"Mmm, this is delicious." Her moans vibrated madly through his body, stimulating him in ways he shouldn't be while sitting amongst several dozen people in a great hall.

Two chairs down, Aiden leaned forward. "Are you going to eat that, brother?"

To hear Aiden call him brother after all these years was gratifying. His heart warmed.

"Nay." Dirk handed the tart over and Aiden seemed not much older than the last time they'd been together as he grinned and devoured it.

When Dirk turned back, Isobel was watching him with an amused expression.

"I hope you didn't want that." He hadn't thought to offer it to her.

She shook her head and finished chewing. A bit of the pink strawberry glaze remained on her lips but she quickly licked it off. Damn, she really shouldn't do that. He suddenly had an insane craving for a strawberry-flavored female.

"Nay, I'm stuffed to the gills," Isobel said. "I take it you don't enjoy sweets."

Depended on the type of sweets. Sweet females he certainly enjoyed more than pastry tarts. He shrugged. "At times."

After most of the clan had finished eating, musicians tuned up their instruments then motioned for Aiden to join them. Dirk remembered him playing a flute when he was a wee child. He'd even started playing pipes when he was seven summers. But now he retrieved a violin from a case in the corner.

The beautiful music that flowed from his instrument astonished Dirk.

"He plays amazingly well, does he not?" Isobel asked beside him, awe in her voice.

"Aye. He's a natural. Has been since he was a wee lad." Dirk was proud of his younger brother. He might not be a warrior, but his musical talents more than made up for it.

"Do you play an instrument?" she asked.

"Nay." Would she find him lacking if he couldn't play music? What did it matter if she did? He was not here to please her. He was here to take on a responsibility that was his by birthright. Strangely, he found he looked forward to it. Finally, he was home where he belonged, where he felt more himself than he had for the past several years. And yet, he found nothing about it calming. Quite the opposite. Several things annoyed him, not the least of which was Rebbie and Isobel.

At the end of the musical piece, Aiden finished a solo that had everyone tapping their feet and clapping. All the tables, except for the high table on the dais, were dismantled and pushed against the walls to make room for dancing.

When the music started again, Isobel drummed her fingers on the table in time with the lively music. The last thing he was in the mood for was dancing. He rarely danced anyway. With his tall height and large frame, he always felt awkward.

"Lady Isobel, would you honor me with a dance?" Rebbie asked.

Of course, he would ask. Dirk rolled his eyes.

"I'd love to. If you would excuse us," she said to Dirk.

He nodded and motioned toward the floor where energetic couples were already in motion to the fast music. He'd rather watch her than dance with her. Not that he didn't want to touch her; he certainly did. But he knew she wouldn't find him to be as graceful a dancer as Rebbie. Dirk preferred a different sort of dance entirely, one that required a bed and no music. But he'd be doing none of that with Isobel. She belonged to someone else.

They completed three dances of similar fast tempo, Dirk's teeth grinding more with each one. Rebbie had best not be planning to seduce Isobel or Dirk would strangle him, friend or not.

Isobel was out of breath but laughing and her face flushed when she returned to her seat. Indeed, she was a most fetching sight. It made him wonder if she might look the same after lovemaking. Forcing himself to turn away from the excitement in her dark eyes, her rosy cheeks and bright smile, he leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and watched the musicians.

Still, his attention strayed to her. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She stared at him for a moment then turned to Rebbie. The two were murmuring something he couldn't hear above the music.

Damnation. His muscles tensed and his skin itched. It was too hot and loud here in the great hall. He shoved out of his chair, grabbed his wool mantle and headed for the exit. The heavy oak door slammed behind him and the cold night wind hit him in the face, clearing his mind.

He breathed in deeply of the fresh air. The music and noise faded away and it was almost as if he'd slipped back in time fifteen years. The air smelled the same—salty wind off the sea combined with smoke from the torches.

He strode across the empty, flame-lit courtyard, instantly feeling calmer. His footsteps echoed in the bracing air and his breath fogged before him. Protected by the high walls, the courtyard was not bombarded by the wind, but the air still stirred briskly, swirling new snowflakes through the air.

Nearing the stables on the opposite side of the bailey, he heard the door open and slam closed behind him. Music floated out then vanished again. Without breaking his stride, he glanced back but couldn't see who stood beneath the overhang. Was it Rebbie or one of Maighread's minions? Friend or foe? Needing time alone to think, he ignored them and continued his trek.

He entered the stables, glad to discover the wind didn't reach this warmer, protected corner. He approached Tulloch's stall. The animal nickered, which helped Dirk find the black horse in the dimness. Dirk stroked his muzzle. Aye, for the most part, he got along with horses better than people. Although he was thankful for friends like Rebbie, the rogue was trying his patience with the way he'd been flirting with Isobel.

Dirk focused on the person who had followed him. Faint quick footsteps slapped against the icy stones.

The person who paused at the stable entrance was small and slight. Female.

Isobel?

She was the last person he expected to trail him into the winter wind. Her head was covered in her dark plaid. A mantle wrapped her slender frame.

"Dirk?" Her breath fogged. "Are you well?"

The familiar way she spoke his name sent an odd longing through him. Standing in the darkest portion of the stable, he was near struck immobile to see her here. He'd expected a confrontation from some long lost enemy. Or some teasing from Rebbie. But not her.

"Aye. What are you doing out here in the cold, Lady Isobel?"

"I could ask you the same question." She moved forward, closer to him.

"I don't care for noisy crowds."

"Nor do I."

He snorted, remembering how she'd joined in the revelry, dancing for all she was worth. "Not certain I believe that."

"Why? Because I enjoy a dance now and then?"

He shrugged, though he was almost certain she couldn't see this. There was naught wrong with enjoying a dance. In fact, he wished he could do the same, but he didn't feel comfortable doing so.

"You should've asked me to dance," she said in a flirtatious tone that riveted his attention.

Saints! What could he say except the truth? "I'm not much for dancing."

"Hmm. What do you like to do?"

Did she truly expect him to answer that? He didn't think she'd appreciate swiving as an answer. Hell, he could think of naught intelligent to say. Nothing witty or teasing like Rebbie might convey. He felt daft at the moment, then he realized why. He rarely talked to women. For a certainty, he'd indulged in bed sport with plenty of females, but he didn't carry on conversations with them.

"So… you're not much for dancing, or talking," Isobel said. "Nor do you like eating, judging by the things you left on your trencher. Let me guess. You enjoy riding, fighting, hunting. Swordplay. Rescuing helpless females."