My Brave Highlander (11 page)

"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.