Page 29 of My Brave Highlander

Isobel was certain they'd have to do the same. Though she was not accustomed to sleeping on the floor, she'd practiced it without complaint for the past two nights. 'Twas far better than being kept hostage by a barbarous clan of abusive men, even if they did have beds and straw mattresses.

She wiggled her toes, glad they were thawing out, although they did sting with the return of feeling.

Lewis returned inside with a gust of cold air and a friendly grin directed at Dirk. "It does my heart good to see you alive and well, Dirk MacKay, and newly married besides." He chuckled. "I can tell you've not been married long."

Heat rushed over her and she could think of naught to say. Why had he assumed this? Or had Dirk told him earlier?

"Um, aye," Dirk said. "I mean, nay. We've not been married six months yet."

"I could tell!"

She wasn't sure whether that was a lie or not. They indeed had not been married six months. She was unaccustomed to lying and unsure if she could keep up the farce. But perhaps pretending marriage to Dirk would be good practice. Where had that thought come from? Did that mean she wanted to be married to Dirk?

"Well, lad, you got yourself a beauty," Lewis proclaimed, eying her. He quirked a brow. "Is that a bruise on her face?"

"I fell from my husband's monstrous horse," she blurted. "And broke a finger in the process." She held up her hand to show him, hoping he believed her poorly thought out story.

"Och. You will have to be more careful. Which clan are you from?"

"MacDonald of Glencoe," Dirk said. "And this is my good friend, Robert MacInnis, Earl of Rebbinglen."

Lewis's eyes widened and he bowed. "'Tis my great honor to meet you, m'laird. I did not ken I had the privilege of hosting a man of such elevated rank."

"The pleasure is all mine. And I thank you for your generous hospitality."

The older man waved a hand through the air. "I only hope you are able to eat our humble food. I must say though, Mattie's Highland pie is tasty."

"I'm certain 'tis far better than the day old bannocks we've been eating."

"'Haps."

Isobel's stomach growled loudly in the moment of silence. She placed her hand against it, cringing.

"I'm thinking the lass is famished. Have you not been feeding her, lad?"

"Aye, when she's willing to eat," Dirk said, his face a bit flushed.

Was he blushing? Isobel could not imagine it.

Lewis laughed and motioned them toward a separate dining room. "I smell those Highland pies."

Isobel did too. The combined scents of baked venison, onions and other vegetables made her mouth water.

"Seat yourselves at the table and Mattie will bring out some food."

"Have you had word of my father?" Dirk asked, pulling out a chair for Isobel.

"Nay," Lewis said. "Only that he has been ill. I've seen no one from Durness in a month or more."

"I hope he still lives." Dirk seated himself beside Isobel.

"As do I, lad," the older man said. "Your da is a good man, one of the best in these parts."

Dirk nodded. The sadness in his eyes compelled Isobel to clasp his hand. She wanted to do more, perhaps pull him into her arms, and tell him she understood. Losing her own father had near killed her.

Staring down at her hand, Dirk gently squeezed her fingers for a moment, then released her. She pulled her hand away, feeling bereft, missing his warm strong hand. His touch was comforting, but also exciting.

"Why did I hear you'd died?" Lewis asked him.