Dirk glanced at Rebbie, who nodded and darted a fearsome look at one of the men, meaning he would take care of the second guard if need be.

Dirk didn't want to have to kill a MacLeod, but if the men figured out who Isobel was, he might have to.

Stepping aside, he allowed the MacLeod guards to enter the cottage and followed, Rebbie behind him. After a brief bit of silence, George feigned another coughing fit, then moaned and bent forward to spit on the ground, clasping at his stomach for good measure.

"Stay over there," one of the guards warned George, eying him with disgust.

Holding the lantern aloft, the two men scrutinized the horses, then noticed the doorway leading to the side room. They headed toward it and shoved the wool blanket aside to enter. Dirk's breath halted for the men would find Isobel and her maid within seconds. His fist tightened within the basket-hilt of his sword. He would protect Isobel at all costs, even if it meant killing two MacLeods.

Dirk entered the room behind them. His eyes searched the dimness of the smoky room as the men moved their lantern this way and that. Where were Isobel and her maid? Dirk could see them nowhere near the bedrolls or the tiny smoldering fire. Not in the corners either.

What the devil?

"No one else is here," one of the guards said. "I thought he said his servants were traveling with you."

"Servant," Dirk corrected.

"Very well, MacKay," the other said, his voice slurred. "We'll leave you to your sleep. If you see the lady and her maid, let us know."

"I will."

"She's a bonny lass with dark eyes. Her name is Isobel MacKenzie."

Dirk nodded, his shoulders so tense the muscles ached. Where the hell was Isobel? Was she hiding in this room someplace? There was no window here she could've crawled out.

"Well then, a good eve to you." The MacLeod man yawned.

Dirk followed them out. One of the men turned up his whisky flask and took a long swallow, then they both mounted, before riding back the way they'd come.

Rebbie stood silently at his side while they observed the men's progress through the snow, their torch moving further and further away.

"Where the devil did Isobel and her maid go?" Dirk growled low.

"I know not."

"Will you watch the men while I search for her?"

"Aye," Rebbie said.

Dirk strode into the cottage. "Isobel?" He tried to keep his voice down. "Where did they go, George?"

"There's a wee window opening behind where the horses are tied. The shutters were closed, but I pushed them open and helped the women out."

"Very canny of you. That couldn't have been easy for Beitris," Dirk said, taking the lantern and hastening out the door and around the side of the stone cottage to the back.

Isobel and her maid huddled there behind a prickly gorse bush.

"God's teeth, Lady Isobel," Dirk muttered. "You scared the life out of me." He drew her to her feet, then helped her maid. Beitris groaned.

"Couldn't be helped." Isobel brushed snow off her clothing. "After Beitris woke me, I heard them talking, and I knew they'd want to search. I remembered the battened off window from the night before."

"I thank you, sir," Beitris said, holding on tightly to his elbow as they rounded the cottage. "I wasn't made to contort in such positions and shimmy through windows."

"You both did well to slip out afore they searched. I didn't want to have to kill a MacLeod."

"Would you truly have done that for us?" Isobel asked, her voice still a bit groggy and slurred from the whisky as she clung to his other elbow and unsteadily moved along beside him.

"I wouldn't have let them take you back to Munrick."

"You are a true gentleman and a hero," she gushed.

Damnation, 'haps he shouldn't have given her so much whisky.

He escorted the two women inside and went back out to keep watch with George and Rebbie. After a half hour with no more movement outside, other than the whipping snow, Dirk had relaxed enough to go inside and try to get some sleep. Rebbie accompanied him.

A quarter hour later, everyone appeared asleep. Rebbie was snoring lightly. But sleep proved elusive for Dirk. Turning on his side, he watched Isobel's slumbering face in the dim firelight. How could she be betrothed and promised to another? That irked him. 'Twas an atrocity that she was bound to a clan that didn't treat her right.

He punched at the rolled up mantle he used as a pillow. Damnation, he didn't want her anyway.

Something within him ached. He did not understand it. Maybe 'twas only a nostalgic yearning for his lost youth and the clan he'd loved. Or maybe it was worry for his father. If he was not dead yet, he might be soon. Dirk's stomach knotted and his chest grew heavy with regret.

The final time he'd tried to get his father to listen, to tell him that his stepmother wished him dead, his father had turned a deaf ear. Da could not believe anything so evil about the woman he loved. Even so, Dirk knew his father had loved him. And he still loved his father. He only wished he could see him alive one last time.

***

The only thing Dirk was aware of when he awoke was that someone landed a sharp knee to his stomach. An attack? He quickly grabbed the squirming assailant's arms and pinned the person beneath him. A female screamed. The room was so dark, he could barely see a thing beyond a few dying orange coals where a fire had been earlier.

What the hell was going on? Where was his dagger?

"Rebbie?" he yelled. Rebbie had been lying nearby, hadn't he?

"Aye?" he said in a groggy voice.

"Unhand me!" a woman yelled beneath him.

A woman? He was pinning a woman to the floor? Isobel.

Releasing her, Dirk muttered several Gaelic curses and drew back. "Why did you slam your knee into my stomach?" he demanded.

"I did naught! I was asleep. Next thing I know, you are tackling me to the floor as if you're wrestling a wild boar. I'll have a huge lump on my head where you bashed it."

Annoyance and confusion crawled through him. "I was lying here asleep and your knee drove into my stomach. I'm not a madman," he growled.

"Nor am I… a madwoman."

"You attacked me." Even as he said the words to a wee lass like Isobel, he felt daft.

Rebbie snickered and lit the lantern.

"Your bedroll is over there." Now that Dirk could see in the dim light, he pointed to her abandoned blanket near the wall. "Clearly, you've moved and I haven't, except to protect my vitals."

She struggled to her feet and dusted off her clothing, the dark flush staining her pale skin obvious. "Well… perhaps I was trying to walk across the floor, and you lay in my way. 'Twas dark!"

"I'm sure that must be it." While his heart rate calmed and his body unwound, he shoved his hand through his hair. No attack. No battle. 'Twas no doubt time to awaken and start on their journey anyway. Dawn came late this time of year.

Rising and throwing the mantle over his other layers of clothing, he went outside behind the cottage to relieve himself. Despite the darkness, the blanket of snow reflected meager moonlight and he was glad to see the icy flakes were no longer falling.

Good thing Isobel's knee hadn't landed a foot lower or he might yet be doubled over in agony. What had gotten into her?

"What was that about?" Rebbie asked, relieving himself a few yards away.

"One minute I'm dreaming about eating roasted rabbit, and the next, a woman's bony knee is shoving violently into my stomach. You figure it out."