"Your experiences were not good?"

"Nay. My husband—if you can call him that—in my temporary marriage was annoying."

"Why did you enter into a temporary marriage?" Isobel knew they were commonplace in the Highlands, but rarely did they benefit the woman.

"My father arranged it with a prominent chief to the southeast. As you ken, such a marriage is for a year and a day. If the woman is with child at the end of that time, the couple will most likely wed in truth. If there is no child, the couple can either marry or part ways. I was not with child, so we both chose to part ways. A chief must always have an heir. If the woman is barren, he can send her back to her family and find a more fertile wife. But we only had relations three times during that year. I'm thinking that was not enough." She shrugged. "Not that I wanted him to bed me more than that."

"But you are a beautiful woman. How could he only want you three times?"

"He found another lass more to his liking. They are now in a temporary marriage. He'll probably tire of her in a few months. Men are fickle."

"I hope not all men are." Indeed, what if Dirk tired of her? But what did it matter, since they weren't in any sort of marriage, temporary or otherwise?

"I haven't been around my brother much since we were bairns so I couldn't say if he is fickle or not. If he is canny, he will marry you."

A thrill raced through Isobel at the thought. "I would like that, but I don't want a man who is forced to marry me. He should do it because he wants to. The bigger problem is I'm already betrothed to someone else."

Jessie nodded and sat down on a stool near the hearth. "I ken it. What is he like?"

"Torrin MacLeod is a nice enough looking man—brown hair, green eyes, almost thirty summers. But he is in love with a village lass, 'haps the daughter of a crofter, and has children with her. At least that's what his knave of a brother told me. The clan will not allow him to marry her. He but wanted to marry me for the three hundred acres in my dowry. And 'haps for an heir."

"What a horse's arse," Jessie grumbled.

"His brother is even worse." She'd already told Jessie about the incident at Munrick and how she'd near bashed in Nolan's head.

"Men think women are naught but animals for breeding purposes," Jessie said. "What we want matters not at all. I don't care if I never marry. Likely, I'd be happier staying here with my family."

"Aye, 'tis true. My brother wouldn't allow me to stay home any longer. He's unfeeling and harsh at times, but protective of the clan."

"When Dirk becomes chief, he'd best not try to make me marry some grouchy old bastard," Jessie said.

Isobel snickered. "You are more like your brother than you realize."

Jessie gave a sheepish grin. "I suppose so. Are you ready for the hearing? I hope Dirk will officially be appointed chief soon, but I fear Maighread will do something to stop him."

***

"Well, look at you, chief," Rebbie said as soon as Dirk left his bedchamber and stepped into the corridor.

"What?" Dirk asked, wondering if Rebbie had also been here when Isobel had exited a short while ago. He hoped not.

"You look like a true Highlander now with that belted plaid and no trews to hide those hairy calves."

"Kiss my arse." Dirk strode away, the two-handed Highland sword strapped to his back thumping against his hip.

Rebbie snickered and caught up with him at the end of the corridor. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Better." Dirk only had a mild headache this morn. Although not pleasant, it was tolerable.

"I'd say you had one hell of a night," Rebbie said.

"What are you talking about?" Dirk paused, hoping—nay, praying—Rebbie knew naught of what had happened between him and Isobel.

When Rebbie gave a knowing chuckle, Dirk realized the truth of it.

"Spying on me now?" Dirk demanded.

Rebbie shook his head, hardly able to contain his amusement. At least he was trying to keep it low key so as not to draw attention. "I came to check on you earlier and I heard you two arguing."

"Eavesdropping? That's low, even for you."

"I couldn't hear what you were saying, despite a few yells." He snorted. "Besides, Erskine guarded your door all night. He knows Isobel never left your room until this morn."

"Some guard he is if he can't even keep his mouth shut. I'm going to have a talk with him. Where is he now, by the way?"

"He needed to go relieve himself, so I told him I'd guard you for a little while. He's new to it. And he figured you wouldn't mind if I knew about Isobel."

"I do mind. I was injured and the healer gave me some kind of drugging potion. Most likely opium poppy. I was not myself and hardly remember it."

"Och. 'Tis damned unfortunate. Because, of a certainty, you want to remember when you've…."

Dirk sent him a cutting glare, warning him not to go too far. He would tolerate no crude remarks about Isobel. "Say naught of it. Maighread and her people cannot find out or Isobel could be in danger." That was the important thing. Of course, she probably already knew, if Haldane had anything to do with it.

"I'll tell no one. You ken that. But I wish to congratulate you." Rebbie held out his hand for a shake.

"What for?"

"You're going to marry her, are you not?"

Dirk's heart rate quickened at the thought, for he did want to marry her. But he didn't yet know how he'd accomplish that, given all the obstacles in his way. "Aye, of course. 'Tis the only honorable thing to do considering she was…." Dirk snapped his mouth closed.

"Was what?" Rebbie's dark eyes widened with curiosity.

"She's a lady," Dirk amended.

"Forget honor. That woman will make you happy."

"How do you know? You're no expert on marital bliss. Besides, the very thought of marriage terrifies you, does it not?"

Rebbie shrugged. "This is not about me. You're different with her. And clearly, she cares about your health, considering how she warmed you up with her almost bare body last night. She's precisely what you need to get you out of your grumpy mood."

"I'm not grumpy," Dirk muttered, distracted by the delightful memory of Isobel lying on his naked body the night before to share heat, naught but the thin smock between them. She'd warmed him up, for a certainty. His shaft had been awakened first, ready for action even before he could feel his numb toes.

He adjusted his sporran, making sure the pouch concealed his burgeoning arousal at an awkward time. The kilt was one of his father's clean belted plaids. He thought it appropriate for the hearing with the MacKay clan. He also wore an ivory linen shirt and a gray doublet he'd brought with him.

Continuing on, they passed a group of clansmen. Rebbie nodded to them and changed the subject. "And how is your head feeling this morn?" he asked Dirk. "There's still a nasty red mark on it and a bruise."

Given that Rebbie had already asked about his health, he knew it was for show. "Better. It doesn't pain me as much."

"Are you hungry?"

"Nay. A servant brought me bannocks and eggs earlier."

The great hall was a buzz of activity. Several clansmen fell silent when they noticed Dirk and Rebbie enter, then they came forward to inquire after Dirk's injury. He was glad to see most members of the clan were concerned about his well-being, and that they were also welcoming.