Page 92 of My Brave Highlander

She sat up, covered in the blanket, glaring at him with those bewitching midnight eyes. "You wanted me," she accused.

"Aye, that I did." And still do. Right now. He couldn't say that. They didn't need another session to make sure she was with child. He doubted he'd withdrawn from her before his seed spilled, as he had with other widows he'd been with.

"You dragged me into your bed." She pointed at him. "So don't make it all my fault."

"'Tis not your fault. I blame myself." 'Haps without the drugging herbs, he would've been more in control, but even so, he'd wanted her since he first saw her.

Something deep inside him said she was supposed to be his. But at the same time, it seemed too good to be true. And that made him suspicious.

To imagine her with MacLeod filled him with anger and possessiveness. Nay, Dirk had to marry her. But he needed to obtain her brother's permission, else he'd truly be seen as a bride thief and a kidnapper. Honor was important to him and he had not gone about this in an honorable way. For him to steal the MacLeod's betrothed and marry her was no small offense. They'd retaliate. He didn't want war, bloodshed, and loss of life over this, his own daft mistake. Without doubt, he'd have to give MacLeod something of great value in exchange to regain peace.

"What a damnable mess," he muttered, rubbing his scratchy beard stubble.

"I don't mean to burden you," Isobel grumbled and slid to the edge of the bed. She reached for her smock in the heap of clothing on the floor, her movements jerky and filled with ire. "Like I told you before, I want a husband who cares about me. If you are not capable, then I will leave."

"Damnation, Isobel. I care."

"I don't believe you. You are naught but annoyed with me."

"Not with you. With the situation."

"The situation with me."

"I hope that you can forgive me." He used a gentler tone. "I have to deal with the MacLeod chief and your brother in a diplomatic way or this situation will blow up in my face. And I'm not even a chief yet. I wanted to do things in a certain order. Now that's jumbled. Other chiefs will question my honor. They'll consider me an outlaw and a kidnapper for stealing a neighboring chief's bride."

"Well, then. I'm sorry I've sullied your immaculate honor and your perfect reputation, most noble sir."

Damned if she didn't have an impertinent mouth. He was tempted to silence her with a fierce kiss.

Knocks sounded at the door. "Dirk? Are you feeling better?" Rebbie called from the corridor.

"Aye," Dirk said.

The latch on the door clicked but didn't budge. He'd barred the door earlier so no one would barge in and find Isobel in his bed. He hoped no one had seen them together while they'd been sleeping.

"'Tis time for the hearing," Rebbie said, his voice muffled by the wood. "Everyone is assembling in the great hall."

"I'll be there in a moment. I'm dressing." Or at least he was going to. He didn't wish to drop the plaid and give Isobel an eyeful. Nor did he want her to know how intensely she affected him every time he saw her. He craved her, and the foggy memories of last night only taunted and tempted him. He glanced back to see Isobel securing her arisaid. "Don't allow Maighread to find out what happened between us," he said.

"Why not? Are you ashamed?"

"Nay," he growled. "She will use it against me. She will do anything to hurt me, that includes hurting you."

"Well, I'm sure you remember that Haldane saw us in bed together last night when I was warming you, so she'll assume the worst."

'Slud! He'd forgotten about Haldane. All his memories of last night were foggy.

"She would not harm me, surely, given who my mother was. Would she?"

"Don't be naïve, Isobel. And never underestimate that woman. She is a poisonous snake in the grass."

"I won't say anything about us spending the night together, obviously," she said meekly while staring at the floor, avoiding his gaze. He wanted to tell her not to be cross with him. He was doing the best he could. But he'd probably muddle that too. She was the first woman he'd shared more than a passing conversation or roll betwixt the sheets with. He knew how to talk to men in a straightforward, honest way, not caring whether they liked what he said or not.

Women were different. They took things the wrong way and developed hurt feelings over the merest slight. He would have to remember to consider his words carefully before he said much to her.

Damn, how she tempted him. He wanted naught but to grab her and take her back to bed and devour those rosy pink lips of hers. He yearned to remember every sharp and luscious detail of what it had been like with her, but the herbs had clouded his memories.

"Opium poppy," he said.