My Brave Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  Dirk grabbed for the oar but McMurdo yanked it beyond his reach at the last second, then struck him with it. Dirk couldn't dodge in time and the thwack on the forehead sent pain ratcheting through his skull.

  Knife in hand, Keegan launched himself at the highwayman. "Cease! I'll slit your throat, old man!"

  Eying how close Keegan's sgian dubh was to his throat, McMurdo froze and dropped the oar. "Very well, you got me, you shite."

  "I should finish you off right here. Then you can put that expensive tomb to good use."

  He held up his hands in surrender.

  "Tie his hands and his feet this time," Dirk said. Once they had, he and Aiden climbed aboard, shivering in their wet clothes. They placed their prisoner face down this time and watched his hands closely.

  Keegan rowed and they quickly arrived at the boat landing. Once in the outer cave, Dirk guided Aiden, quaking with cold, toward the small fire at the back of the cave. The men had built it up and added more dried driftwood.

  "What the hell happened? You took a swim?" Rebbie asked.

  "Aye, that bastard knocked Aiden overboard and I went in to help him."

  "He's a good brother," Aiden said, his teeth chattering.

  Rebbie nodded. "You two best get dried off before we head outside into the wind."

  The cave was in a protected location, tucked between two cliff walls. And the heat of the fire had warmed the walls of rock here in the back of the cave. It would take some time to dry all their clothes. The lick on the head smarted and Dirk felt somewhat dizzy. Everything grew black and he felt himself falling over but could do naught about it.

  "Dirk?" Someone pried his eye open. He frowned, focusing on Rebbie's blurry face above him.

  "You had a serious injury, my friend. That gash on your head is bleeding badly."

  "We have to get him to the castle where the healer is," Keegan said. At least Dirk thought it was Keegan. His thinking wasn't too clear at the moment.

  "His clothes are still too wet to leave the cave," Rebbie said. "And so are yours, Aiden."

  "Nay, my plaid is always wet in winter. The wool is warmer when wet."

  "I'm thinking his trews are not wool, but a thick linen instead."

  "We'll pull them off him then."

  "No one is touching my trews," Dirk growled. "I'm well." He shoved to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain in his head and fighting the dizziness. He refused to show weakness before the men. What kind of chief would he be if he was so easily brought to his knees? He'd fought in far more grisly battles. Rebbie and someone else caught him before he realized he'd staggered.

  "McMurdo?" he asked.

  "Tied up," Keegan said.

  "What are we waiting for?" Dirk demanded. "Let's get him to the dungeon."

  "We're waiting for your trews to dry, brother," Aiden said.

  "My trews are fine just as they are." He headed toward the cave opening, pretending to ignore how the cold air chilled his wet hair and scalp. He pulled his wool mantle's cowl over his head. That was much warmer, but he was still dizzy and his head ached so strongly he couldn't think clearly. He hoped he could make it up the narrow path that led to the top of the cliffs.

  He struggled up the pathway, agonizingly placing one foot in front of the other. Once at the top, the splitting ache in his head increased to near unbearable. Must have been the exertion of the climb. The wind pounded against him strongly, the temperature like ice. It plastered his wet trews to his legs. Surely they would freeze solid in a matter of minutes. Though he could hardly feel his legs, he moved forward, felt himself falling and all went black.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isobel couldn't sleep after Dirk and his men had gone to find McMurdo. Who knew what the murdering highwayman would do? She lurked in a dark nook beneath a stairwell. What if Dirk never returned? Nay, she couldn't think of that. He meant too much to her to even contemplate something terrible happening to him.

  At one point, Haldane and Maighread had come rushing back from outside and up the stairs, arguing in low tones. She only heard a word here or there and it made no sense. Apparently, they knew the men were onto them.

  Praying Dirk would return safely, she waited. A long while later, loud voices of several men echoed from the great hall.

  Isobel rushed from her hiding place. When she arrived in the dimly lit hall, she froze at the scene before her. Two men helped Dirk shuffle across the floor, one under each arm. His eyes were closed more than open. The side of his face and his hair were bloody.

  She hurried toward them. "What's happened? He's bleeding terribly, and he's drenched."

  "The highwayman kicked me off the boat as we were crossing through the cave," Aiden said, his thin body shivering and his teeth chattering as he stood before the fireplace. "Dirk jumped in and saved my life, then the bastard grabbed an oar and hit Dirk on the head."

  Bastard was right. She'd like to take that oar to McMurdo's head. Dirk looked terrible, his skin pale and his lips a faint blue.

  "He's freezing! Let's get him out of those wet clothes and he'll warm up," she said.

  "I'm fine," Dirk growled between clenched teeth, his body starting to shiver and shake. "I'll… my chamber."

  He staggered toward the steps. Clearly he was more injured than he would admit.

  "Bring some hot water and whisky," she directed one of the male servants who had been sleeping in the hall. "Where is the healer?" His wound would need cleaning and a healing balm applied.

  "I'll fetch her," Aiden said.

  "Your clothes are wet too, Aiden."

  "Aye. I'll change," he called as he trotted away.

  Dirk moved under his own power slowly up the narrow turnpike stair. Two of his clansmen followed and Isobel brought up the rear. How long had he been out in the freezing wind, drenched as he was? He was sure to catch an ague. Once in his chamber, he fell onto his bed.

  "Help me get him out of those icy wet clothes," she said to the two men.

  "Wool is warmer when it's wet," Keegan said.

  "Well then, why are his lips turning blue?"

  The man frowned.

  "Stoke the fire. I'll do this." She removed Dirk's mantle then the layers of wool tartan frozen in icicles. His linen shirt stuck to his skin. Saints! She untied his trews and yanked at them. Erskine helped her turn him over and slip the clothing from his back.

  "Leave me be," Dirk grumbled.

  "Nay. Do you want to die?" she asked.

  She threw a dry wool blanket over him and tugged his trews off.

  "What happened?" asked a shrunken ancient woman from the doorway.

  "Are you the healer?" Isobel asked.

  "Aye. I'm Nannag."

  "Thank goodness you're here. Someone hit him on the head with a wooden oar. He's bleeding badly and near frozen."

  Once all Dirk's wet clothes were piled in a heap on the floor, she covered him with another woolen blanket.

  The two men left and the healer examined the gash on Dirk's forehead. "It has stopped bleeding. We'll wash the blood away and see if the wound needs stitching. I'll fetch the necessary herbs for a tea." She disappeared out the door.

  Dirk's skin retained the unhealthy bluish pallor and powerful shivers racked his body. He needed warmth immediately and the heat from the small fireplace would not reach the bed for a long while.

  Isobel unclasped her belt and lowered her arisaid to the floor. Removing everything excerpt her thin linen smock, she crawled beneath the blankets and lay on top of him. Heavens, his whole body was like a solid block of ice.

  He sucked in a sharp breath and his cold hands clasped her waist, giving her a chill. He mumbled words Isobel couldn't decipher. His breath smelled of whisky. Perhaps one of the men had given him some to help warm his veins.

  "Shh. Just rest. I'll get you warm again." She kissed his neck, thankful he had returned to her. His skin was so cold she worried he might have frostbite.

  His body quaked with another severe bout of shivers. Hop
efully he was gradually warming, for he had not even been shivering when he'd first arrived at the castle.

  "Oh, Lady Isobel! What are you doing?" Jessie asked in a surprised whisper.

  Isobel glanced toward her, just inside the door, hands covering her eyes. "I'm getting him warm with my own body heat. If I hadn't, he might have died."

  "Oh." Jessie uncovered her eyes and rushed forward. "How is he?"

  "Gradually warming, I think."

  The healer returned, approaching the bed with wide eyes and a faint smile. "Let's see if he'll wake enough to drink some whisky."

  "I think he already had some," Isobel said.

  "I'll steep some herbal tea then." After shuffling to the fireplace, she sprinkled some leaves in a wooden cup and poured hot water on it.

  "I'll guard the door, Isobel, lest word get out you're in bed with my brother." Jessie headed toward the door, but before she could reach it, Rebbie entered.

  "How is he?" His brows shot up. "Having much more fun than I am, I see."

  Burning heat rushed over Isobel. "Don't be silly, Laird Rebbinglen! I'm warming him with my body heat."

  "Lucky bastard," he muttered.

  Jessie proceeded into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind her.

  "'Tis not a jest. He could've died."

  "Hmph. Wish I'd almost died instead."

  "Go to hell, Rebbie," Dirk mumbled.

  Isobel drew in a sharp breath, but was glad he acted more alert.

  Rebbie chuckled. "You see, he's perfectly lucid. Rugged as the Highlands, that one."

  That's when she noticed something hard prodding her leg as she lay on top of Dirk. Oh heavens, was that…? Was he aroused? Staying beneath the covers, she rolled off Dirk and laid her hand along the side of his chilled face. "Are you feeling better?"

  "Aye."

  "I wager he feels better than… better," Rebbie muttered. "Do you not?"

  "Aye," Dirk said in a monotone that revealed nothing, his eyes still closed.

  "Could I have a moment of privacy, if you please?" Isobel asked.

  "Of course." Rebbie bowed and backed toward the corridor.

  "Nay, you cannot go in there, Haldane!" Jessie ordered from outside the door.

  "Step aside, sister," he growled then stormed into the room.

  "What is…?" His eyes ran over Isobel in bed beside Dirk. "What the hell is going on here? Is this a jest?"

  "He almost froze to death. I was but warming him with my body heat."

  He gave a nasty laugh. "Aye. I'm certain."

  "What do you want?" Dirk growled low.

  "Stay away from Aiden. You almost got him killed. And release McMurdo from the dungeon. He's done naught."

  Dirk grunted. "You're daft if you're thinking I'll do either."

  "You're not chief! You can't order that anyone be held."

  "Get out, Haldane. And not a word to anyone." Jessie tried to shove him toward the door, but, being much larger, he hardly budged.

  Oh blast! Haldane would tell his mother. And then she'd think Isobel and Dirk were having a tryst. Maighread might not trust Isobel as much after that. Or she might send someone to tell the MacLeod that Dirk had stolen his bride. Isobel would have to talk to her and assure her she was saving a man's life, not seducing him.

  With a muttered curse, Haldane finally stomped from the room and Rebbie left too, giving Isobel the privacy she craved. Although Nannag still sat hunched before the hearth, she was focused on her healing herbs and making a tisane.

  Isobel slipped out of bed and quickly draped the arisaid around her like a blanket, trying to avoid looking at Dirk. She couldn't believe he was aroused, considering he was injured and near frozen. Did naught keep a virile man down? That gave her a different sort of heated shivers.

  Nannag washed the blood from Dirk's head to better examine his wound. "It bled a plenty, but 'tis only a wee cut and won't need stitching."

  Isobel was glad to hear this, but she noticed the area around the tiny cut was turning a reddish-violet color.

  A moment later, the healer brought the wooden cup forward. "Here, sir. Drink this." Despite her advanced age, she was a lively little woman with a strong voice.

  Isobel helped Dirk raise his head off the pillow while he drank several sips.

  "There now. That's good." Nannag took the cup away.

  "What is in that?" Isobel asked, realizing too late that she didn't know if the healer was trustworthy.

  "'Tis a secret blend for head injuries."

  Isobel frowned. Herbs could heal or they could kill. Could Nannag be a pawn of Maighread? The blood in Isobel's veins chilled.

  "Never fear, my dear. The recipe was passed down through many generations of my family and has healed many a warrior and removed the pain of wounds."

  Isobel nodded, still unsure if the woman could have underhanded motives. "I thank you for helping him."

  "I remember this man's great-grandfather." She smiled proudly. "My first responsibility is always to the chief of the MacKays and their sons. What about you?"

  Although glad Nannag appeared loyal, Isobel frowned, wondering what the woman meant by her question. "What about me?"

  "Why are you helping him so much, lass?" Her brows lifted, deepening the wrinkles in her forehead.

  "Because he helped me. If he hadn't rescued me in that snowstorm, I might not be alive now." Of course, that wasn't the only reason, but it was the only one she was willing to give. No one need know how much she cared about him.

  The elderly healer sent her an impish smile. "Well then, dear lass, you're lucky he found you." She gathered her things and waddled out the door, meeting Aiden and Erskine in the doorway.

  They entered and approached the bed. "How are you feeling, brother?" Aiden asked.

  Dirk opened his eyes. "I'm well, lads. Tell Keegan and the rest of the men that I'll live."

  "I'll be guarding from the hallway if you should need anything," Erskine said.

  "I thank you."

  Aiden bid him goodnight and left. Erskine retreated to the corridor and closed the door.

  Still wondering what the healer had implied about why she was helping him, Isobel let her gaze roam over Dirk. She was startled to find him watching her.

  She moved forward and placed her hand along the side of his bristly cheek. His skin still wasn't back to a normal temperature but it was warmer than before. "Are you still cold?"

  "Nay. I thank you for warming me. I daresay no one else in the clan would've done what you did. Nor would I want them to."

  "But you didn't mind if I shared my body heat?" she asked.

  He gave a brief laugh, then snapped his eyes closed tight with a grunt as if the laugh had caused him pain. "Nay. Your warmth was like paradise. I didn't realize how cold I was."

  Isobel should've been embarrassed but she wasn't. Besides, she hadn't been naked. She wasn't terribly scandalous. "'Twas a matter of necessity. I did not wish you to freeze to death."

  "I'm not that tender." He touched the injury on his forehead, then frowned.

  "Does it hurt?" she asked.

  "Not much. Damned McMurdo."

  "You ordered the men to lock him in the dungeon?"

  "Aye. I can hardly wait to question the bastard."

  She took the cloth from the wooden bowl of warm water the maid had brought and dabbed at the blood remaining on his forehead. "I'll clean it gently and hopefully it won't start bleeding again. The healer said you wouldn't need stitches." It was mainly a bruise rather than a cut.

  Dirk grunted and his eyes slid closed as if he were greatly relaxed. He didn't move while she washed the blood away from his head and his hair. His breathing grew deep as if he might have fallen asleep. What on earth had been in the herbal tisane?

  He murmured words she couldn't understand as if talking in his sleep. Her maid told her she did that all the time.

  "Aye, you must sleep and heal, mo chridhe." She kissed the side of his forehead, away from the wound. Goodness
, now he felt much hotter. Surely he was not coming down with a fever. She pressed her lips against his skin again, more to check his temperature than to kiss him, but 'twas a good excuse to do just that.

  "Mmm," he murmured along with more mumbled words, as if rousing again, and opened his eyes a crack. With a hand on her arm, he tugged her to him.

  She let out a squeak of surprise. "I thought you were going to sleep. What are you doing? Dirk?"

  "Aye," he whispered and drew her closer still. With a slight grin, he lifted his head and kissed her lips. Surely he was not yet recovered enough for this. But… Mmm. He tasted of virile male, whisky, and minty herbal tea. She could happily devour him, but this was bad timing.

  "Dirk?" she said between his insistent kisses. "Do you even know who I am?"

  "Mmm-hmm." He pulled her fully onto the bed beside him and rolled half on top of her. "My sweet Isobel." His kisses grew more demanding and passionate. More intoxicating. Even if she could stop him, she wouldn't want to.

  My sweet Isobel? Not only did he know her name, he was calling her his. Was he in the grasp of a fevered dream? Had the herbal tea drugged him? Or was this a continuation of what they'd begun earlier in the night? Either way, she couldn't resist his heated, delectable mouth.

  Sliding his hand down her back to her derrière, he drew her tight against his lower body. Having undressed him, she knew he was naked beneath the covers. Now, his erect member nudged against her lower belly. It was an entrancing and compelling feeling that made her want to draw even closer.

  She knew little about men's bodies and had only seen a glimpse of one naked. She and her former husband had always slept in a darkened or dimly lit room. Nor did she truly know what an erect member felt like, skin to skin. She could find out now, if she was bold enough. Gathering her courage, she ran her hand down over the sculpted muscles and dusting of hair on Dirk's bare chest and stomach, beneath the covers and stroked her fingertips along his shaft, which felt as fevered as his head had moments ago. But even more fascinating, his member was hard as a wood timber, but the skin smooth and silky. Her instincts awoke and her body quickened at the feeling of his. Taking him within her hand, she squeezed, testing his hardness. Amazing.