"I hope not." She cringed, loathe to imagine her brothers or any of her clansmen losing their lives because of this insanity. "I simply want to leave and forget about them."

"Your brother didn't waste time in trying to get you married off again, did he?" Maighread shook her head in apparent exasperation, but Isobel doubted her sincerity.

"Nay."

"Well, I'm glad you are safe here now. 'Twas unfortunate Jedwarth could not get you with child before he died. Especially a boy child. If he had, you'd be in a much more secure position as mother of an infant earl."

"Aye." She would like to have a child, but at the same time, she feared the earl's family would've tried to take over raising the babe and she would've been forced to the side. In the Highland tradition, her child would've been sent to foster with a prominent family. Her older brother had fostered with a lesser chieftain for seven years, during which she rarely saw him.

"Laird Jedwarth was a close friend of my family, as you know," Maighread said. "A good man."

Isobel nodded. She didn't want to think about her former husband, nor be called by his name any longer. The past needed to stay in the past. She was looking to a happier future.

"But how on earth did you escape Munrick without the MacLeod chief knowing?" Maighread asked.

"He was away in Lairg."

"Ah, so his younger brother thought he had the run of the henhouse, did he?"

"More like a wolf in the henhouse," Isobel said, remembering his viciousness.

"And how did you escape this despicable brother of his?"

Isobel shrugged. "I might have wounded him." And she didn't regret it either. She hoped he had a headache for a fortnight.

Maighread laughed. "You injured him, my dear girl?"

"I fear I did. I had to knock him on the head to stop him. He passed out and that's when I made good my escape in the night."

Maighread chortled. "You are so much like your dear mother. I miss her terribly. She was indeed my best friend for almost five decades. And you are the image of her as well. To look at you takes me back to my youth." She shook her head. "Come, let's rejoin the other two ladies."

Isobel followed her back to the warm solar. The maids were serving refreshments of bread, cheese and wine.

"Please have a seat and tell me what you know of this fellow who calls himself Dirk," Maighread said.

Isobel frowned, unsure how to respond. Maybe she could discover what Maighread truly thought. "You don't believe he's Dirk?" she asked, accepting the mulled red wine in an expensive crystal glass from the maid. Maybe Maighread was going senile if she didn't remember her stepson.

"Nay! That man?" she asked in outrage and motioned toward the great hall. "He looks nothing like Dirk."

Maighread was either mad or a gifted liar. Isobel remembered Dirk from her youth and he was definitely the same person. Indeed, he was about a foot taller and his shoulders twice as wide. His square jaw and chin were stronger, but his piercing pale-blue eyes had not changed. She would never forget his bewitching eyes, nor his rich, ginger-colored hair.

"He's an imposter who thinks to steal my sons' heritage away from them. I won't let that happen. If you had sons, you would understand," Maighread said passionately.

Isobel nodded. She supposed she would, but… Dirk was still Dirk. And Isobel could see the woman might well do anything to protect what she perceived as her sons'.

"I should hope you would be able to easily prove he isn't the heir," Lady Patience said. "Seona is to marry the chief of MacKay, whoever holds this position."

"Well, it won't be this outlaw calling himself Dirk. You can be assured of that. Aiden is the chief and will remain so. You have naught to worry over, dear Seona," Maighread told the young woman.

Seona glanced about uneasily and Isobel wondered what she was thinking. Like Isobel, she was in a precarious situation, probably worried about what the future held for her. Her fate was in the hands of others… most of whom didn't give a fig about her happiness or well-being.

But 'twas clear to Isobel that she was an intelligent lass who no doubt had fond wishes and grand dreams of a bright future, just as Isobel did. 'Haps she even wanted to find love. Indeed, what lass didn't wish to find love? This was usually out of the question for chiefs' daughters. Few love matches were formed, at least not for first marriages. Alliances between clans were far more important. All young ladies could hope for was a husband who didn't beat them and a clan who treated them with respect.

A new thought rampaged through Isobel's mind. If Seona was bound by contract to marry the chief… and Dirk became the chief… did that mean Dirk would have to marry her?

Surely not if he hadn't been in on the agreement between clans. Wouldn't any such contract be null?

Why should it matter to Isobel anyway? She wouldn't be marrying Dirk. After what he'd said last night, she knew he was a man who followed the rules and traditions of their society. He believed in honoring contracts, vows and pledges. Well, she did too normally, but the situation with the MacLeods was extreme.

Anyway, Dirk was a man of his word. No matter how much he might have enjoyed the kiss—and he had—that wasn't going to sway him. Though she had little experience with physical interaction with men, it was obvious he'd been highly aroused and near out of control. Her heartbeat sped up like a fast-galloping horse with the memory of how Dirk had kissed her in a most sensual and carnally delicious way.

"Lady Isobel?"

She jumped, almost spilling her wine. Her gaze flew to Maighread. "Aye?" Her face heated.

"Are you well?"

"Indeed." She gulped the sweet, spiced wine, hoping it would calm her nerves.

"Are you saying you truly believe this outlaw is Dirk MacKay?"

Wanting to stay on Maighread's good side so she'd trust her, she didn't want to disagree, nor did she wish to lie and go completely against Dirk. What a quandary. "Mayhap," she blurted, hoping to stay impartial.

"But you only met him once before, correct?"

"'Tis true." Still, she remembered him clearly. He was someone she'd never forget—both handsome and fearsome. At the banquet they'd had at her clan's castle, Dirk had spoken to her once. Her feet had tangled in her skirts and she'd almost toppled down the steps, but he'd caught her arm and kept her from falling.

Careful, lass, he'd said in the deep voice he'd possessed even at fifteen. Of course, his voice was even deeper now, and at times a wee bit raspy from the cold wind. The sound of it gave her heated shivers.

The first time she'd met Dirk was brief, the words few. But his lingering and curious stares were among the details she hadn't forgotten. They had both been innocent to everything then. Whatever connection lay between them had not even been an infatuation. Just instinct and curiosity.

"I'm sure you've forgotten what Dirk was like in the past dozen or so years," Maighread said.

Hardly. Isobel sent her a vague smile, unwilling to argue. "'Haps."

"Surely the MacKay clan will be wise enough to realize his duplicity," Maighread said.

"They mentioned a birthmark," Lady Patience said. "Will the clan elders put so much faith in that as proof?"

"I'm not certain. But even a birthmark could be faked." Maighread's eyes narrowed.

"How would anyone know of it, especially if Dirk supposedly died twelve years ago?" Isobel asked, hoping she was the voice of reason.