husbandly duty in the bedchamber. Not just that night, but every night.

Dirk was a man any woman would be proud to call a husband. He was courteous, protective and helpful. He was respectful and didn't wish to take advantage of their predicament. Even though a tiny part of her wished he would.

Not many men tempted her. None, actually. But Dirk made her wonder what it would truly be like with a man… a healthy, virile man. In bed.

With much blushing, her maid had attempted to tell her how lovemaking worked. Although Beitris had a dim view of the act. In the past, Isobel hadn't been able to imagine it being anything beyond mortifying. But when she looked at Dirk and his well-muscled body, she thought the coupling might not be as disgusting as she'd thought.

She could almost imagine Dirk naked. But he didn't remove his clothing. He spread his bedroll on the floor before the hearth and lay down.

After covering himself with a wool blanket, he glanced back at her. "Are you going to bed?"

"Aye." She quickly crawled beneath the covers.

"If you don't mind, please refrain from smashing your knee into my stomach tonight."

Mortification seized her. Was he teasing? "I told you I'm sorry for that. Very daft of me."

A small smile lifted one corner of his lips. The expression captivated her. She wished she could see it more often. She would have to think of more ways to make him smile.

How singular it was to share a bedchamber with a man who wasn't trying to paw all over her. Although… perhaps that meant he wasn't attracted to her. Still, she couldn't help but trust him. Honor meant more to him than carnal gratification. Or maybe 'twas only because he was a gentleman with the manners of a chivalrous knight.

She sat up. "I have a confession to make."

"Aye?"

"While I'm asleep, sometimes I walk and talk and do odd things. You must overlook me."

"Ah. That explains it then."

She lifted a brow, realizing he was referring to when she'd done him bodily harm early that morn. "Beitris tries to prevent me from making a fool of myself, but sometimes even that doesn't help."

"Don't fash yourself over it. I'm sure I will survive should you decide to attack me again."

Now she knew he was teasing, blast him. Her face heated, though she grinned. "I hope you don't have any bruises."

"Nay. 'Twould take far more than your knee to cause me damage."

"I'm glad." Lying back on the pillow, she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers over his stomach. What would it look like? She knew it was flat and composed of hard muscle. She'd felt as much that morn. Did it now have a huge blue blotch on it in the shape of her knee?

Feeling safe and warm in the soft bed, imagining Dirk was beside her instead of ten feet away, she drifted toward sleep. She only hoped she didn't try to crawl onto the bedroll beside him in her sleep during the night.

***

A quarter hour later, Dirk thought he'd heard Isobel speak. He glanced toward the bed. In the firelight, he saw that she lay on her side, facing him, her eyes closed. "You are strong… virile," she murmured.

Virile? Was she talking in her sleep already? And did she have to put such heated carnal thoughts into his head? Damnation, he certainly felt virile at the moment.

He turned his back to her and covered up, hoping to not hear any more of her unguarded, enticing comments. She put insane notions into his head. It had been too long since his last encounter with a female, many weeks. And now, little was required to fire up his lusts.

Especially around her.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, but it only drifted to Isobel, soft and warm in bed. In his imagination, he pulled off his shirt and trews and climbed into bed beside her. He craved feeling her satiny skin sliding over his.

He would untie Isobel's smock and slip it from her delectable body, baring her lush breasts with their peaked, rosy nipples. He grew hard and feverish just imagining it. She would give him some inane compliment about his eyes or his virility and kiss him. He would devour the sweetness of her mouth and stroke his hands over every inch of her silken skin. In his fantasy, she would aggressively mount him and take him with abandon. As a widow, she would know what she wanted in bed. She might even be a deprived widow who was eager for a man's attention.

Damnation, now he was agonizingly hard with no hope for relief in sight.

"Dirk," she murmured from the bed.

Was she awake? Clenching his teeth against the ache in his groin, he glanced back. Her eyes were still closed and she hadn't moved. If she awoke and summonsed him to her bed, what would he do?

God's teeth. He couldn't do anything. She was promised to another, and bound by legal contract, whether she liked it or not. And he definitely didn't like it.

She wouldn't call him to her bed anyway. 'Twas but his own ridiculous fantasy. A fantasy he could not afford to have, given the circumstances.

Forget her. He had to have some sleep so he'd be alert tomorrow.

Forcing his mind to go blank, he slid toward sleep.

"Dirk." Isobel moaned.

At least he thought she'd moaned.

Once again fully alert, he glared over his shoulder at her. Hell, would she torment him all night by murmuring his name in that husky voice? She turned onto her back and moved about restlessly.

Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to face the hearth once again. He needed wool to stuff into his ears to block out her seductive voice calling to him.

Sometime later, Dirk awoke, realizing icy wind was whipping inside the room. What in blazes? The door was open. He leapt to his feet to find Isobel standing in the doorway, wearing only her thin linen smock.

Chapter Seven

"Isobel?" Why on earth would she open the door and allow the winter wind to blast into the cottage, especially wearing naught but her underclothing? Dirk hurried across the room, drew her back and closed the door. "What are you doing?"

Her eyes were open but she wasn't looking at him. Was she asleep?

"Go back to bed, Isobel." With his hands on her upper arms, he gently turned her toward the bed.

She resisted and reached for the door. "Going home."

He could understand that, for he wanted to go home, himself. But neither of them could do that at the moment.

Knowing she wasn't going to obey him, he lifted her into his arms. She was light as a wee thistle flower but not near as prickly. He'd helped her mount the horse a few times, but he'd never held her like this, in his arms with her curvy body leaning against him.

When he turned with her, she giggled. The playful sound wound through his body in a heated swirl of excitement. She slid her arms 'round his neck and held on tightly while he carried her back to the bed. One of her soft breasts, with its hard nipple, rubbed against his chest, only the thin fabric between them. She snuggled her face against his neck, her warm breath teasing his skin.

Arousal surged through him, but when she kissed his throat, he thought he might go up in flames. Saints! He wanted to do the same to her, trail kisses down her throat, untie her smock and… He shook his head, trying to clear it.

Standing by the bed, he remained still, though his instincts raged at him to crush her sweet body beneath his on the mattress.

He drew in a deep breath, fighting to calm his desires.

"Are you awake?" he whispered.

She hummed a sleepy sound and placed another wee kiss against his neck. Restraining a moan, he glanced down at her. In the dimness, he couldn't see if her eyes were open or closed. But she smelled heavenly, like lavender and woman.

Just put her in the bed and leave her be!

He lowered her to the mattress but she did not relinquish her hold on his neck. He knew he should simply remove her slender arms, but he couldn't seem to make himself do it. Her breath tickled his face. Her mouth, no less than an inch or two from his, tempted him, made him crave just one taste.

Surrendering to the enticement, he brushed his lips over hers… silky-smooth warmth. She released a soft moan and pressed her lips more firmly to his. It was a chaste kiss, but the raging need storming his body urged him to make it carnal, compelled him to part her lips and slide his tongue between.

Nay. She's asleep.

Lifting his head, he dragged her arms from around his neck and covered her with the blankets. She protested with a petulant moan.

Damn, she seemed near as needy as he was. But was her need for him, or would any man do?

It didn't matter.

"Go to sleep," he said in a low but firm tone, even though she already was.

She turned over and her breathing deepened.

Saints! That was one time he wished she'd done the opposite of what he said. The sensual feel of her lips was now burned onto his.

Nay. He couldn't have her. He couldn't kiss her. She belonged to another man.

She didn't move and seemed fully asleep now.

He barred the door again and placed a heavy chair before it to hopefully prevent her from walking outside and freezing her arse off while he slept. At least, she'd wake him up if she slid the chair away from the door.

But, given his state of heightened arousal, he was likely to get no more sleep this night. Determined to try, he lay down on the bedroll. He couldn't forget how perfect she'd felt in his arms. His instincts had kicked in and it was almost as if he'd captured a lass for his very own. How he wanted to carry her off to a private chamber and show her what her kisses did to him.

But since she was asleep, she likely wouldn't even remember the incident.

***

Dirk saddled his horse the next morn outside Lewis MacLeod's byre while George saddled Rebbie's horse nearby. Weak sunlight crept over the mountains.

"And how did everything go last night?" Rebbie asked with a cheerful smile. "You look like you got little sleep."

"Very well." Dirk knew what Rebbie was digging for, but Dirk would reveal naught to him about the sensual torture he'd endured.

"Very, very well?" Rebbie asked in a suggestive tone.

Dirk glared at his friend. "Naught happened, if that's what you're wondering." Naught of importance anyway. Certainly nothing she would remember. But the way she'd kissed his neck, and the brush of her lips against his would haunt him. "She slept in the bed and I slept on my bedroll before the hearth."

Rebbie chuckled. "As I expected. You're the prince of courtesy and honor when it comes to her."

"When have I not been courteous and honorable with any lady?"

"I can think of one time in recent months." Rebbie grinned wickedly. "Surely you remember Lady Neilina."

"Must you bring her up? I was helping Lachlan. He had an unethical number of conniving females chasing after him. Aside from that, I'm a man like any other. I'm sure you would've volunteered for the role with Neilina if you were taller and had light hair."

Rebbie frowned. "Can I help it I'm not a giant?"

Dirk snorted. Although Rebbie was about six feet in height, he was still slightly shorter than Dirk or Lachlan. 'Twas one of the few things Dirk had found to tease him about. Generally, he was impervious.

"I see what you're doing," Rebbie said. "Trying to change the subject."

Dirk shrugged, hoping Rebbie would get bored. "There's naught to talk about."

"Did she knee you in the groin this time?"

"Nay, thank the saints. But she told me she walks in her sleep. That's why she fell on me the other morn."

"I see." Rebbie scratched the dark stubble on his chin. "Hmm… I'm sure you were wishing she'd accidentally sleep-walk to your bedroll and crawl in."

"Well, that didn't happen, so you can stop speculating."

"A pity. That could've made a cold winter's night far hotter."

Dirk shook his head. "Your mind never leaves the gutter, does it?"

"Rarely. I'm simply enjoying watching you get all tangled up over a woman for the first time."

"I'm not tangled up over a woman," Dirk growled.

"'Twas bound to happen sooner or later."

The door behind them opened and Isobel and her maid emerged, carrying their meager belongings.

"Shh," Dirk hissed at Rebbie.

"Good morrow, my lady," Rebbie called and gave one of his dramatic bows.

"Good morrow," she said in a more restrained tone and curtseyed.

She looked far more refreshed this morn than he felt, that was a certainty. She'd slept the whole night, even with her wanderings about the room, while he'd only slept naps here and there amid steamy erotic dreams.

Her cheeks glowed bright pink in the crisp, cold air. And her dark gaze upon him near took his breath away. He gave a brief bow.

She smiled and curtseyed in return, then hastened after her maid toward the main cottage.

"Did you see that?" Rebbie whispered aside. "She blushed as soon as she glanced at you."

"Rebbie, I'm warning you…" Dirk grumbled in a low tone.

Rebbie laughed and slapped his shoulder.

"'Tis time to break our fast," Lewis MacLeod called from the main cottage.

"We must eat quickly and be on our way," Dirk said. "It already grows late. We must reach Durness before dark, else there'll be nowhere to spend the night."

***

Behind Dirk, riding pillion on his horse, Isobel shivered against him. He wished he could make her warmer, but she was already wrapped in every blanket and extra plaid he possessed. Thank the saints it was no longer snowing, and the sun peeped through the clouds from time to time. But the never-ending wind blew harder.

At least his larger body blocked most of the north wind from her. Occasionally, it stung his face and penetrated his multiple layers of clothing. Still, he wasn't chilled. In fact, she made him feel overheated most of the time. He truly needed to share some body heat with her. But that was not a good idea.

He turned his head. "Are you cold, m'lady?"

"Not overmuch." Her teeth chattered, proclaiming her words a lie. He admired her for not complaining. She was a strong lass.

"Put your arms beneath my plaid and cloak. 'Tis warmer closer to my body."

Damnation, he shouldn't have said that. Thinking about her closer to his body made his heart rate speed up, but when she dug beneath his wool mantle and his plaid, and touched his waist through his doublet, his whole body came to life. But he had to keep her warm.

He'd grown up here and he well knew how cold MacKay Country was in autumn and winter. His body would tolerate chill more easily than hers.

She slid her uninjured hand around his side and rested it lightly on his upper abdomen. He helped place her injured hand, careful of her splinted finger, at his waist, then covered her hands with one of his. "Och. Your hands are like ice."

"'Tis true. The cold wind blows so hard here."

"Not much longer and we'll reach Durness." He tapped his heels against the horse's sides, increasing their pace along the trail that cut between the moor and the rock carved hills. A herd of furry black Highland cattle stood watching in the snowy field. Smoke trailed from a distant crofter's hut.

The press of Isobel's fingers against his stomach affected him more than he would've liked, sending arousal burning through him. He yearned to hold her in his arms, warm her and protect her. Damnation if he wasn't daft.

Wondering about the others in their party, he stopped, turned the horse slightly and glanced back at Rebbie. Further back, Isobel's maid rode pillion behind George.

Rebbie waved him onward.

Dirk headed the horse forward again and continued. Each step along the narrow trail that wound around lochs and between bare stone mountains was like a step back in time. Little had changed here in twelve years.

Yells erupted in the distance behind them. Isobel's maid screamed.

"Oh heavens," Isobel said.

"What the devil?" Dirk turned the horse about to glance back again. Rebbie and the two servants had dropped further behind. And now a man stood before them, a pistol in his hand. He yelled out an order.

Who was he and where had he come from? Wearing a mask and cowl over his head, he appeared to be a lone highwayman.

Could that be McMurdo? Dirk had forgotten about the bastard.

Dirk dismounted. "Move forward into the saddle and stay down," he told Isobel, handing her the reins. "He has a pistol. If he comes toward you, ride north as fast as you can. My uncle's cottage will be the first one you come to. The big one."

"I'll go too, and help Beitris." She moved as if to dismount.

"Nay," he ordered. "You'll stay right here."

"I have a dagger." She pulled the shiny weapon from the pouch suspended from her belt.

"Put that away afore you cut yourself," Dirk growled. "Keep her safe, Tulloch," he said to his horse.

Tulloch nickered and stamped his giant hoof.

"Have a care," Isobel said.

Dirk drew his sword and raced back a couple hundred feet to the others, his boots slipping over the ice and snow. He didn't realize they'd moved so far ahead of Rebbie and the servants.

His horse dancing about, Rebbie kicked out with one booted foot, knocking the gun from the outlaw's hand. The bastard then scrambled on the ground for it.

While Rebbie dismounted, Dirk rushed in upon them.

Rebbie and the outlaw rolled on the ground, tussling for the weapon. Dirk grabbed the man's brown cloak, secured at his throat, and yanked him away from his friend, who had the pistol in hand. The outlaw made choking sounds and clawed at the mantle's clasp. Once it was unhooked, he freed himself from the garment and fled toward a grove of bushes, his long gray hair flying out behind him. Before he reached cover, he made as if to circle around toward Isobel and Tulloch.

"Halt!" Dirk demanded, launching into motion and sprinting toward Isobel. Bastard! Dirk would choke him if he ever got his hands on him.

A gunshot exploded behind him. Dirk glanced back to see Rebbie with his pistol raised, still aimed at the outlaw, and a fog of black smoke being carried away by the wind. The masked man didn't go down. Instead, he changed course and bolted for the bushes again.

"Bastard!" Dirk yelled, finally reaching Isobel.

Tulloch snorted and pawed the ground.

The last time he'd seen Donald McMurdo, he'd had dark hair, but that had been many years ago. That had to be him. If the women hadn't been in their party now, he'd hunt the knave down and toss him in Dunnakeil's dungeon.

"What the devil?" Rebbie grumbled, coming up behind them and brushing the snow and debris from his clothing. "A highwayman? Out here, in the most remote country I've ever seen?"

"Aye. They're everywhere. 'Twas likely McMurdo. Back when I was a lad, my father and his men tried to capture McMurdo but he was as elusive as a ghost. Not only is he a thief, but also a murderer. Hard to believe he's still alive after all this time."

George led the other horse forward and Beitris, still quite pale, was perched upon it.

Rebbie surveyed the outlaw's pistol in his hand. "If this wasn't such a piece of rubbish, I could've shot him in the arse with his own gun."

Dirk snorted. "Let's make haste afore he returns."

"I hope he does," Rebbie called out, making sure anyone hiding in the bushes could hear him. "I'll give him something—a lead ball betwixt his teeth."

Observing Isobel, Dirk noted her dark eyes were wide as she scanned the edge of the copse of bushes. "Are you well?" he asked.

"Aye." Twisting and wiggling about in her layers of clothing and blankets, she moved back onto the bedroll behind the saddle. He admired the way she took distressing events in stride without lapsing into hysterics.

He mounted and within a quarter hour, Uncle Conall's large cottage, with its whitewashed stone walls and thatched roof, came into view on the outskirts of the village. Dirk's spirits lifted with relief to finally be at the journey's end. But as he rode forward, closer and closer to the village of his childhood, he tensed. He prayed he'd arrived in time to see his father alive.

"Here we are," Dirk told Isobel. At the cottage, he dismounted, then glanced back to Rebbie upon his horse. "'Tis my uncle's home."

Lifting his arms, Dirk helped Isobel dismount. The others followed suit.

When he faced the door of the cottage, dread twisted his gut. Uncle Conall, Dirk's father's youngest brother, and his family were the only members of the clan he could trust.

Beside him, Isobel squeezed his forearm, distracting him from the gloom for a moment. Her eyes, a touch darker than chestnut brown, softened as if she understood how he felt. The anxiety, the fear. Aye, she must. She'd seen her parents sick, then lost them. But most important of all, in that moment, he no longer felt alone. For even when he was with his friends, he often felt disconnected from them and unsure if they could truly understand him. Something told him Isobel did.

Her hand slipped away and he could not believe how he missed that small contact.

Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to move forward and knock at the weathered door.

His aunt Effie opened it and stuck her head out. Her gaze landing on Dirk, she smiled, flung the door back and threw her arms around him. "Nephew, 'tis a blessing to lay eyes upon your face again. I'm glad you've come home." She drew back and called into the cottage. "Conall!" Facing Dirk again, she said, "He's eating his supper. You know how he is. Naught can draw him away from the table. Come in, you and your companions." She waved them forward.

He didn't move. And though he hated to ask, it had to be done. "What news of my father?"

"Oh, Dirk." Her face contorted into a grimace. "I forgot you'd not heard yet. I'm sorry to say he passed over a month ago."

Her words hit him like a battering ram smashing against his stomach.

Da was gone. Dirk would not be able to embrace him one last time nor see a look of happiness on his face.

Dirk nodded, his throat constricting. "'Tis as I feared." Although he'd truly hoped he'd been wrong. "I came as soon as I could."

Regret flooded him like rain inundating a bog. His father must have died even before Dirk received the missive at Draughon. He should've come back sooner, 'haps years ago. But his father thought him dead. He never knew whether it was better to stay 'dead' or proclaim his presence to the clan and the woman who would see him murdered if she could.

"Aye?" Conall appeared in the doorway, his hair and beard now gray. His gaze focused for a moment on Dirk's face. "Dirk, lad, is that you, then?"

"Indeed."

"I hardly recognize you all grown up." Conall grabbed him in a fearsome hug. When he drew back, his eyes were watering. "Lad, I'm sorry your da didn't make it. A week after I sent the missive, he was gone. I sent another but I don't know if you received it."

Dirk shook his head. "I thank you for letting me know."

Conall glanced past him to the others who'd traveled with him. "Who have you brought with you?"

Dirk forced himself to push his grief aside for a moment. Rebbie stood closest to him. "This is my good friend, Robert MacInnis, earl of Rebbinglen."

"An earl? I'm pleased to meet you m'laird." He shook Rebbie's hand.

"A pleasure."

"And this is Lady Isobel MacKenzie and her maid," Dirk went on. "We rescued them on the trail."

"Rescued? Well, you're a true knight and a gallant, are you not? Come in. We have enough food for everyone."

"With the way you were shoveling it in?" Effie said.

"Bah! I'll deal with the horses, woman. You give our guests some food." Conall waved everyone else into the cottage.

As Isobel passed Dirk, she met his eyes with a sympathetic glance.

He gave her a quick nod to thank her for understanding, then followed his uncle toward his small stable.

After Conall showed George where to take the horses, Dirk asked, "Could I have a word, Uncle?"

"Aye."

The side of the stone byre sheltered them from the worst of the wind. "I cannot believe my father is gone. Did he suffer?" Dirk asked.

"Nay. He did not seem in much pain. 'Twas his heart, the healer said." Conall shook his head.

"Is Nannag still the healer?"

"Aye. Still spunky as a pup, although her hearing is going."

"Saints, she must be at least a hundred."

Conall nodded with a faint grin. "Around eighty or ninety summers, I'd say. But her mind is still sharp."

"She's trustworthy, is she not? My stepmother wouldn't have coerced her into speeding up Da's death, would she?"

"Nay, I don't think so, lad. Maighread seemed to care for your da. It wouldn't have benefited her or their sons to murder him. Aiden is only twenty-one summers, barely old enough to be a decent chief. Griff and Maighread both figured he'd struggle with it."

Dirk nodded. That gave him some peace, that his stepmother wouldn't have wanted his Da dead as she did him. Apparently he was the only one she had it in for.

"Griff was ne'er the same after he believed you died," Conall said. "You see, he wouldn't believe you had truly died for weeks because your body wasn't found washed up on shore. Finally, he accepted that you must be dead, then he blamed himself."

Dirk felt as if a boulder crushed his chest. The last thing he'd meant to do was hurt his father. "Did you tell him who you suspected of killing Cousin Will?" Will was the son of his father's middle brother, and Dirk's best friend during his youth. They were near inseparable, until Maighread's man had shoved him from the cliff.

"I hinted." Conall nodded. "But I couldn't outright accuse her without proof. Besides, I suspect she has several clan members working for her."

"Well, as you ken, she tried to kill me twice before that and he never believed me." In a way, he'd felt betrayed by his father because he'd trusted his wife over his own son.

"'Tis beyond my ken what he saw in the woman," Conall muttered. "He loved her to distraction. And though his heart wasn't in it, he had the men begin training your two younger brothers to follow in his footsteps."

"Both of them?"

"Aye, as you know, Aiden is the eldest but he was e'er a timid child. Your father was unsure of his ability to lead the clan. Haldane is younger but he has a much more forceful nature. 'Tis clear to me he wants to be chief despite being only nineteen summers. About half of the clan would support him if he should decide to oust Aiden, but he holds a fondness for his older brother. I don't believe he wants to hurt him. If Aiden were to relinquish the position, Haldane would take it. But you see, most of the clan elders support Aiden as the oldest son, the most canny and level-headed. And now that you are here…" His uncle shrugged.

"Aye. Now that I'm here… I know not if they will even believe 'tis truly me."

"How can they doubt it? Now that you're grown, I see much of your father in you."

Dirk was glad for that. He'd always been proud that he resembled his father. But he wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd get from the clan, resemblance or no.

"There's still a bit of time to think on it. Are you hungry?"

"Aye." His stomach ached, though he wasn't sure whether from hunger or anxiety.

"Let's go inside."

Dirk preceded him into the cottage that had not changed since the last time he was here. Two of Conall's younger sons and three of his daughters greeted Dirk as he entered. Saints! They'd all been wee bairns the last time he saw them.

"You've all grown up. Where is Keegan?" Conall's eldest son had always been a good friend to Dirk.

"He's head of the guards at the castle."

"I see." That was an impressive position, and Dirk was glad someone he trusted held it.

Squeezing his large frame between Rebbie and another male cousin, he sat across from Isobel. She had removed the cowl covering her rich sable hair, which was down loose on her shoulders. Her bewitching eyes met his in the candlelight and a startling sensation shot through him from his chest to his groin.

What in blazes was wrong with him? He lowered his gaze to the trencher heaped with food that Aunt Effie set before him. "I thank you," he mumbled.

"Eat up. You're a growing lad and you need your strength."

"Growing? I hope not." Only his aunt would say such a thing. Warmth filled his chest at being back amongst his family again. "I'm fair certain I've grown enough."

Rebbie snorted. "You have the right of it."

"No comments are needed from you," Dirk said to Rebbie, his gaze drawn to Isobel again.

She held back a grin, humor lighting her eyes. Damnation, but she was lovely. He could scarce look away, but forced himself to concentrate on the food.