My Brave Highlander (9 page)

One man, wearing a metal-studded leather hauberk over his layers of wool plaid brought the torch closer, eying Dirk. Surely they saw his resemblance to many of the MacKays. The men, with their long brown hair and lean, lanky frames, certainly resembled the MacLeods.

"And who is he?" the man nodded to Rebbie.

"My friend, Robert MacInnis. The MacKays and MacLeods have ever been allies," Dirk reminded the men who, by the looks of their clothing, were men-at-arms.

"Indeed. Why did you not ask for lodgings at Munrick?"

"We would have, but it was late and the weather growing more severe. We saw this cottage and decided to put it to use." Dirk shrugged. He hoped they believed the lie. "We will be leaving and going on to Durness in the morn."

"Did you happen to run into a lady and her maid on your way here?"

"Nay. Why?" Dirk asked without hesitation. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"The chief's future bride ran out into the snowstorm. She's a wee bit daft, I'm thinking." He spat on the ground.

"Why in blazes would she do that?" Dirk asked, feigning surprise, while in truth he wanted to belt the man for calling Isobel daft.

"We know not." The man's gaze drifted toward the cottage door.

Dirk tensed. The bastard had best not even consider it.

"Who is traveling with you?"

"My servants," Rebbie said.

"Then you won't mind if we search inside the cottage for the missing lady." He moved forward.

Alarm driving through him, Dirk stepped in front of the door, blocking it. "Nay. I wouldn't do that."

"And why not?" The MacLeod clansman halted, his face tightening dangerously, his sword clasped at the ready.

"His servant is very ill," Dirk said, hoping the knave believed the lie. Most people were terrified of disease, for it usually meant death. "We know not what it is. Coughing up blood. Might be catching."

The knave's eyes narrowed. "Neither of you has caught it yet. If you don't let us search, you may as well head south, for you won't be passing Munrick."

Loud coughing echoed from inside the hovel. "'Tis all right," George called in a raspy, weak voice. "It matters not to me if they search in here." He lapsed into another fit of coughing.

Why in blazes would George say such a thing?

"You heard the man. Step aside, MacKay," the man-at-arms demanded, the strong smell of whisky wafting from him on an icy gust of wind. If he was near sotted, his reflexes would be off. He might also have a difficult time recognizing Isobel.

Dirk glanced at Rebbie, who nodded and darted a fearsome look at one of the men, meaning he would take care of the second guard if need be.

Dirk didn't want to have to kill a MacLeod, but if the men figured out who Isobel was, he might have to.

Stepping aside, he allowed the MacLeod guards to enter the cottage and followed, Rebbie behind him. After a brief bit of silence, George feigned another coughing fit, then moaned and bent forward to spit on the ground, clasping at his stomach for good measure.

"Stay over there," one of the guards warned George, eying him with disgust.

Holding the lantern aloft, the two men scrutinized the horses, then noticed the doorway leading to the side room. They headed toward it and shoved the wool blanket aside to enter. Dirk's breath halted for the men would find Isobel and her maid within seconds. His fist tightened within the basket-hilt of his sword. He would protect Isobel at all costs, even if it meant killing two MacLeods.

Dirk entered the room behind them. His eyes searched the dimness of the smoky room as the men moved their lantern this way and that. Where were Isobel and her maid? Dirk could see them nowhere near the bedrolls or the tiny smoldering fire. Not in the corners either.

What the devil?

"No one else is here," one of the guards said. "I thought he said his servants were traveling with you."

"Servant," Dirk corrected.

"Very well, MacKay," the other said, his voice slurred. "We'll leave you to your sleep. If you see the lady and her maid, let us know."

"I will."

"She's a bonny lass with dark eyes. Her name is Isobel MacKenzie."

Dirk nodded, his shoulders so tense the muscles ached. Where the hell was Isobel? Was she hiding in this room someplace? There was no window here she could've crawled out.

"Well then, a good eve to you." The MacLeod man yawned.

Dirk followed them out. One of the men turned up his whisky flask and took a long swallow, then they both mounted, before riding back the way they'd come.

Rebbie stood silently at his side while they observed the men's progress through the snow, their torch moving further and further away.

"Where the devil did Isobel and her maid go?" Dirk growled low.

"I know not."

"Will you watch the men while I search for her?"

"Aye," Rebbie said.

Dirk strode into the cottage. "Isobel?" He tried to keep his voice down. "Where did they go, George?"

"There's a wee window opening behind where the horses are tied. The shutters were closed, but I pushed them open and helped the women out."

"Very canny of you. That couldn't have been easy for Beitris," Dirk said, taking the lantern and hastening out the door and around the side of the stone cottage to the back.

Isobel and her maid huddled there behind a prickly gorse bush.

"God's teeth, Lady Isobel," Dirk muttered. "You scared the life out of me." He drew her to her feet, then helped her maid. Beitris groaned.

"Couldn't be helped." Isobel brushed snow off her clothing. "After Beitris woke me, I heard them talking, and I knew they'd want to search. I remembered the battened off window from the night before."

"I thank you, sir," Beitris said, holding on tightly to his elbow as they rounded the cottage. "I wasn't made to contort in such positions and shimmy through windows."

"You both did well to slip out afore they searched. I didn't want to have to kill a MacLeod."

"Would you truly have done that for us?" Isobel asked, her voice still a bit groggy and slurred from the whisky as she clung to his other elbow and unsteadily moved along beside him.

"I wouldn't have let them take you back to Munrick."

"You are a true gentleman and a hero," she gushed.

Damnation, 'haps he shouldn't have given her so much whisky.

He escorted the two women inside and went back out to keep watch with George and Rebbie. After a half hour with no more movement outside, other than the whipping snow, Dirk had relaxed enough to go inside and try to get some sleep. Rebbie accompanied him.

A quarter hour later, everyone appeared asleep. Rebbie was snoring lightly. But sleep proved elusive for Dirk. Turning on his side, he watched Isobel's slumbering face in the dim firelight. How could she be betrothed and promised to another? That irked him. 'Twas an atrocity that she was bound to a clan that didn't treat her right.

He punched at the rolled up mantle he used as a pillow. Damnation, he didn't want her anyway.

Something within him ached. He did not understand it. Maybe 'twas only a nostalgic yearning for his lost youth and the clan he'd loved. Or maybe it was worry for his father. If he was not dead yet, he might be soon. Dirk's stomach knotted and his chest grew heavy with regret.

The final time he'd tried to get his father to listen, to tell him that his stepmother wished him dead, his father had turned a deaf ear. Da could not believe anything so evil about the woman he loved. Even so, Dirk knew his father had loved him. And he still loved his father. He only wished he could see him alive one last time.

***

The only thing Dirk was aware of when he awoke was that someone landed a sharp knee to his stomach. An attack? He quickly grabbed the squirming assailant's arms and pinned the person beneath him. A female screamed. The room was so dark, he could barely see a thing beyond a few dying orange coals where a fire had been earlier.

What the hell was going on? Where was his dagger?

"Rebbie?" he yelled. Rebbie had been lying nearby, hadn't he?

"Aye?" he said in a groggy voice.

"Unhand me!" a woman yelled beneath him.

A woman? He was pinning a woman to the floor?
Isobel.

Releasing her, Dirk muttered several Gaelic curses and drew back. "Why did you slam your knee into my stomach?" he demanded.

"I did naught! I was asleep. Next thing I know, you are tackling me to the floor as if you're wrestling a wild boar. I'll have a huge lump on my head where you bashed it."

Annoyance and confusion crawled through him. "I was lying here asleep and your knee drove into my stomach. I'm not a madman," he growled.

"Nor am I… a madwoman."

"You attacked me." Even as he said the words to a wee lass like Isobel, he felt daft.

Rebbie snickered and lit the lantern.

"Your bedroll is over there." Now that Dirk could see in the dim light, he pointed to her abandoned blanket near the wall. "Clearly, you've moved and I haven't, except to protect my vitals."

She struggled to her feet and dusted off her clothing, the dark flush staining her pale skin obvious. "Well… perhaps I was trying to walk across the floor, and you lay in my way. 'Twas dark!"

"I'm sure that must be it." While his heart rate calmed and his body unwound, he shoved his hand through his hair. No attack. No battle. 'Twas no doubt time to awaken and start on their journey anyway. Dawn came late this time of year.

Rising and throwing the mantle over his other layers of clothing, he went outside behind the cottage to relieve himself. Despite the darkness, the blanket of snow reflected meager moonlight and he was glad to see the icy flakes were no longer falling.

Good thing Isobel's knee hadn't landed a foot lower or he might yet be doubled over in agony. What had gotten into her?

"What was that about?" Rebbie asked, relieving himself a few yards away.

"One minute I'm dreaming about eating roasted rabbit, and the next, a woman's bony knee is shoving violently into my stomach. You figure it out."

"So… mayhap she simply wished to come outside to relieve herself but was embarrassed to say so. She couldn't see you lying there on the floor, and she tripped and fell."

"I hope that's it. My next guess is that she's an assassin."

Rebbie snorted. "Now wouldn't that make things interesting?"

They adjusted their clothing.

"She told me about her situation. She's betrothed to the MacLeod chief. In his absence, his younger brother injured her for some reason. She wouldn't tell me why. We'll have to be extra careful as we pass Munrick. They cannot see her face or know who she is."

"Is there no way to avoid the area?"

"Nay, the only safe path through these craggy mountains goes by the castle and the loch."

***

"Oh dear heavens," Isobel muttered, unable to believe what she'd done. Injuring Dirk? She shook her head and Beitris, now adding straw to the fire, sent her a sheepish look. Her maid was supposed to prevent Isobel's sleepwalking disasters whenever possible, but clearly she'd been asleep too.

Isobel had no memory of getting up off her blanket or venturing across the room. All she'd been aware of was Dirk grabbing her and rolling her beneath his large hard body, slamming her to the packed earth floor. Her head hadn't hit as hard as she'd implied, but it definitely had a tender spot on it. Unsure where she was at first, she'd been too terrified to form words, but had finally gotten them out. A heartbeat after Dirk had said Rebbie's name, she remembered. Apparently, she'd simply tripped over him. She had no reason to attack him or hurt him in any way. Surely he knew that.

Fuzzy memories of earlier events came to her. The pain in her broken finger when Rebbie had set it, and how she'd snuggled up next to Dirk as he was holding her firmly in place. He was cozy… strong but gentle, like a big, gruff bear. There was no cushion on his body anywhere. He was all solid warrior muscle. A hidden, instinctive part of her appreciated that a great deal.

And to have him lying on top of her when he'd pinned her to the floor, well… 'twas frightening at first. But thinking back on it now… there was no one she'd rather be pinned beneath. She had always hated and feared men's aggressive, forceful ways, but she didn't fear Dirk. She found the confident way he moved and the firm but tender way he touched her to be spellbinding.

Leaning forward, she noticed one of her oiled leather boots had come untied during the night. Forming the leather strings into the beginnings of a bow, she struggled to retie them.
Blast!
Pains shot through her broken finger with even the slightest movement of her hand. Still, she attempted to use her first finger for tying but the stiff strips of leather were not cooperating.

The wool curtain flicked aside as Dirk and Rebbie entered the room. Dirk's intense gaze met hers immediately. A strange, feverish heat covered her. What on earth was wrong with her? He made her uncomfortable, but at the same time, she wished she could do naught but study him at length. Instead, she focused on her boots again.