"Do you think you can ride pillion, sitting on my bedroll?" he asked her.

She nodded, momentarily unsettled by the thought of him sitting so close in front of her, between her legs. She had no choice but to ride astride if she wished to keep her seat. But this was his horse, and he was generous for allowing her to ride it. Trying not to further injure her hand, she awkwardly scooted back onto the soft roll of wool blankets behind the saddle.

"If you could lean back slightly, I'll be able to mount without kicking you," Dirk said. When she did, he threw his leg over and gracefully hoisted himself into the saddle.

Once George and Beitris were mounted similarly, they all increased their pace across the flatter ground. The trotting horse jiggled her about but with her good hand she held on to Dirk's rock solid shoulder.

A moment of panic seized her at the thought of riding north again, closer to the MacLeods, but the truth was she and Beitris needed help. She'd had no inkling where they would've stayed tonight if Dirk and his companions hadn't happened along.

"You are friends with the MacLeods, are you not?" she asked.

He lifted one huge shoulder and let it drop. "Our clans were allies last I heard, but I haven't been in these parts in several years."

She relaxed a wee bit after that. If he wasn't a close friend of the chief and his brother, maybe he wouldn't force her to go back to that hellish place.

"The MacKenzies and the MacLeods, are they allies now?" he asked.

"I suppose." That was part of the marriage agreement, some land switching hands, along with peace. But since she'd run away, she knew not what problems that might cause. Once her brother learned of the abuse, he would be furious. She would beg him not to retaliate. It wasn't worth the loss of life.

She also prayed Cyrus wouldn't force her to go back. He cared about her, but he was not as compassionate or indulgent as their father had been. He wanted her to grow up and accept her responsibilities, and that meant marrying whichever chief he told her to.

The wind whipped by them harder and harder. Dirk turned aside. "Are you warm enough?"

"Aye." With him sitting so near, he blocked most of the north wind. She wondered what it would be like to snuggle underneath the shaggy wool mantle with him. Toasty warm from his body heat, she was certain. Simply imagining it, she tingled. She had not been comfortably warm for a long time. Never had she snuggled close to a man for warmth, and never had such a thought been so appealing as it was now with Dirk.

Just before nightfall stole the last of the light, the ruined crofter's hut came into view.

"The abandoned cottage is there." She pointed.

"Ah. I can see now why it is abandoned," Dirk said dryly.

'Twas true the roof looked a ramshackle mess, but she now held a strange fondness for the old structure. "It provided decent shelter for the night, and no one knew we were there."

"You were hiding out, then?"

A chill of warning coursed through her. "In a manner of speaking," she said carefully. "We didn't wish to draw the attention of outlaws." Or anyone who knows the MacLeods.

***

Nolan MacLeod gently stroked his fingertips over the huge swollen lump on his head that the MacKenzie bitch had given him. The night before, he'd awakened in a sticky pool of his own blood. Damn her.

Fortunately, he'd been able to leave her bedchamber before anyone had found him knocked out. The last thing he needed was for his clingy, irritating wife or his brother to suspect what he'd been after. Isobel MacKenzie was one tasty morsel he'd like to sink his teeth into. Not only that, but she thought she was better than everyone else, including him. He'd wanted to show her she wasn't so high and mighty. Sure, she was a countess, but only because she'd been married to an old, decrepit earl.

The servants who'd found the blood in her room assumed it was hers and that she'd disappeared under mysterious circumstances. They'd raised the alarm and the guards had gone out looking for her. No one had found her as of yet. Some thought she'd staggered out injured and drowned in the loch. Others said they'd wager their last bottle of Scotch that someone had slipped in, knocked her on the head and kidnapped her, given her beauty.

Where had she gone? She must have run away during the night.

Nolan had made them think he'd drunk too much whisky the night before and passed out in his brother's empty chamber.

Once Nolan had come to his senses and washed the blood from his hair, he'd sent some additional clansmen out looking for her and her maid. No one in the village had seen them last night or this morn. How could they simply vanish?

What did it matter? A snowstorm had moved in soon after and the wind had blown colder. He hoped the wee witch froze to death. 'Twould serve her right after she'd left him for dead.

He'd never before seen a woman fight back as she had. His wife certainly wouldn't or he would knock her flat. But this Isobel thought she was a queen. She believed she had the right to do whatever she wanted. Clearly, her father and brother had never kept her in line.

If she showed up here again, she'd cause all sorts of trouble for him. She might tell Torrin he'd tried to force her. Not that his brother would believe her.

Still, Torrin wouldn't be happy that his intended bride was gone. What would he do? And when would he be home?

Tomorrow, he would send one of Torrin's men to him at Lairg and let him know what happened. If he didn't, he would look suspicious.

Nolan certainly wasn't braving a snowstorm to look for her. And she'd never show her face here again, unless her brother forced her back.

Nolan would simply play the helpful, concerned brother. And if they ever found that deceitful wench, he'd get his revenge.

Chapter Four

At the snow-covered ramshackle cottage, Dirk dismounted. He couldn't believe Isobel and her maid had slept here the night before. If that was truly the case, she'd been desperate to hide out from someone. What kind of trouble had she gotten herself into at Munrick?

The stone cottage looked forbidding in the gloaming with its darkened doorway and almost half of the thatch roof either caved in or blown away. It would be little protection from the snow that gusted sideways, stinging his face and eyes.

Dirk turned, placed his hands at Isobel's narrow waist and helped her to the ground. She felt so small and fragile within his hands, and indeed she was about a foot shorter than he was. Snow covered the wool plaid over her head.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Well. But I look forward to some heat," she said with a shiver.

"Aye." Dirk turned to Rebbie who had dismounted nearby. "Lady Isobel tells me this is where she stayed last night. We can take the horses inside with us out of the wind." Thankfully the doorway appeared wide and tall enough to accommodate their mounts.

Rebbie nodded, although he looked none too pleased about the cottage. Truth was they had stayed in far worse accommodations when they'd fought in France, sometimes sleeping with no roof over their heads. Although it had not been as cold as it was now.

"I'll investigate the cottage first to make sure 'tis empty," Dirk said.

George brought one of the lanterns and helped him search the two-room hut. Finding it empty and the area behind it filled with naught but bushes, they rejoined the others.

Dirk offered Isobel his arm so she wouldn't slip on the snow.

Through the layers of linen and wool, her hand felt small and lightweight lying in the crook of his elbow, almost as if she were afraid to touch him. Something in him wanted to calm her worries. But beyond helping her get to safety, he wanted naught else to do with her, given her close association to his stepmother. Whatever trouble Isobel had gotten into at Munrick only added to the threat surrounding her.