My Brave Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  She slipped up the tiny flight of spiral steps, hoping to find a secluded spot to be alone and think. Beitris had dogged her every step, asking questions about why she'd spent the night alone with Dirk again. She'd pretended to be headed out to walk on the beach, and Beitris had thought her mad for that idea. In truth, Isobel didn't want to go out into the cold wind.

  She followed the stairs upward to a conical tower on the southwest corner of one section of Dunnakeil and closed the small door. The rare afternoon sunlight shining in the two tiny windows was just what she needed to perk up her mood.

  Since he was now chief, Dirk was busy with clan affairs. He always would be and he'd likely have little time for her. Though she needed to spy on Maighread and find out her plans, she couldn't stand to look at the woman after the lies she'd told Dirk. Nor would Maighread trust her any longer.

  Taking a deep breath, Isobel glanced around the diminutive circular stone tower room. At one time, guards must've been stationed here, but after further additions to the castle, it was no longer needed for this purpose.

  She squinted out the wavy glass window, unable to see clearly what was below, but at least she could enjoy the sunlight for a few moments without freezing. The rhythmic movement below was waves crashing onto shore and sliding across the sand. It reminded her of the day she'd walked on the beach, then found Dirk at the church. Having seen him little today, she missed him, especially after the intimacy of sharing a bed last night.

  He'd said he could barely remember what happened. What annoyed her most was that he suspected her of drugging him. Certainly, she'd wanted to lie with him but she would do naught underhanded to seduce him. How could he not know this?

  Should she search him out and assure him of the truth or give him some breathing room? How could he trust such a duplicitous woman's word over her own? After what he'd been through, with the attempts on his life, Isobel could understand that he would find it difficult to trust anyone. Even her.

  For most of the day, she'd been unable to think of much beyond their lovemaking. She couldn't believe the profound intimacy they'd shared and how much she'd enjoyed it, craved it again. No one could've ever explained coupling to her sufficiently. 'Twas simply an act she'd had to experience to believe. Although she felt wicked for indulging with a man who wasn't her husband yet.

  How pleasant and amazing marriage must be for women who were truly attracted to their husbands… and surely attraction led to love.

  She shook her head, trying to put last night from her mind.

  Focusing on her surroundings again, she realized this tiny tower room reminded her of the one in the castle where she'd grown up. When she was ten or twelve, she'd daydreamed about being a bride someday, and marrying the handsome man she would fall in love with. Her naïve fantasies were modeled after her parents' happy marriage. And she'd always imagined her favorite love ballad, The Laird o' Logie, being played at her wedding banquet.

  When her wedding to Jedwarth came to pass, it had been nothing like she'd imagined. 'Twas naught but a business arrangement. Her husband hadn't been a handsome man her own age, and she certainly wasn't madly in love with him. There were no genuine smiles. Only forced ones. The wedding feast had been grand, but she'd barely known anyone and none of her favorite ballads were played. No one had even asked her what she preferred. It was all arranged. All she had to do was show up and say I do.

  She was a grown woman now who knew what reality was. Not a silly child caught up in daydreams. Perhaps her favorite ballad would never be played on her wedding day, but she could play it herself for she'd learned it long ago.

  Standing before the window, she took her small flute from the pouch on her belt and placed it against her lower lip. After positioning her fingers, she played scales to warm up. Her splint hampered the movement of one of her fingers but she could play well enough by lifting and lowering the finger and not bending it. After a minute, she paused, then started playing the ballad. She hoped she remembered it all. Years had passed since she'd practiced it. She missed a few notes here and there, but it was a fair rendition since she had no audience.

  After a moment, she drifted back many years to when she was a young lass filled with hope for a bright future. Tears burned her eyes and caused her vision to blur. After dashing them away, she played the next verse, the words of the romantic tale streaming through her mind. It was about a young laird who was taken prisoner by the king, but then rescued by his lady love.

  A creak sounded behind her. She jumped and turned toward the door, wiping the annoying tears from her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Isobel was surprised to see Dirk standing in the open doorway of the small, circular tower room. "Lady Isobel? Pray pardon. I thought Aiden was practicing his music up here."

  "Nay. 'Tis only me."

  "I didn't know you played." His sharp gaze speared her. "Why are you crying?"

  "It matters not." Turning away, she wiped her sleeve at the idiotic tears. She hated for anyone to see her cry.

  "Are you hurt?" he demanded, coming more fully into the room. "How is your hand?"

  "Nay, I'm well. And how is your head?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

  "I have a headache. But I'd have one even if I hadn't taken an oar to the head last night."

  "What is wrong?"

  "I'd rather not talk about it." He came forward. "Let me see your broken finger."

  When she held out her hand, he took it into his large warm ones. She loved the way his strong fingers held hers so gently as if he was afraid he'd injure her.

  "The bruise is fading and the swelling has gone down," he observed.

  She nodded.

  His piercing gaze returned to her face. "So… why are you crying?"

  "I'm not now." She grinned slightly, trying to convince him she was fine. In truth, being with him did lift her mood.

  "But you were."

  She shook her head. "'Twas the ballad I was playing. It makes me think of… Never mind. I'm sure you think I'm silly."

  "Nay. Of course not. I'm curious." Considering his rapt attention, he did appear interested.

  "Well, when I was a girl, The Laird o' Logie was my favorite. My mother often had the musicians play it after supper. I thought one day the ballad would be played at my wedding feast. I led a sheltered life back then, and I actually believed my dreams would come true. Of course, they didn't."

  He moved toward the window as if distracted by something outside. After a moment, he turned back to her but she was unable to decipher his expression.

  "I told you it was silly," she said, her face heating.

  "'Tis not silly to wish to be happy."

  "I hope you're happy being the new chief."

  He shrugged. "Being chief is not a matter of happiness for me, but a matter of duty and responsibility."

  She understood those things all too well, and they were not usually pleasant, at least not in her case. "Still, I hope you will enjoy being chief. I think you're ideally suited for the position. You're wise and brave. You will be a great leader."

  "I thank you. I'll do my best." The afternoon sunlight in the room ignited the vivid blue of his eyes like flame.

  "'Tis clear to me you will not be a greedy laird. Instead, you will be one who protects his people."

  He gave a brief nod. "I will try as best I can to emulate my father. He was a skilled and well-respected chief. The clan could not have been more loyal to him."

  She nodded, remembering how she'd felt when she entered this bower. "I wanted to talk to you about what Maighread said. She lied. I didn't say you were disgusting and barbaric. In fact, the opposite is true. You are the most appealing man I've ever met. Though you are strong and tough, you are also compassionate and protective."

  He wore a slight frown but said naught, appearing speechless for the moment.

  "I hope you don't believe I'm manipulating you, like she said. If you wish me to leave, I will. I'm not trying to trap you into… a
nything."

  "Nay, I blame myself," he muttered with a tortured expression. "A man should maintain control at all times, especially with a lady who is… inexperienced. Even if I'd known, I'm not sure I would've had enough reasoning ability to stop."

  "Well… I didn't try to stop you either. A widow of five-and-twenty should not be a virgin. I know you barely remember it, but for me it was…" She shook her head. "I have no words to describe it. More exquisite and beautiful than anything I could've imagined."

  He gave her a dark look, his lashes lowered. Abruptly, he turned. "I must go."

  "What? Why?"

  He exited and closed the door behind him. Damn the man anyway. Why had he done that? Why wouldn't he talk to her and explain himself?

  ***

  Dirk sucked in a deep breath of cool air in the corridor and headed toward the roof.

  Exquisite and beautiful.

  The way Isobel had described their lovemaking compelled him to pin her to the wall and take her again. Need and keen lust had shot through his body so swiftly, he'd near become dizzy with it. He had to find some restraint around her. If that meant not being around her, that's what he'd do.

  If he got her with child before she was free from the MacLeod, there would be the devil to pay. Aside from that, he strove to be a man of honor who maintained control. For a man to take a virgin lady who wasn't his wife was the height of knavery.

  But she tempted him beyond all reason.

  When he exited onto the castle's ramparts, the icy wind hit him in the face. Just what he needed to cool his ardor. He glanced around and saw that the roof was empty. The guard towers below at each corner of the walls were more than sufficient to keep a lookout for approaching armies. None of which had invaded for years.

  Needing a few minutes alone, he'd asked Erskine to wait at the bottom of the steps below.

  He paced, his gaze drawn toward the sun setting over the bay and mountains, golden orange and rose blended with the grayish clouds. Such a lovely sight. Home. The waves crashing below and rhythmically sliding over the sand helped the tension and lust drain from his body. He inhaled deeply of the frigid salt air. How he'd missed this place.

  A movement at the door caught his attention. Isobel, with the cowl over her head, squeezed out and the wind shoved the door closed again.

  What the devil was she doing following him?

  His lust surged to the forefront again, even though he knew there was no chance of taking her now. His body didn't care. What he couldn't remember from last night, his imagination filled in with spellbinding erotic imagery and sensations.

  She strode toward him. "Dirk? Why did you walk out in such a way?"

  How could she not understand? She knew little about men; that was why. Well hell, he wasn't explaining it to her. The less they talked about swiving the better.

  "Are you still angry with me?" she asked.

  "Nay."

  "But you don't trust me. That's clear."

  "Aye. I do trust you. But I don't trust myself."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  Clasping the icy stone before him, he shook his head. "Because—damnation, Isobel—I want you," he growled. "Can you not see that? I want… what we did last night… again."

  Her eyes widening—in shock or interest—he couldn't be sure. She licked her lips and the action near drove him mad.

  He squeezed his eyes closed against the luscious sight of her.

  A second later, she touched his arm. His eyes sprang open and he glared at her. She was too close, her body practically against his.

  "Isobel… go back inside." The chill wind snatched his words away, making them almost too low to hear.

  She shook her head.

  "Do as I say," he growled more sharply.

  She bit her lip, looking unsure and vulnerable again.

  "I'm not angry with you, lass," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. "I'm trying to protect you."

  "I don't want to be protected from you."

  Something fluttered and surged in his chest. Hell. He felt near senseless around her. As if his body and emotions were in control and his reasoning mind had abandoned him.

  He breathed deeply of the cold air, but it would not dispel his hunger for her. She wanted him just as he wanted her. Her rosy lips lured him. He had to taste them one more time.

  Letting go the bitter cold stone, he grabbed her to him. The flare of excitement in her eyes fueled his desires. Her lips were as cold as his, but the inside of her mouth was hot and sweet as he delved inside to taste her. His hands slid down her back to her waist to hold her close. Her fingers wove through his hair, pulling, but he didn't care. He wanted naught but to devour every last inch of her.

  Her delicate tongue flicked against his, spiking his lust, making him groan. He tugged her tighter against his body, against his hard shaft. Damn, how he wanted her, right here and now. The cold wouldn't matter, but he couldn't do it. No lady wanted to be taken roughly against an icy stone wall with her legs exposed to the wintry wind.

  Simply imagining her naked thighs spread, himself lodged between, made his shaft jolt with powerful arousal. He moaned. Her mouth was better than any honeyed treat he'd ever tasted.

  Something whizzed past the back of his head, the air off it wafting against his hair. Alarm shrieking through him, he rolled with Isobel to the stone floor of the battlement. She ended up on top but he quickly put her behind him.

  What the devil was that?

  An arrow bounced off the wall.

  "Iosa is Muire Mhàthair." Some bastard was shooting at him? Damnation. Either of them could've been killed. "Stay down!"

  Cautiously, he rose and scanned the roof. They were still alone. Had to be someone on the ground. How had they known he'd be up here? He peered over the edge of the rampart in the direction the arrow had been shot from—the west. He saw no one on the ground below. Where had the bastard gone?

  His gaze drifted further along, to the wall enclosing the church. A figure disappeared behind a tall Celtic cross gravestone. Someone was trying to murder him from within the churchyard? What manner of evil lurked here? It couldn't be McMurdo. He was still in the dungeon—at least he had been an hour ago. Surely he hadn't escaped since then. No alarm had been sounded.

  Narrowing his eyes, Dirk watched and waited. He saw no more evidence of the dark-clothed figure.

  Isobel crawled across the roof toward him. "Do you see anyone?"

  "Aye, but I couldn't see who it was." Gloaming was growing duskier by the second.

  He was certain, whoever it was, Maighread had hired him. Who knew how many men she'd hired to dispatch him?

  "Come. Let's go back inside."

  Staying crouched, they moved toward the door. He opened it and helped her through. They descended to the castle's top floor.

  "I'd like for you to stay in your bedchamber until I come get you," he said in a hushed tone. "I'm going to take some men and try to catch whoever shot at us. I'll post a guard at your door."

  "Do you truly feel that's necessary?" she whispered.

  "Aye. Now that Maighread knows we've… been intimate, she might use you to bring me down."

  ***

  "Why are you wearing armor?" Rebbie asked Dirk quietly when he appeared in the great hall.

  Dirk's gaze scanned those present. Though several eyed him with curiosity, none seemed hostile or suspicious. "Why do you think?" Dirk muttered aside, making sure no one was near enough to hear. "Someone is trying to kill me again."

  Rebbie gave a dark frown. "What happened?"

  "On the ramparts moments ago, an arrow flew past my head. A man was hiding in the graveyard. Some bastard Maighread hired, without doubt. Or maybe it was Haldane. I'm getting the men together to do a search. McMurdo should still be in the dungeon. If he is, the witch has hired someone else. If he's somehow escaped, I'm going after him. I won't be so lenient this time."

  "I need my armor too, then." Rebbie's hand flexed on his sword hilt
at his side.

  "Aye. And we'll wear our helms too."

  "There you are," someone said behind him.

  Dirk turned to find Aiden looking worried and glancing over his shoulder.

  "What is it?" Dirk asked.

  "I've been searching all over for you," he whispered. "We have to talk in private."

  "We'll go into the library. You go first and we'll be right in." That way if Maighread had a spy in the great hall, it wouldn't appear Aiden and Dirk were together. He didn't want Maighread to know Aiden was helping him. That might put him in danger. Not that he truly believed Maighread would harm her own son, but if she thought Aiden was betraying her, she might decide Haldane was the one she would put in as chief.

  A few minutes later, Dirk and Rebbie found Aiden pacing in the library.

  "What is it, lad?" Dirk asked after they entered and closed the door.

  "'Tis Mother. I heard her whispering to Haldane. She told him to go to the tavern in the village and meet with a man with light hair and a beard."

  "She didn't say his name?"

  Aiden shook his head. "Nay. If she did, I didn't hear it."

  "To what purpose? Is this someone she's hiring to assassinate me?"

  "That's what it sounded like. Haldane is to take him a bag of silver."

  Dirk muttered a string of Gaelic curses. "You stay here, Aiden. I'll take the men and see what's going on at the tavern."

  Moments later, Dirk, Rebbie, Keegan, Erskine and five other clansmen rode away from Dunnakeil along the frozen mud trail. Gloaming had quickly descended to night. The chill wind blew low clouds rapidly beneath the moon, creating moments of meager light mixed with darkness. Although it was difficult to see clearly, Dirk scanned the hills and mountains around them, as did the other men.

  Before they'd left the keep, Dirk had checked the dungeon. McMurdo remained locked up. He'd questioned the other members of McMurdo's gang, but none had revealed anything. He had to find out who this new threat was from. Who had shot the arrow at him and who was Haldane meeting in the tavern?

  He only hoped Isobel stayed safely in her room as he'd told her. He'd left Conall's second son, Dougal, and another trusted clansman guarding outside her door. Dirk shouldn't think of the kiss on the roof because it might distract him, but 'twas hard to forget the addictive taste and feel of her. The vivid images of her that played through his head heated his blood on this cold night.