Clearly she was an experienced widow who knew how to seduce him easily. Her future husband might not know the difference, but Dirk would. He had more honor and sense than to lie with a woman who was almost married to someone else.

She paced away from him, then back. "I but wanted to be friends."

"Friends do not kiss each other like that," he muttered, wishing he could do it all over again. Never had a kiss been so astounding for him.

"I know."

"For God's sake, Isobel, go back inside." He knew his tone was near begging but he couldn't help it. He had to fight for self-control around her. His mind latched onto how much she'd enjoyed the kiss, how she'd responded, kissing him back like a love-starved wanton, rubbing up against him. If she touched him again now, he might have her pinned to the wall in a matter of seconds, their clothing pushed aside and…

Nay, don't think of that. He shook his head, trying to clear away the erotic images.

When she came closer, he drew in a deep breath, craving the smell of her, the taste of her. He stiffened, refusing to move.

"I just wanted to say… I enjoyed that more than…"

"What do you think I am?" he growled, arousal rampaging through him. "A saint? A eunuch?"

She shook her head, then strode regally from the stable out into the courtyard.

What had she meant to say? She'd enjoyed the kiss more than any other she'd received? Had neither her betrothed nor her late husband ever kissed her as if they could devour her? Well… that's how he'd felt. 'Haps he should be ashamed of that, but he wasn't. She was delicious and damned arousing. If she'd stayed, she'd find herself spread upon a pile of hay in one of the empty stalls, her skirts flung to her waist, while he gave her exactly what she'd been asking for.

***

Hand pressed against her burning lips, Isobel rushed across the frigid bailey, disturbing the thin layer of snow. Her lips tingled, and on her tongue she savored the lingering taste of Dirk—spicy male. His scrumptious mouth had near scorched hers in the cold air. She might be a widow, but she'd never been gifted with such a sinful kiss. She had not even known such kisses were possible.

She'd never wanted a man's mouth on hers anyway. Her late husband had always had perpetually bad breath. Neither had her betrothed, the MacLeod, kissed her. She barely knew the man. But Dirk's breath, and his mouth, had tasted like sweet spiced wine… cinnamon, cloves and honey added to an unmistakably appealing masculine flavor that made her want to bite him and lick him all over.

She'd felt his considerable erection pressed against her lower belly. That was something she'd never felt before, and she couldn't believe how hard it was.

What would he do if she turned and ran back to the stable? Not that she would. She wasn't witless. His angry rejection was obvious.

Of course, there was more to consider than simply what her body craved. She must think of the clans and the well-being of all the clansmen. What she, a mere woman, wanted was of no importance. No one cared about her dreams or desires.

She ran up the steps to the castle portal. A guard helped her open it from the inside and then she entered the warm great hall. Unable to withstand more of the music and dancing, she skirted the dance floor and slipped up the narrow turnpike stairwell.

In the chamber they'd assigned her, Beitris had maintained the cozy fire and was snoozing on a pallet in front of it.

After partially disrobing, Isobel crawled between the cool linen sheets, glad several woolen blankets were piled on top. She covered her head and thought of Dirk. Her chin still burned where his beard stubble had rasped against her. Her whole body was flushed and tingling from the way he'd kissed her, consuming her mouth as if starving for the taste of it… oh heavens! She craved him with the same hunger.

She didn't understand what he'd made her feel. Was it magic? Her heart had sped up as if under some sort of potent spell or witch's potion. And the flood of hot yearning… deep inside… between her legs. She would've done anything he'd asked at that moment. Anything he'd wanted, especially after he'd drawn her intimately against his aroused shaft.

Obviously, he'd wanted more, and she wished he'd taken more. The thought of his heated, naked skin sliding along hers near drove her mad. She wanted him to be the one to make her a woman in truth. At five-and-twenty she was well beyond the age when she should know what coupling felt like. With Dirk, she craved this strange and elusive connection as never before. 'Haps she had remained a virgin too long and her woman's body was rebelling, demanding a man's body for fulfillment and completion.

If he knew of her innocence, he would likely stay even further away from her. He must not find out.

***

"What the devil are you doing out here?"

Dirk jumped and turned from the horse's stall. Rebbie stood in the stable entrance. Why hadn't he heard his friend's approach? His thoughts of Isobel had distracted him.

"Naught. Examining the stables."

"Ha. Indeed?" Rebbie paced across the hay-strewn floor and glanced in at his own horse. "Seems more than sufficient."

"Aye."

"Did Isobel come out here?"

"Why? What did she tell you?"

"Naught. But when she returned, she raced across the great hall and disappeared up the steps as if the fires of hell licked at her heels."

"Hmph." Maybe Dirk had frightened her. He hadn't meant to, though he did have to warn her to stay away from him. If they had a tryst, the repercussions would be hellish indeed—clan wars.

"Did you say anything to upset her?" Rebbie asked.

"Nay." So that was a lie. Could not be helped.

"But she was here?" Rebbie asked.

"Aye."

"Something must have happened."

Dirk ground his teeth. Rebbie's prying combined with his earlier flirtation with Isobel truly grated on Dirk's patience. "'Tis none of your concern," he snapped.

"Ah… well." Rebbie drew back. "I see."

Did he see? Dirk didn't think so. He hated the torturous position he currently found himself in and Rebbie was not helping matters. He was but twisting the knife.

Rebbie chuckled softly.

"What?" Dirk growled.

"'Tis plain to see, man. She has you all riled up."

Dirk snorted, trying his best to hide his true feelings about the situation. Of a certainty, he'd felt desire before. Lust. But never with the burning intensity he experienced when Isobel was near. "You have vivid imaginings."

"I ken you want her. Admit it."

"No more than you want her," Dirk grumbled with a glare toward his friend. The memory of Rebbie and Isobel's conversation during supper, then the dancing, made Dirk's gut wrench.

"Aha! There's where you're wrong, my friend," Rebbie said. "I'm not dimwitted enough to chase after the skirts of an almost married woman."

"Nor am I. Do you think I want a feud with the MacLeods?"

"Nay. I see that's holding you back."

"It's enough." Aye, indeed, more than enough. He couldn't return to his clan only to lead them into a battle of his own making. He didn't kidnap MacLeod's bride; he rescued her.

"But if not for that?"

"It matters not, because she's betrothed. Naught will change that fact," Dirk said in a hard tone, as much to himself as to his friend. Wishes and fantasies were for silly, frivolous lasses and held no purpose. Dirk lived in the real world.

"And yet, true love always finds a way," Rebbie mused.