My Brave Highlander (10 page)

"M'lady, 'haps we should excuse ourselves," Beitris moved toward her.

"Aye, as soon as I tie this."

"I'll help." Beitris started to kneel. "Och." Flinching, she froze and grabbed her back.

"Beitris, are you well?" She worried about her maid and feared this journey through the snow was too much for her.

"Aye, 'tis only that the cold has seeped into my joints and stiffened them."

"Allow me," Dirk said. "It appears you're in much pain, mistress."

"My bones are not as young as they used to be. And I thank you, kind sir."

Isobel's face burned hot as the peat coals. "I'll manage."

"Nonsense." Dirk knelt by her feet and gently pushed her hands away. "The last thing you want to do is bump that broken finger." He quickly tied the leather strings and rose to his feet to tower over her once more. Very efficient. Everything he did was efficient, but this only served as a façade hiding his caring and concern.

"I thank you," she said.

He gave a brief bow. "We must hurry. We need to pass by Munrick Castle before daybreak, and before most of the men are awake. At all costs, they must not recognize who you are."

Aye, but what would happen if they did?

***

Just before dawn, they neared Munrick Castle. Isobel sat atop Dirk's massive black horse while he led the animal and carried a lantern. Rebbie, George and Beitris followed on horseback.

Her stomach aching, she wished they didn't have to pass the castle, but they couldn't avoid it. The immense granite Assynt Mountains stood tall and forbidding against the dark blue predawn sky. The rippling, dark loch reflected a few stars that peeped through the clouds. Between the mountains and the water lay Munrick Castle and the narrow trail.

The torches at the castle gates loomed ahead, the flames flickering wildly in the wind, their reflections dancing in the water. Isobel had hoped to never see this hellish place again. She pulled her cowl and the extra plaid blanket Dirk had provided more securely over her head, hoping none of the MacLeods would recognize her or her maid. Beitris knew to hide her face as well.

"Say naught," Dirk murmured back to her. "I'll take care of it."

She nodded, thankful she could trust him.

Closer and closer, Dirk led them all to the shadowy castle. They would not enter, she reminded herself.

Breathe.

Dark figures moved near the gates. Three guards were watching them. Their swords gleamed in the torchlight.

"Halt there! Who are you?" a man called out in Gaelic, approaching along the trail leading from the castle.

Oh dear heaven, the same guard she'd seen when she'd left here. If he saw her face or the worn plaid
arisaid
she'd been wearing when she'd left, he would surely recognize her. At least he wasn't one of the guards who'd searched the cottage the night before.

"I'm a MacKay," Dirk said in a commanding voice. Halting, he faced the guard. "Just passing through on the way to MacKay Country."

"Who is this?" The guard motioned toward Isobel.

Her breath stopped. She feared she'd pass out and topple from the saddle.

"My wife," Dirk said without any hesitation.

His wife?
Isobel flushed with heat from her head to her toes, despite the frigid weather and being near frozen with fear.

Dirk motioned back to Rebbie. "And that is my friend, Robert MacInnis, and our two servants."

As the guard paced by her and moved toward Rebbie, she swallowed hard and prayed he would not drag her from the horse.

"We must make great haste," Dirk called. "My father is on his deathbed."

'Twas a pity that was not a lie too.

She forced herself to draw in air as she listened to the footsteps crunching in the snow, the minute clanks of weapons and bridles. One of the horses snorted. The chill, wet air seeped into her bones.

Dirk's wife?
The thought would not leave her. Good heavens, to be his wife in truth. Although he was the most fearsome man she'd ever met, the thought of being his wife did not fill her with dread as her first husband did. Nor like the MacLeod she was now betrothed to.

Returning, the guard passed her again. "Well then. Godspeed, MacKay." He motioned them along and headed back toward Munrick.

A breath of relief rushed out, leaving Isobel shaky, weak and cold. Dirk led the horse forward at a brisk pace while he sent the occasional glance back toward the guards.

Even though it would be far more pleasant to daydream about being Dirk's wife, she'd best remain in reality and stay attentive. If Dirk's father was indeed on his deathbed, or had already passed, he would experience great emotional pain and grief, just as she had when she'd lost her parents. She shivered, praying his father was alive and well by the time they reached Durness. She remembered the older man when he'd been hale and hearty, a huge bear of a man with auburn hair flecked with gray. She even remembered how he'd laughed louder than anyone else.

What would Dirk's laugh sound like? She barely remembered one smile from him. Back then, he'd been rather quiet, watching everyone else with suspicion. His sharp gaze never missing a tiny detail. He was ever serious, as he was now.

He had even observed her more than she was comfortable with, his pale eyes assessing her.

She knew not why he unnerved her. Clearly, he was trustworthy. He had just saved her from the MacLeods.

She must think of a way to thank him properly.

***

Isobel's toes were numb with cold by the time they arrived at a place Dirk called Scourie that evening. They'd not even stopped to eat their midday meal and had instead eaten while moving forward. The wind through the passes and glens was brutal at times. Once they'd moved from the treacherous mountains to flat moorland that wasn't too soggy, Dirk had again ridden in front of her so they could make better time.

She was ashamed to even think of it, but she enjoyed riding behind him and holding onto him. He was so vital, strong and protective, he made her almost giddy. She found herself wanting to smile at the oddest times, when she really had naught to smile over. Her finger ached and her feet were near frozen, but what did that matter? The man in front of her made her more disoriented than the whisky he'd forced her to drink the night before.

With the cowl of his mantle lying on his back, she observed the rich luster of his copper hair and found herself wanting to comb the fingers of her good hand through it. But that would not be acceptable.

Dirk guided the horse to the largest cottage in the village, stopped and dismounted. He handed her the reins and glanced up at her. The blue of his eyes was different somehow, darker. Maybe it was because gloaming was already upon them and the sky had become heavily overcast again.

"I used to know the man who lives here. I'll be right back." He strode to the door and knocked.

A man with a bushy gray beard opened the door and stared at Dirk for a moment as they exchanged words.

"Dirk? Is that truly you, lad?" The man laughed then shook his hand heartily. "I thought you were dead."

"'Tis a long story I'll be glad to tell you sometime."

"Well, bring your friends inside out of the cold. I'll have Mattie bake a few more oatcakes." He disappeared inside the house, yelling for Mattie.

When Dirk returned to help her dismount, Isobel carefully laid her injured hand on his shoulder as he lifted her down.

"His name is Lewis MacLeod," Dirk murmured.

"What!"
A MacLeod?
Claws of ice seized her.

"Shh. He's a good friend of my father, and as you can see, he's far removed from most of the other MacLeods, but some of them do occupy this village."

"He might turn me over to the clan," she whispered, trying to keep her voice from shaking but unsure she'd succeeded.

"We're not going to tell him your real name," Dirk assured her.

"What name am I going by?"

He shrugged. "How about Liz MacDonald?"

She frowned, wondering how he'd come up with that. He must have been planning this for hours.

"Very well." She was afraid to ask him if he planned to continue the pretense of being her husband. If he did, she was fine with it. More than fine, actually. When he'd said she was his wife earlier, a wicked little thrill had spun through her.

Dirk motioned her ahead of him while he spoke to Rebbie and George… about her false name, without doubt.

"Since this man is a MacLeod, you are to call me Liz MacDonald," she whispered to Beitris.

"Ah. Good thinking," she said.

The door of the cottage opened. "Come in, come in, bonnie lasses, and warm your toes." The gray-haired man's jovial mood seemed genuine as he motioned them forward.

Isobel smiled and proceeded inside. "I thank you for your hospitality."

"'Tis my pleasure." Though the fireplace contained only glowing coals, 'twas much warmer in the room than outside. MacLeod added peat to the fire, then lit a candle to brighten the dim room.

Isobel stood before the small hearth warming her hands, while Beitris occupied a cushioned chair nearby. Dirk and Rebbie entered, depositing their bedrolls by the door.

"I thank you for allowing us to stay the night," Dirk said.

"'Tis the least I can do. Make yourselves at home. I'll show your man where to stable the horses," Lewis MacLeod said, then closed the door on his way out.

So as not to stare at Dirk, Isobel allowed her gaze to wander over the room. The cottage appeared to be a small manor house. The slate floors and the worn but good quality furniture proclaimed this owner was likely a landowner, though probably not a chief.

"Are you certain he won't mind all of us staying here?" Isobel asked.

"Nay. He's a good man," Dirk said. "I remember a time when I was just a lad that ten or twelve of us stayed here. We slept right here on the floor."

Isobel was certain they'd have to do the same. Though she was not accustomed to sleeping on the floor, she'd practiced it without complaint for the past two nights. 'Twas far better than being kept hostage by a barbarous clan of abusive men, even if they did have beds and straw mattresses.

She wiggled her toes, glad they were thawing out, although they did sting with the return of feeling.

Lewis returned inside with a gust of cold air and a friendly grin directed at Dirk. "It does my heart good to see you alive and well, Dirk MacKay, and newly married besides." He chuckled. "I can tell you've not been married long."

Heat rushed over her and she could think of naught to say. Why had he assumed this? Or had Dirk told him earlier?

"Um, aye," Dirk said. "I mean, nay. We've not been married six months yet."

"I could tell!"

She wasn't sure whether that was a lie or not. They indeed had not been married six months. She was unaccustomed to lying and unsure if she could keep up the farce. But perhaps pretending marriage to Dirk would be good practice. Where had that thought come from? Did that mean she wanted to be married to Dirk?

"Well, lad, you got yourself a beauty," Lewis proclaimed, eying her. He quirked a brow. "Is that a bruise on her face?"

"I fell from my husband's monstrous horse," she blurted. "And broke a finger in the process." She held up her hand to show him, hoping he believed her poorly thought out story.

"Och. You will have to be more careful. Which clan are you from?"

"MacDonald of Glencoe," Dirk said. "And this is my good friend, Robert MacInnis, Earl of Rebbinglen."

Lewis's eyes widened and he bowed. "'Tis my great honor to meet you, m'laird. I did not ken I had the privilege of hosting a man of such elevated rank."

"The pleasure is all mine. And I thank you for your generous hospitality."

The older man waved a hand through the air. "I only hope you are able to eat our humble food. I must say though, Mattie's Highland pie is tasty."

"I'm certain 'tis far better than the day old bannocks we've been eating."

"'Haps."

Isobel's stomach growled loudly in the moment of silence. She placed her hand against it, cringing.

"I'm thinking the lass is famished. Have you not been feeding her, lad?"

"Aye, when she's willing to eat," Dirk said, his face a bit flushed.

Was he blushing? Isobel could not imagine it.

Lewis laughed and motioned them toward a separate dining room. "I smell those Highland pies."

Isobel did too. The combined scents of baked venison, onions and other vegetables made her mouth water.

"Seat yourselves at the table and Mattie will bring out some food."

"Have you had word of my father?" Dirk asked, pulling out a chair for Isobel.

"Nay," Lewis said. "Only that he has been ill. I've seen no one from Durness in a month or more."

"I hope he still lives." Dirk seated himself beside Isobel.