She nodded and proceeded between the graves toward the exit.

He held the weathered wooden gate for her, then fell into step beside her on the trail of wet, compacted sand up the hill toward the castle.

"I wondered whether you had sent my brother a missive letting him know I'm alive and well. He'll worry when the MacLeods tell him I've vanished," she said.

"I was planning to. But then I got to thinking the MacLeods might intercept the messenger or the missive and learn where you are. For your own safety, I thought it best to wait a bit."

She nodded. "Very well. I'd rather they not find out where I am at all costs."

"I also have to figure out which servants are trustworthy and who might best serve as messenger." 'Twas almost two hundred miles to Dornie. He needed to send someone who'd been to Dornie before who was also hale and hearty enough to withstand the cold weather. In truth, he should probably send two servants on such a long, arduous and dangerous journey.

Aside from that, he'd hate for anyone, including her brother, to show up and take her away so soon. It would be for the best, of course, but he was not entirely sure he was ready to let her go. He was being imbecilic, for there was no future with her. Still, he could not help but enjoy spending time with her and talking, even if they discussed trivial matters.

"You were walking on the beach?" he asked, wondering what possessed her to wander out in the cold.

"Aye, 'tis warmer today and the wind less fierce. And I have never seen such a beautiful beach." She paused for a moment to glance back over Balnakeil Bay, tinted by the soft light of gloaming.

"There are many lovely beaches around Durness." And most ladies wouldn't have ventured outside, beautiful beach or not. He was drawn to her resilience.

"I had to get some fresh air and light," she said. "My chamber is warm and cozy but a bit dark."

He'd have to see about finding her a better chamber if, or rather when, he became chief. He had no doubt the clan would decide in his favor, especially if Aiden stepped down. Haldane would protest, but what good would it do the lad? He might have the temperament of a gale storm but was ultimately powerless. What had angered Dirk most was the way Haldane had spoken about Isobel, calling her a whore. Dirk might yet have the opportunity to teach the whelp a lesson about respect for ladies and members of the nobility.

"And how is your finger today?" Dirk asked.

"The swelling has gone down a wee bit." She paused, holding her hand out to him.

He took it gently, eager for any excuse to touch her. "Your hand is cold. And 'tis a bonny shade of green today."

She grinned, temptingly.

More than anything, he wished to kiss her hand. But he wasn't a gallant or a rogue like Lachlan, or even Rebbie. Dirk was not one to tease women or make them giggle. He wished he was. He wished he could change and become more like his friends.

When Isobel gazed up at him with such beguiling dark eyes, he was near spellbound. He didn't want to tease her; he wanted to kiss her. Not just her hand, but her lips. But that he must not do again, even though the kiss and her soft, delectable lips had haunted his dreams all night.

She was still betrothed to another. A betrothal was a legal and binding contract.

He released her and continued up the hill at a slow pace, waiting for her to catch up. "Lady Isobel, I find I must apologize for what happened in the stable last night."

"For the kiss or for snapping at me afterward?"

"Both." His face burned despite the cold wind.

"Nonsense. I'm glad you're not angry with me. 'Haps I am the one who should apologize."

"Nay, there's no need of it."

"Good. Because I'm not sorry."

Did she have to be so damned honest and look so enticing at the same time?

"Glare at me all you wish." She smiled. "'Twas a bit of indulgence, aye?"

He focused forward again, determined not to get pulled in by her allure. "Aye. It won't happen again."

"A pity," she mumbled, but he heard her clearly despite the gust of wind that near shoved his breath back down his throat.

Damnation if she wasn't pursuing him. Was she mad? Or was she trying to avoid marriage to a MacLeod? If he stole her, there would be clan wars. He feared no one, but he wouldn't put the lives of his clansmen on the line because of his own lusts.

If she'd been unattached, he wouldn't have a problem dallying with a widow. In fact, young widows were his favorite to share bed-sport with. They were somewhat experienced and often deprived. Eager.

Isobel had kissed him eagerly last night. But he didn't indulge with young widows who were spoken for, even if they were near irresistible.

"Was that all you wished to talk about or was there something else?" she asked when they neared the open portcullis.

"There is more. We'll talk in the library."

***

"This is the room my father always used to conduct official business," Dirk said, opening the ancient carved oak door.

Isobel entered but could see little in the dimness. Pausing inside the open door, she watched Dirk light a candle from the low-burning hearth fire. He used this to light two more candles in a candelabra sitting on the worn table. Two benches sat along each side of it, and chairs at either end. Old faded tapestries depicting galleys filled with warriors decorated two of the stone walls.

She wouldn't have called the room a library for, although there was one bookcase, it contained no books. Just some loose parchments and rolled documents. The window was tall and narrow with a splendid view of the bay in the gloaming.

"Have a seat." Dirk motioned toward a carved, regal-looking chair by the hearth where a peat fire burned.

"'Tis your chair. I cannot possibly—"

"Nay. 'Tis no one's chair at the moment."

She sat on the chair's worn blue velvet cushion and held her hands closer to the fire. "I'm certain they'll name you chief at the hearing." They were mad if they didn't. She had never met a man more suited to be a chief.

"I'm hoping they will. And I'm relieved that Aiden doesn't truly wish to be chief. If he did, this would be much harder." He turned one of the chairs at the table and carried it closer to the hearth for himself.

"I'm certain of it." She admired the close bond between Dirk and his younger brother and loved the thought that Dirk didn't wish to hurt the lad. "His gift is music rather than leadership."

"Indeed. As you know, Haldane went to retrieve his mother."

She nodded, remembering the young man's scathing response to her. She'd be happy if she never had to face him again. He was a menace.

"You know Maighread Gordon, of course," Dirk said.

"Aye. Since she and my mother were friends, she came to visit a few times when I was growing up. My mother thought highly of her."

"She can have a charming façade at times, but it hides one of the most cunning and evil minds I've yet seen."

"I know she tried to kill you."

Dirk's eyes narrowed. "Who told you?"

"Your aunt, Effie. She warned me to be careful."

"I want to warn you of the same thing. My stepmother may appear friendly and kind on the surface but, to be sure, she is always scheming for her two sons."

"'Tis hard for me to imagine," she said. At his lifted brow of skepticism, she added, "But I believe you."

"I know her only too well. I can easily imagine what she'll do when she arrives."