My Brave Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  "The Earl of Jedwarth." Why was he asking now? Her stomach knotted. Did he think her mad for marrying such an old man? She'd had little choice in the matter. Short of running away, like she did this time, she couldn't have escaped the marriage. Her brother had told her he'd no longer support her financially if she didn't marry to establish clan alliances. She didn't know if it was a true threat, or if he was only trying to coerce her. Cyrus was not known for his compassion.

  "That's what I thought Maighread meant when she called you Lady Jedwarth." Dirk turned away and paced before the hearth. "Why did you not tell me?" Frowning, he observed her again.

  "I don't like being called Lady Jedwarth. I'm no longer married to the man and every time someone calls me that, I cringe inside. I think of him and… the months, weeks and days before his death. Even though I didn't love him, it was an extremely taxing time. I want to move forward and think about the future. Surely something better awaits."

  "Did he mistreat you?"

  "Nay. He was kind enough, as was everyone in his household. But then, the day after his funeral, his nephew—his heir—arrived to send me back to my brother."

  The last thing she wanted to do when she had time alone with Dirk was talk about the Earl of Jedwarth. The two men were drastically different. Jedwarth had been frail and sickly, while Dirk was the epitome of strength and health. Who could blame her for being drawn to Dirk?

  "Jedwarth and the MacMorrison clan are closely allied with the clan Maighread was born into, the Gordons."

  "Indeed, they were friends. But I had no choice in the matter. Do you think I'd choose a man who was nearly sixty years of age to marry? My brother arranged it."

  She hoped Dirk wouldn't hold her first husband against her. Surely he knew most chiefs' daughters had no say in who they married. They weren't tied and dragged to their weddings, but they were not allowed to choose a man they found attractive. Nor were they allowed to marry for love.

  Her mother and father had fallen in love after their arranged marriage. They had wanted her to have a say in who she married, but her brother was less sympathetic. She hadn't been able to find a husband while her parents still lived. No man had suited her. Her brother had run out of patience. Cyrus wasn't married, and he thought love matches were frivolous.

  "Do you trust Maighread?" Dirk asked.

  "Of course not." In fact, Isobel was exceedingly wary of the woman and her odd behavior.

  "I hope you didn't tell her what happened at Munrick."

  She cringed. "Although I didn't want to, I was forced to tell her what Nolan MacLeod did."

  "Why?" Dirk demanded in a harsh tone.

  "Lady Patience Murray had already heard I was supposed to marry the MacLeod, because she'd spent two nights at Munrick on the way here. I had to give a believable excuse for running out into a snowstorm. I hope Maighread will keep my secret. I also told her I would not marry the MacLeod. And I meant it."

  Propping his hand against the mantel, Dirk nodded. "I hope you won't have to, but 'twill not be simple to extract yourself from the betrothal contract your brother signed. His word, his honor and his reputation are on the line. 'Tis not an action he will take lightly. Nor will the MacLeods."

  Was Dirk like all other men who saw women as naught but pawns to be placed where they would benefit the men most? Rage rushed through her. "I don't care what my brother signed. I refuse to be pawed and accosted by the men of the clan I'm marrying into. Mother was shown great respect by our clan, and she taught me that I deserved no less than the same. Father loved her and treated her like precious glass. My wish is to find someone who will care as much for me but… it appears beyond my reach." Salty tears pricked her eyes as she stared into the orange coals. She hadn't meant to reveal so much about her emotions, but her words had poured out. She had not been raised to be a subservient nobody, trod on by others, and could hardly fall into that role now.

  She ventured a glance at Dirk.

  He had been staring at her, but shifted his gaze away from her.

  What was he thinking? How pathetic she was? That she couldn't face reality? A love match was naught but a worthless fanciful whim? It hadn't been worthless to her parents. Their lives had been too short but they'd lived those years to the fullest and experienced more happiness than most people.

  Although she'd had a sheltered upbringing, she'd known cold hard reality since her parents had died. Her brother had no qualms about pushing her out into the real world.

  "Has Maighread talked to you about me?" Dirk asked.

  Startled by his abrupt change in subject, she eyed him, but he wasn't even looking at her; he was examining the tapestry over the fireplace. He had to trust her in order to ask her that, didn't he? He seemed a wee bit vulnerable at the moment.

  She was still perplexed by the half-mad way Maighread had denied that Dirk was who he'd said he was. "Do you promise not to tell her what I say?"

  "Aye, of course. I talk to her as little as possible." He took the seat opposite her again.

  "I think she is going senile," Isobel said.

  "Why do you say this?"

  "Even in private, she swears she has no memory of you."

  Dirk snorted. "She remembers me, have no doubt of it. She's lying."

  "Well, I thought perhaps that was the case, but she seems so vehement about it."

  "I saw the recognition in her eyes. She knows who I am. That scares her. She's wanted the title and holdings for Aiden since he was born."

  "She has always been kind to me." Isobel shook her head. "I can't understand this vicious side of her."

  "Aye. She hides it from others for the most part, but she's held a grudge against me since the day she married my father. In truth, 'tis more like a strong, deep-rooted hatred. She attempted to kill me two other times when I was younger. Although she did not come so close as she did that last time."

  Outrage sliced through Isobel. "Is the woman truly mad? How did she try to kill you the other times?"

  Dirk stared into the glowing coals for a long moment. "The winter I was eight, I developed some sort of illness and fever. I was sick for days. I remember her coming into my room one night and opening the window shutters, allowing the icy air to gust into the room. I was perplexed about why she was doing that, but I was half-mad with fevered dreams and nightmares. I was too sick to arise and close the window. No servants or healers were about. She must have sent them back to their own beds. I only remember feeling cold and numb, then drifting off to comforting sleep. When I awoke, my father was shaking me violently and yelling. The room was filled with servants and clan members. They held me before the fire trying to warm me."

  Isobel's throat constricted so tightly she couldn't speak and tears blurred her vision. She knew not what to say anyway. She was afraid if she opened her mouth she'd cry her eyes out. How could the woman she knew do such a cruel deed to a helpless, sick child? But she feared Dirk had seen the tears in her eyes.

  He rose and paced across the library and back. "Another time when I was around ten, they told me I'd fallen and rolled down a flight of steps and hit my head on the stone floor. I only remember approaching the steps from the top and Maighread coming up behind me. I had no notion she would push me. Although I was cautious around her, I'd felt no true fear. But the memory of the rest is erased. When I awoke, my arm was broken and I was so sore all over I could hardly move. I still have the knot on the back of my head to prove it. I suspected she might have pushed me, and Uncle Conall thought that might have been the case."

  Isobel dried her eyes as fury burgeoned inside her. "How could she do something so horrible to a wee lad?" Isobel could not comprehend it. "Did you tell your father what you suspected?"

  "Aye. When Uncle Conall and I told Da what she'd done, he said we were both mad. It angered him that we would accuse his sweet Maighread of such treachery. He loved her so much he was blind to her manipulations." A muscle flexed in Dirk's jaw.

  "Well, given her duplicity, I'm certain my mot
her would've never suspected her of being so cruel and malicious to a child either. She's tricked those closest to her. Those who loved her best didn't even know her." Isobel's mother would be shocked and horrified if she knew.

  "Not unless she's revealed her true nature to her sons," Dirk said. "She has an evil soul. That is the only explanation that makes sense."

  "Indeed." Isobel vividly recalled her conversation with Maighread in the solar. "Earlier in the day she said you and Conall should watch your backs. So I think she is making plans."

  "I expect she is. She's desperate. In her eyes, I've come to steal her son's inheritance, title, position. But I no longer fear her as I did when I was a wee, defenseless lad."

  Still, Isobel worried over his safety. "You cannot be too careful."

  His sharp gaze pinioned her. "I am ever vigilant."

  "I know." How horrible it must be to live life that way, expecting someone to ambush him at any moment.

  Isobel would do whatever it took to make sure he remained safe. She'd stick close to Maighread and pretend to dislike him so Maighread would trust her.

  "I hope you'll be careful around her as well," Dirk said. "And stay away from her as much as possible."

  She nodded, but planned to do the opposite. Dirk wouldn't agree for her to spy on Maighread. But she had to do something to help him, to protect him. For the first time in her life, she felt she had a purpose, a noble cause. She couldn't believe how much Dirk had come to mean to her, even if she couldn't have him for her very own.

  ***

  Both of Maighread's sons filed into the solar, lit by firelight and a few candles. Weren't they handsome? And now, all grown up. Their father would be so proud of them. After glancing out into the corridor to make sure no one was about, she closed the door.

  "I don't intend to let this imposter who calls himself Dirk steal your inheritance," she said to Aiden, keeping her voice low.

  "What are you talking about, Mother? He is Dirk." Aiden's green eyes, so like her own, now challenged her.

  Her poor naïve son. Aye, he was intelligent but she was going to have to teach him better acting skills.

  "Nay. Don't tell me he has you deceived too. I thought you were a canny lad."

  Aiden frowned and glanced at Haldane.

  "I agree with Mother," her wise younger son said. Of course, he probably didn't remember Dirk, so no acting skills required.

  Aiden did not look convinced by her lies. In fact, he looked irritable. She could not understand him.

  "Do you want him to steal your inheritance?" she asked.

  Aiden remained silent for a long moment, studying her. "Nay. Of course not."

  "Good." Finally, he was seeing reason. "Now, Haldane, I need for you to go find Donald McMurdo and tell him to come here forthwith. Have him hide behind the church and wait for me. You'll come tell me when you've found him. Don't allow anyone else to know he's here."

  "Why?" Haldane demanded.

  "Because I said so." How dare he question her? She couldn't reveal all to her sons. They were too young to understand the full consequences. They had no inkling of the extremes she would go to in order to protect them and their future.

  Haldane released an impatient, longsuffering breath. "What if he won't agree to it and attacks my men?"

  "Tell him…" She thought for a moment, considering what he valued most. "If he doesn't do what I say, the burial place he paid a king's ransom for is forfeit, seized by the chief." She smiled at Aiden. "And I'll have McMurdo arrested for the dozen murders he's responsible for." Instead of the one he failed at.

  Dirk would not be so lucky this time.

  ***

  Later that night, Dirk was trying to sleep when something bumped the chamber door. What the devil? Was someone trying to break in? He could barely see the door in the glow from the hearth. He rose and yanked on his trews beneath his long linen shirt. Listening, he heard naught more. After lighting a candle from the coals and grabbing his dagger, he opened the door. In the corridor, the candlelight gleamed off the back of Isobel's dark hair, long and loose, hanging halfway down her back.

  "Lady Isobel? What are you doing out here in the dark?" Dirk asked, holding his candle aloft. She didn't even have a candle with her.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and turned. She frowned, blinked and glanced around. "Where am I? I was dreaming about…" Glancing down and seeing she was wearing nothing more than a smock, she crossed her arms over her chest. But not before he caught a tempting glimpse of generous breasts and hard nipples tenting the thin material.

  Arousal surged through his body. Damnation! Her spellbinding curves made him ache.

  "Were you sleepwalking?" Or was she pretending for some other purpose? Had Maighread convinced her to spy on him? Or did Isobel want to seduce him? His body quickened enthusiastically at that idea. Although he wanted to trust her, he had his doubts. She'd spent too much time with his stepmother.

  "As you ken, sometimes I do traipse about in my sleep," Isobel said, shivering. "I'm not insane, truly."

  "I never said you were. You're freezing. Come in and warm by the fire. I'll give you a blanket." He stood back and waited for her to enter the room.

  Isobel halted just inside the door. Oh heavens, Dirk's bed sat in the corner, the covers rumpled. She didn't know she'd ventured so close to his bedchamber. Well, she knew this was his room. With little else to do, she often explored the castle when she felt restless and she had often walked by this door. But why had she come here while asleep?

  "I'll go back to my room," she said. Not that she didn't want to be in his bedchamber. She certainly did. But he'd forcefully rejected her after that first kiss. She didn't want him to think she was a whorish manipulator.

  He closed the door, then led her to the fireplace. "Warm yourself first. You're shivering."

  She held her hands out to the glowing coals, absorbing the luxurious heat. It felt good, but not as wonderful as the warmth of Dirk's hands and body would feel. She'd missed riding behind him on the horse and being close to him. During their travels north, she'd been able to touch him several hours per day and she'd grown used to the feel of his strong body. She shuddered, craving that heat and closeness again.

  "You're chilled to the bone." He wrapped an already warm woolen blanket around her shoulders. It must have been one from his bed.

  She shivered again, but with delight this time. She sighed, unable to believe how protected and cozy she felt in his arms.

  Losing control to the overwhelming instinct, she relaxed back against him. Not wanting him to see her need, she turned her face away, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

  He stroked her hair aside, his warm fingers brushing against the cool skin beneath her ear. Tingles of bliss showered down her neck and chest.

  "Och," he said low, his fingertips tarrying against her throat. "I should not touch you, Isobel."

  She turned her head and faced him. "I want you to touch me," she breathed.

  His blue gaze, usually piercing, now grew darkened beneath a pained frown.

  She knew he desired her. Even though she was still a virgin, she was not a naïve young lass. Being a woman of five-and-twenty, she had observed men closely for years, along with their responses. Dirk was a gentleman who hid his passionate nature deep within, but his eyes were most expressive. She could almost read his thoughts. Right now, his eyes said he wanted to kiss her… as he had that first night in the stable. His passion was unleashed then, at least for a few seconds. What might she do to release it again?

  She turned to press the front of her body to his. He wore a long shirt and trews. The thin material could not disguise the hard muscles of his chest pressing into her breasts.

  A low growl escaped his throat.

  Breathing a light moan in response, she slid her arm around his trim waist. He was so tall and broad-shouldered he aroused her woman's instincts. She loved how he'd always protected her.

  He pushed his fingers into her hair and st
roked his thumb along her jaw, gently over her cheek. "Isobel," he said in a soft, bemused tone. "What am I going to do with you?"

  "This." Reaching up, she pressed her lips to his. Sweet heaven, his lips were warm and firm.

  "Mmm." His lips parted and he flicked his tongue against her lips. Instantly, need flooded her, causing her to open to him. His tongue darted into her mouth. He tasted of hot aroused male and she wanted more. She buried her hands in his hair, wishing she could climb his frame and feast upon his mouth. He was heat and flame… the only cozy warmth in this frozen landscape.

  His hands on her derriere, he lifted her exactly as she wished, drawing her legs around his waist, and she locked her arms around his neck, his mouth never leaving hers. He tasted of fiery, peaty whisky, a dark earthy flavor blended with heated male.

  He drew his mouth away and pressed his forehead to hers. "Mmm, you taste so sweet," he murmured.

  She moaned, yearning for more kisses.

  "We should not be doing this," he said.

  Nay, do not stop. She had craved this for the longest time. She had waited forever to experience passion. Fearing he would stop, she held on tighter and kissed a slow, sensual trail along his bristly cheek to his ear.

  He moaned and hugged her tighter.

  She wriggled against him, her sensitive, wet and tingling center rubbing against his abdomen, only linen separating them. How she wished to feel his hot flesh on hers, his hard shaft. How she wished he would lay her upon his bed, strip the clothing from her body and take her. She would welcome his invasion.

  "Saints, Isobel, we must stop," he growled, then let her feet drop to the floor as he set her down.

  Her knees so weak she feared she'd fall, she shook her head and held on. "I wish to please you in… whatever way you desire."

  He muttered Gaelic curses and dragged her arms from around his neck.

  She glared at him. He was rejecting her again, after she'd made it clear how much she wanted him.

  "You drive me insane. But I cannot simply take you. Do you not know there will be consequences?"

  "And what is the consequence of never knowing what it could be like between us?" she asked, frustration fueling her courage. "I know not what true passion feels like. I had hoped to find love, to find passion. But instead, my brother sends me to a man with one foot in the grave and a barbarian. 'Tis not what I wanted. My mother always said I would find true passion. Naïvely, I believed her. But perhaps I am only a foolish romantic." Dropping her tear-blurred gaze to the floor, she shook her head. "I wish I was stronger. I wish I had no heart and no dreams. Then perhaps I could be a brood mare for the MacLeod chief, and a whore to his brother as well. And if they sent me away, I could be chattel to some other chief. It would be better if I had no soul."