Torrin glared at him for a long moment. Aye, Nolan knew his brother rarely approved of his viewpoint. But Nolan was simply being honest; he had little patience for women and their thoughts and actions. He wanted to bed them, not listen to their imbecilic ideas.
"I already sent a missive while I was in Lairg, notifying her brother," Torrin said, pacing to the mantel. "If she's returned home to him, she'll not get out of the arrangement so easily. I want her and the clan needs that land."
"Aye, no doubt she is a scheming and conniving bitch."
Over his shoulder, Torrin pinned Nolan with a glare. "She didn't strike me as such when I met her."
"Well, I never trusted her. You can tell by the look in her eye that she's a rebel. 'Tis doubtful she'd obey a word you said. I wouldn't want a disobedient wife. Besides that, she's probably barren."
"We don't know that," Torrin snapped. "'Haps her first husband was impotent. He was around three score years, after all. She's the loveliest lady in these parts. She appears healthy and capable of birthing bairns." Torrin shrugged. "But maybe I'll negotiate for a temporary marriage now, if I can find her. That way, I can make certain she's fertile before I marry her."
Nolan nodded, wishing he could find out if she was fertile. He almost had. "'Tis a good idea, and if you find out where she is, I'll be happy to go retrieve her for you, brother."
***
The next day, Maighread Gordon strode through the front door of Dunnakeil as if she were queen of all of Scotland and England too. Disgust stabbed through Dirk and nausea rose within him. Strangely, he felt as if he were fifteen summers again, rather than a man full grown.
Damn her.
He squared his shoulders and ground his teeth together. She was no longer a match for him. He was a highly-trained, skilled fighter, and she was a thin, gray-haired widow.
Her eyes lit on him, then widened. Her face blanched. But she quickly hid her astonishment. Or was it fear? Aye, she had to be a wee bit afraid of him now, given his size. Regardless, 'twas clear she recognized him.
Her scathing green eyes raked over him in exactly the same manner they used to. If ever evil had stood in this room, 'twas now.
Haldane entered behind her, as did two more ladies, several servants and her men-at-arms. She traveled with a large party, and each of them would require watching.
He knew she couldn't resist coming to see for herself if indeed Dirk MacKay had risen from the dead.
"Who is this imposter I hear has come to take over the clan and castle?" Maighread asked in a raised voice to the room at large.
Chapter Thirteen
Dirk's stepmother thought him an imposter?
He snorted and sent her a contemptuous smirk. Her words were so daft they didn't deserve a response. 'Twas obvious she'd recognized him the instant she'd entered the great hall. She was the same as she'd always been—a liar and manipulator.
"He is no imposter, m'lady," Uncle Conall said, sounding as annoyed as Dirk felt as his voice echoed off the high ceiling. "He is in truth Dirk MacKay, son of Laird Griff, as you can plainly see."
"Nay." Maighread's eyes narrowed on Dirk. She pointed an accusing finger and moved forward, but stopped three feet away. "That is not Dirk MacKay. He has been dead for many years."
Dirk couldn't stop his sinister smile as hatred and a vile need for revenge coursed through his veins. He'd never harmed a woman, but was sore tempted now. He clenched his fists in restraint.
"I'm certain you wished me dead, stepmother. But I'm not," Dirk said.
"I would never wish you or anyone dead. But you cannot prove you are the man you claim to be." Her condescending, harpy voice grated on his nerves.
"Ask me anything you like. Maybe you'd like me to recite my ancestry back to the tenth century."
"Hmph." Her haughty look told him she was less than impressed. "You could learn that from anyone in the clan."
"Ask me something about my childhood. Something only I would know." Brow lifted, he waited while her mouth opened and closed mutely. "Afraid you might be proven wrong?" he asked.
"We all remember Dirk, m'lady," his father's senachie, Phelan, said. "All the older members of the clan do. We were present at his birth and watched him grow from a wee bairn to a tall, strong lad."
"That lad looked nothing like this imposter," Maighread proclaimed, scanning the clan elders. "Have the lot of you gone senile?"
The elder men frowned and exchanged vexed glances, some giving her the evil eye. But she ignored them, instead glaring intently at Dirk.
"I'm a wee bit larger than the last time you saw me," Dirk said, crossing his arms over his chest. Standing straight and tall, he towered over her. The first time he'd seen her, when he was around four or five, she'd dwarfed him and stared down at him as if he were a loathsome, mud-covered mongrel pup.
The last time he'd seen her, when he was fifteen, they had been of about the same height. But now, he was at least a foot taller than she.
"He looks like his father and his grandfather," Ranald, his father's sword-bearer, said.
"He looks nothing like my dear, departed Griff, God rest his soul," she said with deceptive piety. "And I never saw his grandfather so how would I know?"
"'Tis him, m'lady. He has the birthmark," Phelan said with calm confidence.
Dirk had always liked the man and his dramatic stories which glorified his father's battles and hunting expeditions.
"What birthmark?" Maighread demanded.
"On his back, Mother," Haldane said.
"Dirk never had a birthmark."
"You didn't give birth to Dirk nor were you a mother to him when he was a wee lad. How would you know whether he had a birthmark or not?" Uncle Conall asked.
"I… well." She sputtered for a moment.
"Open your eyes," Conall said. "You can clearly see 'tis Dirk."
"Were you not the one who said Dirk fell off a cliff and died?" Maighread demanded. "Did you lie?"
"Aye, someone tried to murder him," Conall said, his dark gaze boring into his sister-in-law. "I lied to protect him. He was several feet down the side of a cliff where someone had pushed him. Without doubt, a hired assassin. I threw a rope down to Dirk and pulled him back up. Then, I helped him slip away to another part of the Highlands so he would be safe until he was grown."
"I wonder…" Dirk said. "Why did the assassin say to me, 'Lady MacKay sends her regards,' right before he pushed me off the edge?"
Murmurs and grumbles moved through the great hall as two dozen or more clansmen looked on, taking in every word.
Maighread gasped, her face turning pale. "I have no inkling! But it proves naught. Anyone could say that to implicate me. But since you're not really Dirk, you made it up, of course."
"The assassin you hired, who murdered Will MacKay, thought those were the last words I would hear," Dirk said. "He wanted me to know who'd hired him, but he wanted me to take that information to my watery grave. It didn't work." Dirk gave a bitter but satisfied smile.
Her four brawny guards moved forward to stand beside her. At least two of them were from the Sutherland clan. He knew not the other two.
"This is a madman!" she accused, her gaze scanning the suddenly restless MacKay clan. "How can you possibly believe him? He's a lying imposter. And even if he were Dirk MacKay, lies are easy to make up. He's trying to steal the chieftainship from Aiden."
The clan's mutterings continued as they discussed the topic and speculated about Maighread's guilt. Dirk was happy to see so many of his agitated clansmen were on his side. He had not planned to confront her at first glance, but the time felt right.
"Chief Griff MacKay would be appalled at the behavior of this clan!" she said. "I have been with you more than twenty years. How can you doubt me or suspect me of such treachery? You should be ashamed of yourselves, believing every word this pretender says."
"What if he isn't a pretender? What if 'tis proven he is Dirk?" Conall asked.
"Well, then, he's lying about what the assassin sai
d. 'Tis easy enough to make up such a story. And if he is Dirk, he's the one who murdered Will MacKay and then ran away so he wouldn't get caught."
"Why on earth would I murder my best friend?" Dirk asked. Surely anyone who believed such a thing would be foolish.
"And why on earth would I murder my stepson?"
"So that your son can inherit, of course," Dirk said. "'Tis what you've always wanted, is it not?"
Drawing herself up regally, she ran her haughty gaze over each face in the room until she noticed Isobel. Halting, Maighread frowned and moved toward her. "Isobel MacKenzie? What on earth are you doing here?"
Dirk narrowed his eyes. How long had it been since the two had seen each other? He didn't want Maighread anywhere near Isobel. She might try to hurt her, or she might fill Isobel's ears with lies, poisoning her mind against Dirk or the good people of the clan. He cringed, imagining Isobel being influenced in any small way by his witch of a stepmother.
Isobel talked low but Dirk understood her words. "I was caught out in a snowstorm with my maid and Laird MacKay helped us to safety."
Isobel had never called him Laird MacKay. Why was she doing so now? To test Maighread and see how riled she'd become? Dirk almost smiled at the bold move.
"Laird MacKay?" Maighread demanded.
"Aye. Dirk. Your stepson," Isobel said in a guileless tone, her eyes wide and naïve. What a wee actress.
Maighread lifted a brow and glared back at Dirk. "My dear girl, he is not Laird MacKay, nor is he my stepson, of that I'm certain."
Isobel's dark gaze met his, communicating sympathy and cleverness, then she gave a covert shrug. He'd already told her Maighread would try to discredit him. Dirk knew the hag only too well. But would Isobel start believing Maighread over him?
"Come, we must talk, Lady Isobel… or should I call you Lady Jedwarth?"
Jedwarth? Dirk had neglected to ask Isobel what her first husband's name had been. Saints! He hadn't imagined he'd been the widely-known Earl of Jedwarth. She was a countess. Surely that made her even more sought after as a wife, aside from her beauty. Not that it mattered to him, but it probably did to the MacLeod.
Maighread turned back to the men. "We will sort this out later." Her eyes scanned the room. When they landed on Jessie, she said, "Have the servants bring food and drink to the solar." She then motioned to the two women who had traveled with her. "Come, ladies."
Jessie glared with great venom after their stepmother. Apparently, she liked her about as much as Dirk did. Muttering words Dirk couldn't hear, Jessie turned and stomped away toward the kitchen.
Isobel and Maighread being together did not set well with Dirk. He worried Maighread would hurt Isobel, especially if she disagreed with her. Since the two other ladies were with them, surely Maighread wouldn't become violent.
But, with her lies, she might also turn Isobel against him.
Dirk approached Rebbie where he stood by the massive fireplace. "I need a word with you," he said in a low tone, then led the way to the library. Once Rebbie was inside, Dirk closed the door.
"That woman knows who I am, and she knows the clan recognizes me," Dirk said. "Without doubt she will keep saying I'm not Dirk, but she knows the clan will pay her no heed. Her only recourse will be to try to murder me again. I'll need for you to watch my back."
"Of course. But 'haps you also need a couple of personal bodyguards," Rebbie said, his dark brown eyes far more serious than usual.
"As of yet, I know not who I can trust completely within the clan, aside from Conall and Keegan."
"But Keegan is what, third or fourth in line after you to inherit, correct?"
"Indeed, but we've always been close. I wouldn't suspect him of treachery. Nor Conall. He's in line to inherit too but he's always helped me, even more than my father did. They are loyal to the core."
"In my opinion, Keegan would make a good bodyguard. Mayhap he would do it as a favor to you."
"Aye, and once I'm chief, I'll make sure Keegan has a higher-ranking position." Dirk thought of the group of lads he spent much of his time with as a youth. Erskine had been a good friend. He was the son of his father's sword-bearer, and he'd always been destined to be Dirk's sword-bearer, a hereditary position passed down through the clan. Was he already Aiden's sword-bearer? He hadn't thought to ask, but it might not matter. If Aiden was loyal to Dirk, likely Erskine would be too.
"Erskine is another possibility. Wait here and I'll see if he is about." Dirk returned to the great hall and scanned the two dozen or so present. Erskine talked with Keegan near the entrance. While Keegan resembled Dirk a great deal, aside from his sandy hair, Erskine was smaller of frame with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Still, he had a wiry strength and Dirk had seen him best larger opponents when they were younger.
Dirk approached them. "Could I have a word with both of you in the library?"
"Aye," they responded with great interest and followed him.
Once inside the more private room, he closed the door. "Have a seat." Dirk motioned toward the chairs and benches surrounding the table, then took one himself beside Rebbie. "I'm not chief yet, of course, but if all the elders and the majority of the clan decide in my favor at the hearing, I will be. I hold no ill will toward Aiden. He is my beloved brother, but most everyone can agree he isn't suited to be a chief."
Keegan and Erskine murmured their agreements.
"Are you Aiden's sword-bearer?" Dirk asked Erskine.
"Aye. I'm glad to be sword-bearer for either you or Aiden." His dark eyes narrowed. "But not Haldane. If he ever becomes chief, my family and I are leaving."
Dirk nodded. He sounded loyal. "I thank you. You've always been a good friend, Erskine. Aiden knows who I am and I believe he will resign. He's already told me he'd rather I be chief. If that happens, my stepmother may try to have me murdered again."
"I was surprised to hear she was the one behind your disappearance. But it all makes sense now. I can't believe no one told me." Erskine sent a baffled glance at Keegan.
"We kept the secret well." His cousin shrugged and smiled smugly.
"I need two men I can trust to watch my back, aside from Rebbie. Sometimes he is distracted by the lasses."
"Aye and a pretty one arrived with your stepmother, Lady Seona Murray," Keegan said with a grin, obviously referring to the young, dark-haired, blue-eyed lass who'd stood with her mother or aunt behind Maighread. So, she was the lass Maighread wanted Aiden to marry.
"Och, you make me sound completely useless," Rebbie protested. "Truth is, Dirk is so distracted by a certain dark-eyed, voluptuous lass that someone could charge him from the front, sword drawn, and he'd likely not see them if she was in the room."
Dirk's face heated. Damnation, how he hated blushing. "This is serious. Let's try to focus."
"I'm being most serious. Anytime he's around Isobel, he'll need two bodyguards, one to watch his back and one to watch his front," he told the other two men.
They chuckled and eyed him. "I thought she was betrothed to someone else," Keegan said.
"Aye, she is. And let's not change the subject," Dirk said, determined to get back on topic. "My stepmother likely won't try anything herself. She'll get one of her servants or one of her guards to do it. She'll be creative. Her mind is more twisted and devious than anyone I've ever met, but she hides it from those closest to her. Her friends, hell, even my own father had no inkling how conniving she is."
"I certainly remember what happened when you were almost killed," Keegan said, his blue eyes stormy and troubled. "You're like a brother to me and you're the rightful chief and laird. I'll be honored to be your personal guard if that's what you're wanting."
"Aye. I would like that. And I thank you," Dirk said, feeling grateful and humbled to have another good friend. He turned to the son of his father's sword-bearer. "Erskine, we were ever friends when we were lads. 'Twas likely a miracle you were not with Will and me when the disaster at Faraid Head happened."
"'Tis true."
"Aye, I'd be more than happy to."
Surely Dirk could trust these two men. He hoped. He hadn't been around them in twelve years, so he wasn't one hundred percent certain of anything. He had to figure out which members of the clan were trustworthy and which ones Maighread might pay to murder him.
***
Isobel followed Maighread into the castle's south-facing solar. The weak winter sun shone through the three narrow windows, highlighting the blue and gold Turkish carpet spread upon the floor. The two ladies who'd arrived with her followed also.
"Close the door," Maighread told her servant once they were all inside. "This is my best friend's daughter, Isobel MacKenzie, countess of Jedwarth." Maighread told the two women. "And this is Lady Seona Murray and her aunt, Patience Murray. Lady Seona is to marry Aiden."
Isobel curtseyed. "A pleasure to meet you both."
The two women returned pleasantries.
Seona was young, perhaps a score years and her aunt was about two score. Both were attractive, dark-haired and shared a strong resemblance with their oval faces, ivory skin and full, Cupid's bow lips.
They took seats around the fireplace, except for Maighread, who paced. The maid added bricks of peat to the glowing, smoking coals.
"I cannot believe that man claims to be my stepson. And what lies he tells. I hope none of you believe his insane accusations against me."
"Nay, of course not, m'lady," Patience said.
Seona merely shook her head. Isobel did the same, not wanting Maighread to suspect she was on Dirk's side.
Maighread appeared to accept their words and calm herself. She sat in a chair opposite Isobel. "'Tis a grand surprise to find you here, Lady Jedwarth. What were you doing out in a snowstorm?" Maighread asked.
"Please call me Isobel," she said, stalling for time. She truly hated being called Lady Jedwarth, and she was not yet prepared to reveal all. Isobel's mother had trusted Maighread with all her secrets, but Isobel didn't, given that Dirk accused her of being a murderer. And she knew the other women not at all. They might have clan ties to the MacLeods, which meant Isobel couldn't reveal all about her escape from Munrick. "'Tis a long story. And I wouldn't wish to bore you ladies," Isobel said.
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