"So… mayhap she simply wished to come outside to relieve herself but was embarrassed to say so. She couldn't see you lying there on the floor, and she tripped and fell."

"I hope that's it. My next guess is that she's an assassin."

Rebbie snorted. "Now wouldn't that make things interesting?"

They adjusted their clothing.

"She told me about her situation. She's betrothed to the MacLeod chief. In his absence, his younger brother injured her for some reason. She wouldn't tell me why. We'll have to be extra careful as we pass Munrick. They cannot see her face or know who she is."

"Is there no way to avoid the area?"

"Nay, the only safe path through these craggy mountains goes by the castle and the loch."

***

"Oh dear heavens," Isobel muttered, unable to believe what she'd done. Injuring Dirk? She shook her head and Beitris, now adding straw to the fire, sent her a sheepish look. Her maid was supposed to prevent Isobel's sleepwalking disasters whenever possible, but clearly she'd been asleep too.

Isobel had no memory of getting up off her blanket or venturing across the room. All she'd been aware of was Dirk grabbing her and rolling her beneath his large hard body, slamming her to the packed earth floor. Her head hadn't hit as hard as she'd implied, but it definitely had a tender spot on it. Unsure where she was at first, she'd been too terrified to form words, but had finally gotten them out. A heartbeat after Dirk had said Rebbie's name, she remembered. Apparently, she'd simply tripped over him. She had no reason to attack him or hurt him in any way. Surely he knew that.

Fuzzy memories of earlier events came to her. The pain in her broken finger when Rebbie had set it, and how she'd snuggled up next to Dirk as he was holding her firmly in place. He was cozy… strong but gentle, like a big, gruff bear. There was no cushion on his body anywhere. He was all solid warrior muscle. A hidden, instinctive part of her appreciated that a great deal.

And to have him lying on top of her when he'd pinned her to the floor, well… 'twas frightening at first. But thinking back on it now… there was no one she'd rather be pinned beneath. She had always hated and feared men's aggressive, forceful ways, but she didn't fear Dirk. She found the confident way he moved and the firm but tender way he touched her to be spellbinding.

Leaning forward, she noticed one of her oiled leather boots had come untied during the night. Forming the leather strings into the beginnings of a bow, she struggled to retie them. Blast! Pains shot through her broken finger with even the slightest movement of her hand. Still, she attempted to use her first finger for tying but the stiff strips of leather were not cooperating.

The wool curtain flicked aside as Dirk and Rebbie entered the room. Dirk's intense gaze met hers immediately. A strange, feverish heat covered her. What on earth was wrong with her? He made her uncomfortable, but at the same time, she wished she could do naught but study him at length. Instead, she focused on her boots again.

"M'lady, 'haps we should excuse ourselves," Beitris moved toward her.

"Aye, as soon as I tie this."

"I'll help." Beitris started to kneel. "Och." Flinching, she froze and grabbed her back.

"Beitris, are you well?" She worried about her maid and feared this journey through the snow was too much for her.

"Aye, 'tis only that the cold has seeped into my joints and stiffened them."

"Allow me," Dirk said. "It appears you're in much pain, mistress."

"My bones are not as young as they used to be. And I thank you, kind sir."

Isobel's face burned hot as the peat coals. "I'll manage."

"Nonsense." Dirk knelt by her feet and gently pushed her hands away. "The last thing you want to do is bump that broken finger." He quickly tied the leather strings and rose to his feet to tower over her once more. Very efficient. Everything he did was efficient, but this only served as a façade hiding his caring and concern.

"I thank you," she said.

He gave a brief bow. "We must hurry. We need to pass by Munrick Castle before daybreak, and before most of the men are awake. At all costs, they must not recognize who you are."

Aye, but what would happen if they did?

***

Just before dawn, they neared Munrick Castle. Isobel sat atop Dirk's massive black horse while he led the animal and carried a lantern. Rebbie, George and Beitris followed on horseback.

Her stomach aching, she wished they didn't have to pass the castle, but they couldn't avoid it. The immense granite Assynt Mountains stood tall and forbidding against the dark blue predawn sky. The rippling, dark loch reflected a few stars that peeped through the clouds. Between the mountains and the water lay Munrick Castle and the narrow trail.

The torches at the castle gates loomed ahead, the flames flickering wildly in the wind, their reflections dancing in the water. Isobel had hoped to never see this hellish place again. She pulled her cowl and the extra plaid blanket Dirk had provided more securely over her head, hoping none of the MacLeods would recognize her or her maid. Beitris knew to hide her face as well.

"Say naught," Dirk murmured back to her. "I'll take care of it."

She nodded, thankful she could trust him.

Closer and closer, Dirk led them all to the shadowy castle. They would not enter, she reminded herself.

Breathe.

Dark figures moved near the gates. Three guards were watching them. Their swords gleamed in the torchlight.

"Halt there! Who are you?" a man called out in Gaelic, approaching along the trail leading from the castle.

Oh dear heaven, the same guard she'd seen when she'd left here. If he saw her face or the worn plaid arisaid she'd been wearing when she'd left, he would surely recognize her. At least he wasn't one of the guards who'd searched the cottage the night before.

"I'm a MacKay," Dirk said in a commanding voice. Halting, he faced the guard. "Just passing through on the way to MacKay Country."

"Who is this?" The guard motioned toward Isobel.

Her breath stopped. She feared she'd pass out and topple from the saddle.

"My wife," Dirk said without any hesitation.

His wife? Isobel flushed with heat from her head to her toes, despite the frigid weather and being near frozen with fear.

Dirk motioned back to Rebbie. "And that is my friend, Robert MacInnis, and our two servants."

As the guard paced by her and moved toward Rebbie, she swallowed hard and prayed he would not drag her from the horse.

"We must make great haste," Dirk called. "My father is on his deathbed."

'Twas a pity that was not a lie too.

She forced herself to draw in air as she listened to the footsteps crunching in the snow, the minute clanks of weapons and bridles. One of the horses snorted. The chill, wet air seeped into her bones.

Dirk's wife? The thought would not leave her. Good heavens, to be his wife in truth. Although he was the most fearsome man she'd ever met, the thought of being his wife did not fill her with dread as her first husband did. Nor like the MacLeod she was now betrothed to.

Returning, the guard passed her again. "Well then. Godspeed, MacKay." He motioned them along and headed back toward Munrick.

A breath of relief rushed out, leaving Isobel shaky, weak and cold. Dirk led the horse forward at a brisk pace while he sent the occasional glance back toward the guards.

Even though it would be far more pleasant to daydream about being Dirk's wife, she'd best remain in reality and stay attentive. If Dirk's father was indeed on his deathbed, or had already passed, he would experience great emotional pain and grief, just as she had when she'd lost her parents. She shivered, praying his father was alive and well by the time they reached Durness. She remembered the older man when he'd been hale and hearty, a huge bear of a man with auburn hair flecked with gray. She even remembered how he'd laughed louder than anyone else.