Though it irritated him, his unruly body was on high alert around Isobel… because she was female. That was the only reason. And she was even lovelier than she'd been when they were younger, obviously curvier. The image of her riding astride behind him put lustful thoughts into his head… thoughts that had no business being there. No matter how bonny she might be, this was one female he would not become involved with.

The five of them entered the meager, two-room stone hut. Isobel took her lantern and proceeded through the doorway. "We found this smaller room to be much warmer."

Everyone followed her.

"Indeed, 'tis much more sheltered," Dirk said.

"We burned most of the kindling last night. But I do have two bricks of peat left."

Dirk nodded. "We may need more. The night will be long and the wind is cold."

"Is there a village nearby?" Rebbie asked.

Isobel's eyes grew wide and she hesitated. "Um… aye. Just north, around the bend. But there are no inns."

"Don't fash yourself, m'lady. With such splendid lodgings here, I have no need of an inn." Rebbie winked, then turned to his servant. "George, I need for you to go into the village and buy some dry peat, oats for the horses and some fresh bread if you can find it." Rebbie dropped silver coins into the younger man's hand.

"Aye, m'laird." George gave a brief bow and moved toward the doorway.

"Make no mention of the women," Dirk added, hoping to ease Isobel's worry. "And be certain no one follows you back. If they ask, you work for the MacKays."

George nodded and hastened away.

"Now George works for you. Hmph. I'm astonished," Rebbie said. He liked naught more than to bedevil someone, especially his friends. And now that Lachlan was nowhere about, Rebbie had turned his nettling toward Dirk.

He sent Rebbie a smirk. "I'll help you pay him once we reach Durness. He has been much help in taking care of the horses and running errands for both of us."

"Nonsense. We're along for the rousing adventure." Rebbie rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

Isobel gave a tiny grin, her gaze darting back and forth between them. But she still held her hand in a protected position. Dirk had to find out what was wrong with it and learn her whole story. Why didn't she simply trust him enough to tell him? He would hate having to drag the information from her. Aside from that, he'd never been good at dealing with women. In truth, he was too straightforward to manipulate them with charm, as Rebbie and Lachlan did.

"You said you had some peat?" Dirk asked her.

"Aye." She pulled the two lightweight bricks of dried turf from her arisaid.

"'Tis canny of you to think of bringing this." Taking them, he set about creating a mound of straw kindling and peat in the center of the floor where she'd had a fire pit the night before.

After setting flame to the straw, Dirk searched the main part of the cottage, gathering more of the dried thatch. Not much else remained.

"I'll bring the horses in," Rebbie said, bypassing him to venture out into the snow.

Dirk nodded his approval, then returned to the smaller room where he piled his finds next to the fire pit. Isobel hovered near the small fire, her arms folded over her chest.

"Are you freezing?" he asked.

"Not overmuch."

He glanced back at the open doorway where icy air poured in. They'd be hard-pressed to get this room warm unless they could close off the doorway. One of his thick wool blankets might serve to block out most of the air.

Rebbie had brought his horse into the main room of the cottage. Dirk removed his saddle and bedroll which contained the wool blanket he'd use for a makeshift door. Returning to the smaller room where the two women were, he wedged the material into cracks between the rocks above the door. He pounded a couple of smaller rocks in to hold it securely in place.

"There now. That should help us stay warmer."

"A brilliant idea," Isobel said in a lively tone. "I wish we'd had a thick curtain like that last night."

He nodded, irked that she'd almost frozen the night before. 'Twas a pity he hadn't been here to help her then.

He remembered well how Isobel had been a hoity-toity, spoiled lass twelve years ago, and how she had looked down her nose at his clan. But her clothing wasn't so rich and fancy as it used to be. Her wool arisaid was riddled with moth holes. Had she fallen on hard times? Or was the clothing part of a disguise so no one would guess she was a high-born lady? He needed to ask her a lot of questions, and he hoped she'd lower her guard enough to answer truthfully.

"M'lady, is your hand injured?"

She lowered her gaze.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "But you must tell me the truth if I'm to help you."

"It is," Isobel said softly.

Stepping closer, Dirk held his hand out to her.

What was he about? Isobel eyed him warily. She placed her uninjured hand in his.

"Let me see your other hand, lass," Dirk said, his voice deep and soothing. "I must know the nature of your injury."

Although Beitris hunched in the corner, resting after their long journey, Isobel almost felt she was alone with Dirk. The intimate atmosphere was strangely thrilling.

He lowered the snow-covered cowl of the mantle, revealing his long, ginger hair in the firelight. The first time she'd seen him, she'd wondered if his temperament matched the flame color of his hair. Although he had been tall for his age at fifteen, he was far more imposing now, his shoulders impressively broad. He used to be lean, near skin and bones. Now, his arms were thick with muscle as was his whole body, surely. She'd heard a rumor that he had died in an accident, but clearly it was no truer than any of the other rumors circulating about.

"I won't hurt you intentionally. Do you believe me?" His pale blue gaze pinioned her to the spot.

"Aye," she said, trying to steady her voice.

His narrowed eyes made her think of shrewd intelligence. She feared he would see through any lies she tried to tell. She but prayed he wouldn't reveal to the MacLeods where she was. Given that he'd told the servant not to mention the women, he likely was trustworthy. Both he and Rebbie appeared to be honorable.

"Let me see." Dirk wiggled his fingers.

Giving in, she placed her aching hand in his large warm one. As he examined it, he gripped a bit too hard, bringing about a sharp pain. She sucked in a hissing breath and jerked back.

"Pray pardon." He loosened his grip but didn't let go. "What did you do to it?"

She bit her lip, the memory of the bastard accosting her replaying through her mind. She'd never imagined she would have to fight off a hulking warrior. If she had, she might have been more prepared to deal with him.

Dirk gently slid the tips of his thumb and index finger along her middle finger. "'Tis swollen. Och. 'Tis broken, aye? How did this happen?" He frowned, his gaze troubled.

She was too tired to think of a convincing lie at the moment. But to tell the truth about Nolan MacLeod would only invite more questions.

Dirk stared hard at the side of her face, his frown of concern turning into a glower. Nudging her chin, he turned her face toward the lantern. "What a bruise on your face, Lady Isobel. Who hit you?" he demanded.

She shook her head. They were not yet out of MacLeod territory. They had not even passed the castle yet in their reverse trek.

"Are you in danger?" He stepped closer, his voice but a low murmur.