"And how did everything go last night?" Rebbie asked with a cheerful smile. "You look like you got little sleep."

"Very well." Dirk knew what Rebbie was digging for, but Dirk would reveal naught to him about the sensual torture he'd endured.

"Very, very well?" Rebbie asked in a suggestive tone.

Dirk glared at his friend. "Naught happened, if that's what you're wondering." Naught of importance anyway. Certainly nothing she would remember. But the way she'd kissed his neck, and the brush of her lips against his would haunt him. "She slept in the bed and I slept on my bedroll before the hearth."

Rebbie chuckled. "As I expected. You're the prince of courtesy and honor when it comes to her."

"When have I not been courteous and honorable with any lady?"

"I can think of one time in recent months." Rebbie grinned wickedly. "Surely you remember Lady Neilina."

"Must you bring her up? I was helping Lachlan. He had an unethical number of conniving females chasing after him. Aside from that, I'm a man like any other. I'm sure you would've volunteered for the role with Neilina if you were taller and had light hair."

Rebbie frowned. "Can I help it I'm not a giant?"

Dirk snorted. Although Rebbie was about six feet in height, he was still slightly shorter than Dirk or Lachlan. 'Twas one of the few things Dirk had found to tease him about. Generally, he was impervious.

"I see what you're doing," Rebbie said. "Trying to change the subject."

Dirk shrugged, hoping Rebbie would get bored. "There's naught to talk about."

"Did she knee you in the groin this time?"

"Nay, thank the saints. But she told me she walks in her sleep. That's why she fell on me the other morn."

"I see." Rebbie scratched the dark stubble on his chin. "Hmm… I'm sure you were wishing she'd accidentally sleep-walk to your bedroll and crawl in."

"Well, that didn't happen, so you can stop speculating."

"A pity. That could've made a cold winter's night far hotter."

Dirk shook his head. "Your mind never leaves the gutter, does it?"

"Rarely. I'm simply enjoying watching you get all tangled up over a woman for the first time."

"I'm not tangled up over a woman," Dirk growled.

"'Twas bound to happen sooner or later."

The door behind them opened and Isobel and her maid emerged, carrying their meager belongings.

"Shh," Dirk hissed at Rebbie.

"Good morrow, my lady," Rebbie called and gave one of his dramatic bows.

"Good morrow," she said in a more restrained tone and curtseyed.

She looked far more refreshed this morn than he felt, that was a certainty. She'd slept the whole night, even with her wanderings about the room, while he'd only slept naps here and there amid steamy erotic dreams.

Her cheeks glowed bright pink in the crisp, cold air. And her dark gaze upon him near took his breath away. He gave a brief bow.

She smiled and curtseyed in return, then hastened after her maid toward the main cottage.

"Did you see that?" Rebbie whispered aside. "She blushed as soon as she glanced at you."

"Rebbie, I'm warning you…" Dirk grumbled in a low tone.

Rebbie laughed and slapped his shoulder.

"'Tis time to break our fast," Lewis MacLeod called from the main cottage.

"We must eat quickly and be on our way," Dirk said. "It already grows late. We must reach Durness before dark, else there'll be nowhere to spend the night."

***

Behind Dirk, riding pillion on his horse, Isobel shivered against him. He wished he could make her warmer, but she was already wrapped in every blanket and extra plaid he possessed. Thank the saints it was no longer snowing, and the sun peeped through the clouds from time to time. But the never-ending wind blew harder.

At least his larger body blocked most of the north wind from her. Occasionally, it stung his face and penetrated his multiple layers of clothing. Still, he wasn't chilled. In fact, she made him feel overheated most of the time. He truly needed to share some body heat with her. But that was not a good idea.

He turned his head. "Are you cold, m'lady?"

"Not overmuch." Her teeth chattered, proclaiming her words a lie. He admired her for not complaining. She was a strong lass.

"Put your arms beneath my plaid and cloak. 'Tis warmer closer to my body."

Damnation, he shouldn't have said that. Thinking about her closer to his body made his heart rate speed up, but when she dug beneath his wool mantle and his plaid, and touched his waist through his doublet, his whole body came to life. But he had to keep her warm.

He'd grown up here and he well knew how cold MacKay Country was in autumn and winter. His body would tolerate chill more easily than hers.

She slid her uninjured hand around his side and rested it lightly on his upper abdomen. He helped place her injured hand, careful of her splinted finger, at his waist, then covered her hands with one of his. "Och. Your hands are like ice."

"'Tis true. The cold wind blows so hard here."

"Not much longer and we'll reach Durness." He tapped his heels against the horse's sides, increasing their pace along the trail that cut between the moor and the rock carved hills. A herd of furry black Highland cattle stood watching in the snowy field. Smoke trailed from a distant crofter's hut.

The press of Isobel's fingers against his stomach affected him more than he would've liked, sending arousal burning through him. He yearned to hold her in his arms, warm her and protect her. Damnation if he wasn't daft.

Wondering about the others in their party, he stopped, turned the horse slightly and glanced back at Rebbie. Further back, Isobel's maid rode pillion behind George.

Rebbie waved him onward.

Dirk headed the horse forward again and continued. Each step along the narrow trail that wound around lochs and between bare stone mountains was like a step back in time. Little had changed here in twelve years.

Yells erupted in the distance behind them. Isobel's maid screamed.

"Oh heavens," Isobel said.

"What the devil?" Dirk turned the horse about to glance back again. Rebbie and the two servants had dropped further behind. And now a man stood before them, a pistol in his hand. He yelled out an order.

Who was he and where had he come from? Wearing a mask and cowl over his head, he appeared to be a lone highwayman.

Could that be McMurdo? Dirk had forgotten about the bastard.

Dirk dismounted. "Move forward into the saddle and stay down," he told Isobel, handing her the reins. "He has a pistol. If he comes toward you, ride north as fast as you can. My uncle's cottage will be the first one you come to. The big one."

"I'll go too, and help Beitris." She moved as if to dismount.

"Nay," he ordered. "You'll stay right here."

"I have a dagger." She pulled the shiny weapon from the pouch suspended from her belt.

"Put that away afore you cut yourself," Dirk growled. "Keep her safe, Tulloch," he said to his horse.

Tulloch nickered and stamped his giant hoof.

"Have a care," Isobel said.

Dirk drew his sword and raced back a couple hundred feet to the others, his boots slipping over the ice and snow. He didn't realize they'd moved so far ahead of Rebbie and the servants.

His horse dancing about, Rebbie kicked out with one booted foot, knocking the gun from the outlaw's hand. The bastard then scrambled on the ground for it.