He moved toward the window as if distracted by something outside. After a moment, he turned back to her but she was unable to decipher his expression.

"I told you it was silly," she said, her face heating.

"'Tis not silly to wish to be happy."

"I hope you're happy being the new chief."

He shrugged. "Being chief is not a matter of happiness for me, but a matter of duty and responsibility."

She understood those things all too well, and they were not usually pleasant, at least not in her case. "Still, I hope you will enjoy being chief. I think you're ideally suited for the position. You're wise and brave. You will be a great leader."

"I thank you. I'll do my best." The afternoon sunlight in the room ignited the vivid blue of his eyes like flame.

"'Tis clear to me you will not be a greedy laird. Instead, you will be one who protects his people."

He gave a brief nod. "I will try as best I can to emulate my father. He was a skilled and well-respected chief. The clan could not have been more loyal to him."

She nodded, remembering how she'd felt when she entered this bower. "I wanted to talk to you about what Maighread said. She lied. I didn't say you were disgusting and barbaric. In fact, the opposite is true. You are the most appealing man I've ever met. Though you are strong and tough, you are also compassionate and protective."

He wore a slight frown but said naught, appearing speechless for the moment.

"I hope you don't believe I'm manipulating you, like she said. If you wish me to leave, I will. I'm not trying to trap you into… anything."

"Nay, I blame myself," he muttered with a tortured expression. "A man should maintain control at all times, especially with a lady who is… inexperienced. Even if I'd known, I'm not sure I would've had enough reasoning ability to stop."

"Well… I didn't try to stop you either. A widow of five-and-twenty should not be a virgin. I know you barely remember it, but for me it was…" She shook her head. "I have no words to describe it. More exquisite and beautiful than anything I could've imagined."

He gave her a dark look, his lashes lowered. Abruptly, he turned. "I must go."

"What? Why?"

He exited and closed the door behind him. Damn the man anyway. Why had he done that? Why wouldn't he talk to her and explain himself?

***

Dirk sucked in a deep breath of cool air in the corridor and headed toward the roof.

Exquisite and beautiful.

The way Isobel had described their lovemaking compelled him to pin her to the wall and take her again. Need and keen lust had shot through his body so swiftly, he'd near become dizzy with it. He had to find some restraint around her. If that meant not being around her, that's what he'd do.

If he got her with child before she was free from the MacLeod, there would be the devil to pay. Aside from that, he strove to be a man of honor who maintained control. For a man to take a virgin lady who wasn't his wife was the height of knavery.

But she tempted him beyond all reason.

When he exited onto the castle's ramparts, the icy wind hit him in the face. Just what he needed to cool his ardor. He glanced around and saw that the roof was empty. The guard towers below at each corner of the walls were more than sufficient to keep a lookout for approaching armies. None of which had invaded for years.

Needing a few minutes alone, he'd asked Erskine to wait at the bottom of the steps below.

He paced, his gaze drawn toward the sun setting over the bay and mountains, golden orange and rose blended with the grayish clouds. Such a lovely sight. Home. The waves crashing below and rhythmically sliding over the sand helped the tension and lust drain from his body. He inhaled deeply of the frigid salt air. How he'd missed this place.

A movement at the door caught his attention. Isobel, with the cowl over her head, squeezed out and the wind shoved the door closed again.

What the devil was she doing following him?

His lust surged to the forefront again, even though he knew there was no chance of taking her now. His body didn't care. What he couldn't remember from last night, his imagination filled in with spellbinding erotic imagery and sensations.

She strode toward him. "Dirk? Why did you walk out in such a way?"

How could she not understand? She knew little about men; that was why. Well hell, he wasn't explaining it to her. The less they talked about swiving the better.

"Are you still angry with me?" she asked.

"Nay."

"But you don't trust me. That's clear."

"Aye. I do trust you. But I don't trust myself."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Clasping the icy stone before him, he shook his head. "Because—damnation, Isobel—I want you," he growled. "Can you not see that? I want… what we did last night… again."

Her eyes widening—in shock or interest—he couldn't be sure. She licked her lips and the action near drove him mad.

He squeezed his eyes closed against the luscious sight of her.

A second later, she touched his arm. His eyes sprang open and he glared at her. She was too close, her body practically against his.

"Isobel… go back inside." The chill wind snatched his words away, making them almost too low to hear.

She shook her head.

"Do as I say," he growled more sharply.

She bit her lip, looking unsure and vulnerable again.

"I'm not angry with you, lass," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. "I'm trying to protect you."

"I don't want to be protected from you."

Something fluttered and surged in his chest. Hell. He felt near senseless around her. As if his body and emotions were in control and his reasoning mind had abandoned him.

He breathed deeply of the cold air, but it would not dispel his hunger for her. She wanted him just as he wanted her. Her rosy lips lured him. He had to taste them one more time.

Letting go the bitter cold stone, he grabbed her to him. The flare of excitement in her eyes fueled his desires. Her lips were as cold as his, but the inside of her mouth was hot and sweet as he delved inside to taste her. His hands slid down her back to her waist to hold her close. Her fingers wove through his hair, pulling, but he didn't care. He wanted naught but to devour every last inch of her.

Her delicate tongue flicked against his, spiking his lust, making him groan. He tugged her tighter against his body, against his hard shaft. Damn, how he wanted her, right here and now. The cold wouldn't matter, but he couldn't do it. No lady wanted to be taken roughly against an icy stone wall with her legs exposed to the wintry wind.

Simply imagining her naked thighs spread, himself lodged between, made his shaft jolt with powerful arousal. He moaned. Her mouth was better than any honeyed treat he'd ever tasted.

Something whizzed past the back of his head, the air off it wafting against his hair. Alarm shrieking through him, he rolled with Isobel to the stone floor of the battlement. She ended up on top but he quickly put her behind him.

What the devil was that?

An arrow bounced off the wall.

"Iosa is Muire Mhàthair." Some bastard was shooting at him? Damnation. Either of them could've been killed. "Stay down!"

Cautiously, he rose and scanned the roof. They were still alone. Had to be someone on the ground. How had they known he'd be up here? He peered over the edge of the rampart in the direction the arrow had been shot from—the west. He saw no one on the ground below. Where had the bastard gone?