My Brave Highlander (12 page)

"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."

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.