"I knew you were smitten with her—a woman who's all but married to another man. How dimwitted can you be? Now you'll have to answer to the MacLeod for kidnapping her."
Dirk snorted. "The MacKay clan knows I didn't kidnap her. That's all that matters."
The elders nodded, eying Maighread with suspicion.
"Well, now that you've bedded her, 'tis doubtful the MacLeod will want her," Maighread said in a nasty tone.
"Won't do him any good if he does. He's not getting her," Dirk said.
"I hope they rain fire on this keep and burn it to the ground!" Maighread said. "Then at least an imposter won't get it."
***
Nolan MacLeod sat in Munrick's great hall, eating venison stew with his brother, Torrin—the MacLeod chief—and their guests, the MacKenzies. Cyrus MacKenzie, Isobel's brother, reminded Nolan of a dark warlord who wouldn't mind taking off anyone's head, and Nolan didn't want to cross the bastard.
Torrin had sent Cyrus a missive that Isobel had run madly out into a snowstorm and disappeared. Cyrus had been irate, demanding answers when he'd arrived with his brothers and several men the day before. Why wasn't his sister protected and taken care of while she'd been here? Where was she? Why hadn't the MacLeods searched for her? Torrin blamed himself, but he was at a loss as to what happened since he hadn't been here at the time.
Nolan didn't know why Torrin had allowed the MacKenzies to gain entrance. If it had been Nolan's decision, he would've left them beyond the walls to freeze.
At the moment, no one paid any attention to Nolan, and he was glad. He had to keep a low profile since the place was crawling with MacKenzies. Fortunately, no one else in the clan knew why Isobel had left. Nolan was the only one. He smiled inwardly. They would never know what happened. 'Twas a pity because of her lush beauty, but Isobel was probably dead. Her own fault for knocking him on the head, running away and facing the harsh elements.
A guard rushed in and approached the center of the high table where the chief sat. "Ten men from the MacKay clan are at the gates, m'laird."
"What do they want?" Torrin asked, putting down his ale cup.
"To speak to you, the man betrothed to Isobel MacKenzie. They claim to know where she is."
"Saints!" Isobel's brother shot from his chair, leapt from the dais and rounded the table. "Where is she?" he demanded.
The guard backed up two steps. "I know not, Chief MacKenzie. Should we allow them inside the gates?" His gaze darted to Torrin.
"I'm coming." Torrin stepped down from the dais, grabbed his wool mantle and followed Cyrus' swift trek across the great hall.
They'd found Isobel? After donning his mantle, Nolan followed his brother. Dread twisted his gut into an aching knot. If she was alive and well, she might tell Torrin, Cyrus and everyone else what Nolan had tried to do to her. Damn her. Why couldn't she have frozen to death?
It would be her word against his. Torrin would believe him, his own brother, over Isobel, surely.
At the same time, excitement rushed through Nolan at the thought of seeing the dark-eyed lass again. She'd bewitched him with her seductive looks and curvy body. He couldn't get her out of his head. He still wanted her, even though he was tempted to strangle her for injuring him.
If she told on him, he would, of a certainty, have to kill her.
Outside in the bailey, sleet and rain hissed through the air as they made their way to the portcullis over the narrow arm of the loch. Guards held torches and lanterns.
"Who are you?" Torrin asked the young, auburn-haired man at the forefront of the visitors beyond the iron bars.
"Haldane MacKay, son of Chief Griff MacKay, may God rest his soul."
"Griff MacKay is dead?" Cyrus asked.
"Aye, just over a month ago."
"I'm sorry to hear of it. You ken where my sister is?"
"If Isobel MacKenzie is your sister, aye. Dirk MacKay took her hostage."
Silence reigned for a moment as the men exchanged frowns.
"Dirk MacKay is dead," Torrin said. "And has been for over a decade."
"Aye," Haldane said. "This man is an imposter claiming to be Dirk MacKay. He's taken over the clan and castle and imprisoned my mother. And he has taken Lady Isobel hostage. He has used her ill and abused her."
"This is an outrage!" Cyrus said. "Who is he in truth?"
"We know not."
"I'll kill the bastard, whoever he is," Torrin muttered.
"And I'll help you," Cyrus said.
Haldane gave a sly grin and Nolan wondered what he was up to. Was any of this true?
One of the MacLeod guards spoke up. "A MacKay and a party of four passed through here a fortnight ago."
"Who was with him?" Torrin demanded.
"A woman he said was his wife, a man named MacInnis, and two servants. The MacKay man claimed his father was on his deathbed and he had to make haste."
"That's him. His friend is MacInnis," Haldane said.
Torrin muttered a string of curses, then asked the guard, "Did you get a look at the woman he said was his wife?"
"Nay, 'twas snowing. Nasty weather, and she was shrouded in wool blankets to keep warm."
"If that was Isobel, why would she say naught nor ask for the help of the MacLeod guards if she'd truly been taken hostage by MacKay?" Cyrus asked, narrowing his eyes at Torrin.
"That's what I'd like to know, but I wasn't here," Torrin growled.
"She fled Munrick for some reason. My sister is not daft. She would not have left here during a storm unless she felt her life was in danger. I want the truth from you and your clan," Cyrus demanded.
Rigid with suppressed rage, Torrin turned, his gaze landing on Nolan. "What happened while I was gone, brother? You were supposed to be watching over the clan and my betrothed."
A second of icy fear sliced through Nolan. No one could suspect him. "Naught that I know of. She simply vanished one night. We thought she'd changed her mind about marrying you."
"Nay, there had to be a reason," Cyrus said, his shrewd devil-dark eyes making Nolan squirm. "She agreed to marry Torrin. She would not simply change her mind. Something happened here."
"What are you not telling us, Nolan?" Torrin demanded.
"I've told you all I know." Stay calm, he told himself.
The two chiefs glared at him several moments longer and sweat broke out over his whole body, despite the chill wind.
Torrin turned back to Haldane. "Who do you have with you?"
"My friends, MacKays mostly, and two of my mother's guards."
"If you leave your weapons at the gate, you may stay the night," Torrin said. "We'll leave in the morn and rescue Lady Isobel."
***
The sky was overcast and the frigid wind whipping at a steady rate at Dunnakeil two days later when the skirl of bagpipes playing a call to battle from the roof of the guard tower alerted the MacKays something was amiss.
Dirk strode from the stables. The men knew what to do when the MacLeods arrived. He'd been training them for over a week. All wore armor and carried weapons as they gathered in the inner bailey.
"Halt!" one of his guards yelled from the guard tower.
Dirk hurried forward to see how many men had arrived and whether an attack was being launched.
Once Dirk reached the gates, he only saw two well-armed men of about his own age, garbed in plaid, armor and wool mantles. He hadn't seen these two in over twelve years, but he recognized them. The dark-haired one was Isobel's brother, Cyrus MacKenzie, and the other, with lighter brown hair, was her betrothed, Torrin MacLeod.