At the moment, Aiden was likely a puppet chief of his mother and younger brother.

Although the matter of the clan and the chieftainship was heavy on his mind, Dirk's attention drifted to Isobel, sitting on the opposite side of the table. After having slept two nights in the same room with her, he'd felt bereft waking up and not seeing her, first thing. He wanted to talk to her now but didn't wish to draw unnecessary attention.

"How is your hand, Lady Isobel?" Rebbie asked.

"Much better. I thank you, my laird."

Annoyance wormed its way through Dirk's vitals. He knew not why. Rebbie was being his normal solicitous and friendly self. Dirk wished he could be more like him. Carefree and relaxed with the ladies… that would be much easier to deal with than the intensity he felt around Isobel.

Damnation, what was wrong with him? His father had just died. He might or might not become chief of his clan. And all he could think about was a woman who was practically married to someone else. It was not like him at all. Surely he was not becoming obsessed with women like Rebbie and Lachlan were. Of a certainty, Dirk also enjoyed women, but they were not at the top of his list of priorities. At least they never had been in the past.

Rebbie's gaze met his. "What's wrong?"

"Naught. We'd best be on our way." Dirk rose from the table, attempting to erase what must have been an incensed expression. He glanced to his aunt and uncle. "I thank you for the hospitality."

"You're most welcome anytime." Aunt Effie patted his hand. "And we're so glad you've come home."

Conall nodded. "Aye, indeed."

As they were gathering their possessions and leaving, Isobel embraced Aunt Effie. That seemed right and homey, somehow… like family. Dirk yearned for something he should not be imagining.

Dirk, Isobel, Rebbie, George, Beitris and Conall filed outside into the icy wind. The tempestuous sky with its swift gray clouds and moments of bright sunlight shifted and moved overhead.

Isobel stopped beside him as the others mounted up. "I haven't had a chance to tell you… I'm sorry about your father. You have my deepest sympathies." With her good hand, she touched his arm lightly.

"I thank you." Her words, and her touch, meant more to him than he could express. Since she'd lost her father not long ago, he knew her words were not empty. She truly did understand how he felt.

He was tempted to capture her hand in his and kiss her fingers, but she drew her hand away.

"Are you certain I'll be welcome at the castle?" Her deep brown eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, captivated him as she gazed up beneath the wool cowl.

"Aye. Aiden said you were. But you'll still want to watch your back."

"I always do."

"I worry about my youngest brother, Haldane. He is unpredictable and untrustworthy."

She frowned, as if in deep thought. "I will be careful."

"Let me see your injured hand," Dirk said.

She placed her hand in his, the light weight of it and her trust in him somehow made him feel as exalted as a king.

The broken finger was still bandaged with the splint, but the top of her hand now held a deep violet hue.

"There is much bruising." The blue bruise to the side of her face remained as well. Rage crawled through him. Damn Nolan MacLeod. "Does your finger ache?"

"Some, but I can tolerate it."

He gave a brief nod and released her. He was proud of her strength. A lot of ladies like her would do nothing but complain with every breath, being injured and here at the edge of the land where the wind off the sea lashed with a vengeance.

"If you don't mind too much, you can ride pillion behind me again," he said, offering his arm.

Her hand slipped around his elbow, and they moved toward Tulloch. "'Twill be my pleasure, kind sir."

Pleasure? Did she get as aroused as he did when they rode together? 'Twas not possible, surely.

Once they were mounted, Isobel astride behind him on the bedroll, Dirk finally felt normal. She grabbed onto the back of his woolen mantle.

"Give me your good hand." He reached back for it and tugged her arm around his waist.

She held on tight, then placed her other arm around him. His body stirred as it always did when she touched him, his blood flowing hotter while delicious carnal images formed in his mind. He could easily visualize trailing his fingertips over the bare silky skin of her curves.

Damnation! He had to stop.

He glanced aside and found Rebbie grinning like a coddled puppy. Dirk would no doubt have to endure more teasing later.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, Dirk urged the horse onto the trail through the village and toward the castle.

He could never think of her as his, or he'd never be able to give her up.

***

The many whitewashed cottages of the village reminded Isobel of Dornie. She was tempted to ask Dirk when someone would escort her home, but with the wind gusting as it was he'd likely not hear her. Besides, knowing the danger he was in, she was in no hurry to go home.

Her arms underneath his wool mantle were warm but her hands were exposed. She had no gloves and would be unable to wear one on her injured hand anyway. Her layers of woven wool did not shield her from all the icy needles of wind that penetrated the fabric. She shivered, wishing she could crawl under the mantle with him. Naked. To feel his hot skin against hers would surely be bliss. She didn't understand herself. She'd never had such lustful thoughts about a man.

He placed his warm hand over hers where they rested at his waist. She almost sighed, appreciating his heat and lots more about his body, like how muscular and fit he was, unlike her late husband.

She'd been responsible for taking care of Jedwarth during his illness and before his death. He'd been sickly since the day she met him, which was the day she married him. She hadn't loved him, but she'd respected him for treating her well.

Rumors and speculations had abounded. Was she barren? Was the old earl impotent? Why had she not conceived him an heir?

'Twas difficult to conceive an heir when her husband could not perform his duties in the bedchamber. He had tried but it never happened.

She wondered what sharing a bed with Dirk would be like. Some part of her, deep inside, tingled. He was surely a virile man, young as he was, only a couple of years older than herself. Likely, he would perform like a stallion in the bedchamber.

She didn't know why she was thinking of this now when she should be focused on their safety. Glancing over the open moorland, she perceived no threat. A veil of snow partially covered the gray rocks and dull brownish-green heather. The brisk wind ensured most of the snow drifted further south.

Since she'd been old enough to be interested in the lads, she'd dreamed of having a marriage like her parents. They'd shared a profound love, many times sitting together, talking and laughing at their own private jests. And a few times she'd found them kissing in some dark corner, much to her embarrassment.

Her mother had given her advice about men. Thus far, Isobel hadn't found the type of man she'd always wanted. Each time she saw Dirk, he seemed more and more like that type of man. But what of it? A mountain of obstacles stood between them, like the whole of the MacLeod clan. And her brother too.

The closer she, Dirk, and their party rode to Castle Dunnakeil on the shore, the stronger the wind buffeted them. Part of the time, she scrunched behind Dirk's big body, hoping it would shield her from the worst of the wind.