"For a certainty, you're smitten with the man," Cyrus said. "'Tis about time."

She shrugged, unable to help that she hadn't fallen in love with a man of the right rank years ago. She would have if Dirk had been around. "Someday you'll wish you had a love match," she told her brother.

"Hmph. I have no time or patience for such rubbish. Anyway, since you're in agreement about marrying Dirk, I'll see you wed afore I leave here."

Excitement and panic rushed through her. "I'm to wed him that soon?"

"Aye, tomorrow if possible."

"Surely you jest."

"Why not? We're all here, your brothers, except for Dermott, and part of your clan, the MacKays. I'll not give MacLeod an opportunity to steal you back."

"He has no interest in stealing me back." Nay, he had his eye on a certain flame-haired lass.

"Well, who the devil knows?" Cyrus said. "Some other bastard may come along and try to snatch you from under MacKay's nose. I don't want to have to go traipsing about the country again, worrying whether you're dead or alive. Once you're married to MacKay, he'll protect you well."

"That he will." Plus, once she was married to him, he was hers for life. Instead of sneaking about for stolen moments of passion, she could sleep in his bed every night. It was warm and big and she'd relished snuggling next to him the night she'd spent there. A giddy thrill spun through her, making her smile.

Cyrus observed her shrewdly, then frowned. "Indeed, you need to be married as soon as possible, lass. Make the preparations and I'll speak with Dirk." Cyrus strode out, leaving her to scramble from her chair and dash up the steps to her chamber. She burst in the door to find Beitris making her bed.

She gasped and spun around. "Heavens, lass! You scared the life out of me."

"Beitris! I'm getting married tomorrow!"

***

Isobel, Jessie and the servants spent the rest of the day preparing for a cool winter wedding. There was no time to make Isobel a new gown, nor did she wish to wear the one she'd planned to marry Torrin in. Jessie and Seona helped her assemble pieces from different outfits to create a completely unique wedding costume. It included a plaid her mother had worn at her wedding over thirty years ago.

"We could get married right here in the great hall," Dirk said to Isobel at supper that night.

"I'd prefer the kirk. Although 'tis too cold to hold the ceremony on the steps outside, as is traditional, the reverend said that since you're chief, it would be pleasing to everyone for us to be married inside. Since your father's tomb is there, I think he'd be honored."

Dirk nodded, his azure gaze turning slightly melancholy. "He will be with us in spirit, but I wish he could be here in truth."

"As do I, along with my parents. My mother always talked about attending my wedding." Tears pricked Isobel's eyes.

Dirk lifted her hand and kissed the back, staring into her eyes for a long moment. Abruptly, he turned to Aiden on his other side.

"Aiden, do you ken the ballad, The Laird 'o Logie?"

Aiden frowned. "Nay. I don't recall that one."

Isobel smiled at Dirk and swiped at the tears still blurring her vision. How sweet that he remembered she wanted that ballad played at their wedding feast. She wished to kiss him all over his precious, handsome face, but restrained herself and squeezed his hand instead. "'Tis a Lowland ballad," Isobel said to Aiden, remembering that one of the minstrels her father had employed when she was a lass had been from Falkirk.

"Mayhap Isobel could teach it to you," Dirk suggested. "'Tis her favorite. If you learn it in time, I'd love it if you'd play it at our wedding feast."

Aiden's eyes brightened. "Aye. I'd be honored."

"She can play it for you on her flute," Dirk said.

"I didn't know you played, Lady Isobel," Aiden said, his voice excited.

"Only a wee bit. You're exceedingly gifted, and I look forward to hearing you play it." Giddiness charged through her again. She could hardly wait for tomorrow, her wedding day, when she'd marry the man of her dreams. She wanted to jump up and down and embrace Dirk. Instead, she caught herself bouncing in her chair a bit and grinning like a fool.

Dirk observed her from the corner of his eye, amusement lighting his expression. He looked mischievous, like he wanted to kiss her, but he tore his gaze away and scanned the people in the hall instead. She knew he wouldn't engage in public displays of affection, but once they were in private, he would make up for it with delicious, bewitching kisses.

She sipped her wine as the dessert tarts were served. She wondered if he had told Cook to serve tarts every night since she loved them so much. Dirk's cupbearer had already sliced off the side of their tarts to sample them, making sure they were safe to eat.

A male servant appeared at Dirk's shoulder. "M'laird, Master Keegan would like to see you outside. Three of the outlaws have been captured and brought in."

"I'll be right back." Dirk kissed Isobel's hand again, rose from his chair and, taking his shaggy wool mantle, followed the servant out. Erskine, Rebbie, Cyrus and Torrin trailed after him.

She wondered which outlaws had been captured. She hoped one of them was Nolan. Trying to put the knave from her mind and think about pleasant things, like Dirk and their wedding day, Isobel bit into her tart with relish. Mmm. This one was blackberry, one of her favorites. Truth be told, she loved all types of tarts.

"I look forward to learning the new ballad. Will you play it here in the great hall for everyone?" Aiden asked, popping the last of his tart into his mouth.

"Oh, nay." Isobel shook her head emphatically. "I'm very much an amateur. I fear my skills are not good enough to perform, but I'll be glad to play it for you on my flute in private."

He nodded, glancing at Dirk's wooden trencher. "He's not going to eat this tart, you know."

Isobel shook her head. She still couldn't figure out how Dirk could resist sweets. "It shouldn't go to waste." She grinned, knowing how much Aiden enjoyed tarts.

"In truth, I'm already stuffed, but…" Aiden cut it in two pieces with his knife. "Half for you and half for me." He bit into his portion with much enthusiasm.

"I thank you. By the way, how long will it take for you to learn the ballad?" she asked.

"A couple of hours."

"Indeed? That fast?"

Aiden nodded.

He amazed her with his musical ability.

Someone across the hall called out to him. He waved a hand. "If you will excuse me, Lady Isobel, the bard wishes me to play a tune."

"Aye, go."

He leapt up from his chair and bounded across the great hall like a big pup.

After finishing her tart, she eyed the half still left on Dirk's trencher. If she kept eating sweets like this, she would grow plump. But, if she now carried Dirk's babe, she would grow plump anyway.

Glancing about to make certain no one was witnessing her gluttony, she took the half tart and bit into it. Mmm.

Moments later, Aiden was playing a lovely but melancholy Gaelic ballad on the violin—Griogal Cridhe. Though no one was singing, she knew the words about a woman mourning the loss of her beloved Gregor of the great but maligned MacGregor Clan. That combined with the poignant and woeful tones brought tears to her eyes.

Suddenly overwarm and thirsty, Isobel guzzled her wine then turned her attention back to Aiden.