"Surely you mean she is to marry Aiden." His brother had already said he was supposed to marry a Murray lass.
"'Haps, but in the event Aiden wasn't able to be chief, because of his health, Haldane would step in. That's why we all decided the contract should say the chief, rather than a specific son of Griff. But now this applies to neither of them. You are the chief."
Annoyance twisted through Dirk's vitals. "I made no agreement to marry anyone."
"Nay. But your father did, and as you ken, chiefs arrange the marriages of their children, especially a first born son. The contract specifies she is to marry the MacKay chief who follows Griff in line."
"Aiden followed my father. He was chief for a month or so."
The elders grinned as if he were naïve and shook their heads. "That doesn't count. He was not truly chief because you were still alive. And now you are chief. It's as if he was never the chief. Besides that, Laird Murray would not go along with it. He'd want his daughter to marry the current chief. To rile him is dangerous."
"This is madness," Dirk growled. "I was not even here when the agreement was made. My father thought I was dead. He would've never intended for me to marry the Murray woman. He intended it for Aiden or Haldane."
"Aye. But his intentions mean naught now. All that will stand is the contract, the written word. You must honor your father's contract," Hamish said.
"And if I don't?" he challenged.
The elders squirmed, mumbled and rubbed their grizzled beards.
"It could mean war, lad. You don't want to provoke the Murray chief," Phelan said.
"Aiden had planned to marry her. He told me so," Dirk said. "He still can. He's second in line to inherit now, which means he's tanist. No small position."
"But he's no longer chief. That won't suffice. The Murray chief will not hear of it."
Dirk leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "What is a chief's purpose?" he asked them.
They exchanged confused and concerned looks with each other. "To lead the clan and protect them as a father does his children. Surely you ken this."
Dirk nodded. Of course he knew, but did they? "Does the chief make decisions?"
"Aye," Hamish said hesitantly.
"Is the chief's word final?"
They shrugged, then grudgingly said, "Aye."
"Well then, I'm making a decision and my word is final. Nay." He rose and left the room, slamming the door behind him. After crossing the great hall, he strode outside. Damnation, he would not be pushed around and dictated to by his own clan, especially not when he was supposed to be leading them. He didn't care if the elders held seniority.
Dirk hadn't been around when this damned contract was created, nor did they have him in mind, and he refused to be bound by it. He would talk to the Murray chief and negotiate with him. He had not even spoken to the Murray lass and had only seen her a couple of times. Isobel, on the other hand, might already be carrying his heir. Such a chaos of powerful emotions surged through him when he thought of her, he didn't know what he was feeling. His heart pounded like a war drum, and he tried to put it from his mind.
Erskine followed at a distance across the bailey. Dirk was glad he took his body-guarding position seriously. Although Dirk was not yet used to the idea of being followed around at all times by an armed warrior. He'd taken care of himself for years. But all chiefs were heavily guarded, so he'd best get accustomed to it.
The bracing cold air and bright sunlight helped clear his head.
Damn, how the elders irked him. They couldn't make him their leader one moment, and then order him around the next. Either he was chief or he wasn't, but he wouldn't be somewhere in between. Nor would he have someone else telling him who he would marry.
There was naught wrong with the Murray lass. She was bonny enough. But she wasn't Isobel.
He'd compromised Isobel, but he knew not how he could marry her without setting off a war. The MacLeods and the Murrays would be coming down hard on them for breaking all sorts of contracts.
"Hell," he muttered. How did he get himself into such a predicament?
Inside the stables, he paused. Inhaling the scents of horse and hay helped him relax. Isobel. Damnation, the lass drove him mad. He craved her every moment, but he couldn't have her again. Not now. He didn't even know whether he could trust her.
Although his memories of last night were fuzzy, he kept recalling how he'd kissed her here in the stables several nights before. How she'd kissed him back with abandon and an eagerness he had never before experienced. Surely that couldn't be feigned.
As he'd consumed her mouth, relishing the sweet female taste of her, he'd yearned to let loose, to rip the clothing from her body, to lay claim to her in every way possible. And now, apparently, he had, but the memories were too vague to appease him. It had been more like a dream. He needed to know, with sharp clarity, how it had felt to be with her.
He'd been her first, and some deep, primal part of him roared that she was his… that she should be his. But she wasn't. Not yet. And a contract somewhere said she belonged to another man.
***
Dirk was angry with her. That was all Isobel could think about. How could he possibly believe she thought him disgusting and brutish?
She slipped up the tiny flight of spiral steps, hoping to find a secluded spot to be alone and think. Beitris had dogged her every step, asking questions about why she'd spent the night alone with Dirk again. She'd pretended to be headed out to walk on the beach, and Beitris had thought her mad for that idea. In truth, Isobel didn't want to go out into the cold wind.
She followed the stairs upward to a conical tower on the southwest corner of one section of Dunnakeil and closed the small door. The rare afternoon sunlight shining in the two tiny windows was just what she needed to perk up her mood.
Since he was now chief, Dirk was busy with clan affairs. He always would be and he'd likely have little time for her. Though she needed to spy on Maighread and find out her plans, she couldn't stand to look at the woman after the lies she'd told Dirk. Nor would Maighread trust her any longer.
Taking a deep breath, Isobel glanced around the diminutive circular stone tower room. At one time, guards must've been stationed here, but after further additions to the castle, it was no longer needed for this purpose.
She squinted out the wavy glass window, unable to see clearly what was below, but at least she could enjoy the sunlight for a few moments without freezing. The rhythmic movement below was waves crashing onto shore and sliding across the sand. It reminded her of the day she'd walked on the beach, then found Dirk at the church. Having seen him little today, she missed him, especially after the intimacy of sharing a bed last night.
He'd said he could barely remember what happened. What annoyed her most was that he suspected her of drugging him. Certainly, she'd wanted to lie with him but she would do naught underhanded to seduce him. How could he not know this?
Should she search him out and assure him of the truth or give him some breathing room? How could he trust such a duplicitous woman's word over her own? After what he'd been through, with the attempts on his life, Isobel could understand that he would find it difficult to trust anyone. Even her.