If he knew of her innocence, he would likely stay even further away from her. He must not find out.
***
"What the devil are you doing out here?"
Dirk jumped and turned from the horse's stall. Rebbie stood in the stable entrance. Why hadn't he heard his friend's approach? His thoughts of Isobel had distracted him.
"Naught. Examining the stables."
"Ha. Indeed?" Rebbie paced across the hay-strewn floor and glanced in at his own horse. "Seems more than sufficient."
"Aye."
"Did Isobel come out here?"
"Why? What did she tell you?"
"Naught. But when she returned, she raced across the great hall and disappeared up the steps as if the fires of hell licked at her heels."
"Hmph." Maybe Dirk had frightened her. He hadn't meant to, though he did have to warn her to stay away from him. If they had a tryst, the repercussions would be hellish indeed—clan wars.
"Did you say anything to upset her?" Rebbie asked.
"Nay." So that was a lie. Could not be helped.
"But she was here?" Rebbie asked.
"Aye."
"Something must have happened."
Dirk ground his teeth. Rebbie's prying combined with his earlier flirtation with Isobel truly grated on Dirk's patience. "'Tis none of your concern," he snapped.
"Ah… well." Rebbie drew back. "I see."
Did he see? Dirk didn't think so. He hated the torturous position he currently found himself in and Rebbie was not helping matters. He was but twisting the knife.
Rebbie chuckled softly.
"What?" Dirk growled.
"'Tis plain to see, man. She has you all riled up."
Dirk snorted, trying his best to hide his true feelings about the situation. Of a certainty, he'd felt desire before. Lust. But never with the burning intensity he experienced when Isobel was near. "You have vivid imaginings."
"I ken you want her. Admit it."
"No more than you want her," Dirk grumbled with a glare toward his friend. The memory of Rebbie and Isobel's conversation during supper, then the dancing, made Dirk's gut wrench.
"Aha! There's where you're wrong, my friend," Rebbie said. "I'm not dimwitted enough to chase after the skirts of an almost married woman."
"Nor am I. Do you think I want a feud with the MacLeods?"
"Nay. I see that's holding you back."
"It's enough." Aye, indeed, more than enough. He couldn't return to his clan only to lead them into a battle of his own making. He didn't kidnap MacLeod's bride; he rescued her.
"But if not for that?"
"It matters not, because she's betrothed. Naught will change that fact," Dirk said in a hard tone, as much to himself as to his friend. Wishes and fantasies were for silly, frivolous lasses and held no purpose. Dirk lived in the real world.
"And yet, true love always finds a way," Rebbie mused.
Love? Had Rebbie gone daft of a sudden? Love and lust were many miles apart.
"Hmph. What are you, a poet? A bard?" Dirk asked.
"'Haps I should be. The ladies would love it, I'm thinking."
"I'm certain," Dirk muttered dryly. Anything Rebbie did, the ladies loved.
"Except for Lady Isobel and Lady Jessie, Dunnakeil is near bereft of lovely ladies, though, is it not? 'Twould be nice to have a buxom lass to warm my bed at night."
Dirk frowned. "You're not thinking of seducing my sister," he said in a warning tone.
"Nay, strangely, she's too much like a female version of you. 'Tis a bit bizarre."
"She's not the least bit mannish."
"Nay, she's utterly feminine and beautiful, but the look in her eyes. 'Tis almost like looking at your eyes."
Dirk believed he understood what his friend meant. He and Jessie resembled each other a great deal, including having eyes like their father. Anyway, he was glad Rebbie wasn't attracted to her. One less thing to worry about. "And you're not thinking of seducing Isobel either." Dirk knew his words came out like an order, but he couldn't help it.
"Nay, not Isobel either. Obviously, she is spoken for twice over."
"Not because of me. Because of the MacLeods." Dirk knew it was a half lie, but the words should have been true. The real reason neither of them could touch Isobel was the MacLeods. But if Rebbie were to seduce her, that might be the one thing to destroy their friendship. Imagining that lashed him, as well. He and Rebbie had been friends for a decade. That a woman might threaten their friendship sent icy warning through his bloodstream.
What the hell was he thinking? Had he gone mad? He could not become attached to Isobel.
"Indeed, the MacLeods," Rebbie said in a doubtful tone.
"Aye. I'm taking her to her brother. He can deal with the MacLeods. I'm staying out of it."
"Won't be the same around here without her."
Dirk hadn't thought of it, but Rebbie was right. "Cannot be helped. She must go home sometime."
"But not now."
"After the weather breaks."
"That won't be until spring, I'm thinking, considering the north wind has been thrashing us since we arrived."
Dirk shrugged. "Whenever. The MacLeods don't know where she is, so she's safe."
"Aye, safe from them. But is she safe from you?" Rebbie asked in a teasing tone.
"I don't take advantage of women." He felt like belting his friend for even suggesting it.
"'Haps not. Come to think of it, I'm a wee bit worried she will take advantage of you."
"Ha. Now I ken it… you're mad enough for the asylum."
"We'll see." Rebbie wandered from the stable and into the courtyard.
Dirk frowned. Was Isobel planning to seduce him? And if so, why? To rescue her permanently from the MacLeods? Would she use him in that way? Hell, he could not allow himself to be dragged into this conflict between the MacLeods and the MacKenzies.
***
"This man you speak of cannot be Dirk MacKay. He is dead," Maighread Gordon, Lady MacKay said to Haldane. "This is an imposter!" She eyed her youngest son across the Turkish carpet of her sitting room in the manor house at Tongue. Haldane appeared to be speaking the truth.
"I know not if 'tis truly him or not. I don't remember Dirk that well."
"It cannot be." Dirk MacKay died twelve years ago. Surely he did. How could he have survived a fall from a three-hundred foot cliff? A moment of guilt speared her chest as it always did when she thought of the hateful, little red-headed bastard. He made her think of those fabled changelings. Since he was a small child, he'd watched her with those eerie, piercing pale eyes as if he knew what she was thinking… as if he hated her. She had certainly hated him with equal fervor.
But the brat's father, Griff MacKay, had loved her. He'd told her so every day, and he'd built this warm manor house for her where she'd wanted it near Kyle of Tongue. She couldn't tolerate the bleak and drafty Castle Dunnakeil on the shear face of that windy shore.
She would've had no reason to marry Griff MacKay two-and-twenty years ago if not to bear him an heir. She was the daughter of an earl and had expected to marry equally well. But that hadn't happened. Griff was only a baron and a chief. It had been enough, she supposed, given how much land came with the title. But she'd be damned if she let a little flame-haired hellion of a boy have that title when it could just as easily go to her oldest son.
"All the elders say 'tis him," Haldane said. "And Uncle Conall says Dirk's body was never found because he didn't die."