Page 19 of My Brave Highlander

"Aye, the one and only."

"That doesn't mean Isobel and your stepmother are friends," Rebbie said.

"Nay, but I trust her not even a wee bit." He was concerned for her safety and wanted to know who'd harmed her, but that didn't mean he trusted her.

"But you must admit, she is lovely." Rebbie's wide, toothy grin was obvious, even in the low light of the lantern reflecting off the snow covering the ground.

Dirk snorted, annoyance driving through him. Was Rebbie enticed by her? Of course he was. And he generally netted the women he wanted. He'd best keep his hands off Isobel.

"Well," Rebbie drew the word out. "She is lovely. I speak the truth."

"I have eyes," Dirk snapped. "But beauty does not equal honor or goodness."

"You think she is not honorable and good?" Rebbie questioned as if he truly wanted to know.

Dirk rolled his eyes. "I have no notion. But she is thick with Maighread Gordon, the devil's spawn."

"Your stepmother?"

"Aye!"

"I did not remember her name," Rebbie grumbled. "You are even more grouchy than usual, worse than a lass before her monthly. Does this have aught to do with Isobel?"

"Nay! Look at us." Dirk flung his arms out. "Searching for sticks in the wind-driven snow. 'Tis dark as midnight. My father is on his deathbed. We have two more days travel ahead of us and two female companions who are on the run from the MacLeods for some unknown reason. What have I to be grouchy about?"

"Very well. You have a right to your ill-temper… this time. I'm sorry about your father's illness. As for the rest, it could be worse. We could be starving, injured and soaked to the skin without a stitch of wool or hint of shelter, as we were in France that time."

"I need no reminders. Hold this." He handed the lantern to his friend. At the edge of a small group of bushes, Dirk took out his small sgian dubh and searched for a twig thick enough to split.

"As for the female companionship we find ourselves with, 'tis not a hardship," Rebbie said. "Surely you must agree with that, given how Isobel was plastered against your back for a couple of hours this eve."

Dirk ground his teeth, because… damnation… Rebbie was right. He had enjoyed Isobel riding behind him, and it had naught to do with her keeping his back warm. He had grown warm in other places as well. Places he refused to think about right now.

Crouching, he severed a thick twig from the base of a bush, then straightened to cut it to length.

"Isobel must be… what… five-and-twenty now?" Rebbie asked. "Is she not married?"

"How the blazing hell do I know?" Dirk frowned. "I don't go about asking women if they are married."

"You should. Some irate husband, 'haps even a laird or chief, may come chasing after us."

A sinking feeling settled into Dirk's gut, realization dawning. "That could be who bruised her face and broke her finger."

"Could be."

A blend of anger and suspicion twisted Dirk's vitals. "I asked who hurt her and she wouldn't say. She came from Munrick and is afraid to go back. We were ever friendly with the MacLeods and if one of them hurt her, she's afraid I'll be on his side." It all made sense now.

"So she knows the MacKays and MacLeods are allies."

"Aye. Her father knew. 'Tis common knowledge hereabouts."

Damnation! Had she married one of the MacLeod chief's sons, Torrin or Nolan? He cared naught for either one of them—both arrogant as kings. He'd find out at the soonest opportunity.

He split the thick twig with his sharp blade, then whittled the bark and splinters from each piece, paying special attention to the flat inside. It should be smooth against her finger. Her skin was likely sensitive and delicate.

"She won't be getting any splinters from those," Rebbie said. "How gallant of you."

Dirk didn't usually mind Rebbie's teasing, but at the moment it was grating on his frayed nerves. He knew not why, except that his friend was right. Dirk cared too much about her welfare, her delicate skin, and her comforting warmth against his back… not to mention the way she'd clung to his shoulder or his mantle to keep her seat. Although he'd bedded plenty of females, one had never depended on him for safety and protection.