"Maighread and my mother were friends, as you know," she said vaguely.

He nodded. Eyes narrowed, he studied her. "Who was your first husband?"

"The Earl of Jedwarth." Why was he asking now? Her stomach knotted. Did he think her mad for marrying such an old man? She'd had little choice in the matter. Short of running away, like she did this time, she couldn't have escaped the marriage. Her brother had told her he'd no longer support her financially if she didn't marry to establish clan alliances. She didn't know if it was a true threat, or if he was only trying to coerce her. Cyrus was not known for his compassion.

"That's what I thought Maighread meant when she called you Lady Jedwarth." Dirk turned away and paced before the hearth. "Why did you not tell me?" Frowning, he observed her again.

"I don't like being called Lady Jedwarth. I'm no longer married to the man and every time someone calls me that, I cringe inside. I think of him and… the months, weeks and days before his death. Even though I didn't love him, it was an extremely taxing time. I want to move forward and think about the future. Surely something better awaits."

"Did he mistreat you?"

"Nay. He was kind enough, as was everyone in his household. But then, the day after his funeral, his nephew—his heir—arrived to send me back to my brother."

The last thing she wanted to do when she had time alone with Dirk was talk about the Earl of Jedwarth. The two men were drastically different. Jedwarth had been frail and sickly, while Dirk was the epitome of strength and health. Who could blame her for being drawn to Dirk?

"Jedwarth and the MacMorrison clan are closely allied with the clan Maighread was born into, the Gordons."

"Indeed, they were friends. But I had no choice in the matter. Do you think I'd choose a man who was nearly sixty years of age to marry? My brother arranged it."

She hoped Dirk wouldn't hold her first husband against her. Surely he knew most chiefs' daughters had no say in who they married. They weren't tied and dragged to their weddings, but they were not allowed to choose a man they found attractive. Nor were they allowed to marry for love.

Her mother and father had fallen in love after their arranged marriage. They had wanted her to have a say in who she married, but her brother was less sympathetic. She hadn't been able to find a husband while her parents still lived. No man had suited her. Her brother had run out of patience. Cyrus wasn't married, and he thought love matches were frivolous.

"Do you trust Maighread?" Dirk asked.

"Of course not." In fact, Isobel was exceedingly wary of the woman and her odd behavior.

"I hope you didn't tell her what happened at Munrick."

She cringed. "Although I didn't want to, I was forced to tell her what Nolan MacLeod did."

"Why?" Dirk demanded in a harsh tone.

"Lady Patience Murray had already heard I was supposed to marry the MacLeod, because she'd spent two nights at Munrick on the way here. I had to give a believable excuse for running out into a snowstorm. I hope Maighread will keep my secret. I also told her I would not marry the MacLeod. And I meant it."

Propping his hand against the mantel, Dirk nodded. "I hope you won't have to, but 'twill not be simple to extract yourself from the betrothal contract your brother signed. His word, his honor and his reputation are on the line. 'Tis not an action he will take lightly. Nor will the MacLeods."

Was Dirk like all other men who saw women as naught but pawns to be placed where they would benefit the men most? Rage rushed through her. "I don't care what my brother signed. I refuse to be pawed and accosted by the men of the clan I'm marrying into. Mother was shown great respect by our clan, and she taught me that I deserved no less than the same. Father loved her and treated her like precious glass. My wish is to find someone who will care as much for me but… it appears beyond my reach." Salty tears pricked her eyes as she stared into the orange coals. She hadn't meant to reveal so much about her emotions, but her words had poured out. She had not been raised to be a subservient nobody, trod on by others, and could hardly fall into that role now.

She ventured a glance at Dirk.

He had been staring at her, but shifted his gaze away from her.

What was he thinking? How pathetic she was? That she couldn't face reality? A love match was naught but a worthless fanciful whim? It hadn't been worthless to her parents. Their lives had been too short but they'd lived those years to the fullest and experienced more happiness than most people.

Although she'd had a sheltered upbringing, she'd known cold hard reality since her parents had died. Her brother had no qualms about pushing her out into the real world.

"Has Maighread talked to you about me?" Dirk asked.

Startled by his abrupt change in subject, she eyed him, but he wasn't even looking at her; he was examining the tapestry over the fireplace. He had to trust her in order to ask her that, didn't he? He seemed a wee bit vulnerable at the moment.

She was still perplexed by the half-mad way Maighread had denied that Dirk was who he'd said he was. "Do you promise not to tell her what I say?"

"Aye, of course. I talk to her as little as possible." He took the seat opposite her again.

"I think she is going senile," Isobel said.

"Why do you say this?"

"Even in private, she swears she has no memory of you."

Dirk snorted. "She remembers me, have no doubt of it. She's lying."

"Well, I thought perhaps that was the case, but she seems so vehement about it."

"I saw the recognition in her eyes. She knows who I am. That scares her. She's wanted the title and holdings for Aiden since he was born."

"She has always been kind to me." Isobel shook her head. "I can't understand this vicious side of her."

"Aye. She hides it from others for the most part, but she's held a grudge against me since the day she married my father. In truth, 'tis more like a strong, deep-rooted hatred. She attempted to kill me two other times when I was younger. Although she did not come so close as she did that last time."

Outrage sliced through Isobel. "Is the woman truly mad? How did she try to kill you the other times?"

Dirk stared into the glowing coals for a long moment. "The winter I was eight, I developed some sort of illness and fever. I was sick for days. I remember her coming into my room one night and opening the window shutters, allowing the icy air to gust into the room. I was perplexed about why she was doing that, but I was half-mad with fevered dreams and nightmares. I was too sick to arise and close the window. No servants or healers were about. She must have sent them back to their own beds. I only remember feeling cold and numb, then drifting off to comforting sleep. When I awoke, my father was shaking me violently and yelling. The room was filled with servants and clan members. They held me before the fire trying to warm me."

Isobel's throat constricted so tightly she couldn't speak and tears blurred her vision. She knew not what to say anyway. She was afraid if she opened her mouth she'd cry her eyes out. How could the woman she knew do such a cruel deed to a helpless, sick child? But she feared Dirk had seen the tears in her eyes.

He rose and paced across the library and back. "Another time when I was around ten, they told me I'd fallen and rolled down a flight of steps and hit my head on the stone floor. I only remember approaching the steps from the top and Maighread coming up behind me. I had no notion she would push me. Although I was cautious around her, I'd felt no true fear. But the memory of the rest is erased. When I awoke, my arm was broken and I was so sore all over I could hardly move. I still have the knot on the back of my head to prove it. I suspected she might have pushed me, and Uncle Conall thought that might have been the case."