Lewis returned moments later. "I'm certain you're wanting to retire too. As I told your wife, the water in the bucket is fresh, just taken from the well. Should you need anything else, let me know. I hope you sleep well." The man winked as he opened the door.
"I thank you," Dirk forced himself to say, though he was certain he wouldn't sleep at all.
Carrying his bedroll, pack and lantern, he proceeded outside and along a stone walkway. The cottage was only a few dozen feet from the main house.
His wife. Och. What a grand lie. He had never before considered marrying, but when he one day inherited the role of chief of his clan, he would have to marry. 'Twas what the clan expected… that the chief sire an heir as soon as possible. Without doubt, his father—if he was still alive—would arrange a marriage for Dirk. One that would benefit the clan in some way, either by bringing in land and wealth, or new allies. But he could not think on a real marriage now. 'Twas too much to consider. He would focus on one step at a time—getting himself and his party safely to Durness.
He paused before the cottage entrance, his stomach knotting, then tapped a knuckle against the oak door. Moments later, Beitris opened it, gave him a warning glare, and rushed past. Before he could assure her he would not take advantage of her lady, she was gone, returning to the main house.
Upon entering the cottage, he glanced around the tiny room with a warm fire already burning. The lone candle on the mantel revealed Isobel standing by the box bed.
In the flame-light, her face appeared flushed, and her eyes were dark seduction with those long lashes. Arousal rushed through him. Saints! What was he supposed to do now? His instincts urged him to tear off his own clothing and lay her upon the bed while consuming her lush mouth. Nay, he could not follow his errant instincts; that was a certainty.
Depositing his bedroll on the floor and the lantern on the table, he distracted himself by running his gaze over the odd pieces of furniture, but his mind kept drifting back to the one box bed, large enough for two people at least. Most crofting families squeezed as many people into a bed as would fit in winter to stay warm. Sometimes that included the parents and two or three small children. But he would not be sharing a bed with Isobel this night, no matter how cold it was outside.
"You sleep in the bed and I'll take the floor." He lifted his bedroll of blankets.
"That wouldn't be fair." Her husky, sensual voice sent waves of warning and lust through him.
"Of course, 'tis fair. You're a lady." And since we're not really married… "I had no inkling he would do this. I certainly never meant to put you in a compromising position with the ruse about your identity."
"I ken it. You're an honorable man, Dirk MacKay. And I thank you for protecting me."
His face burned at her compliment. Was he blushing? Hell, he never blushed. But Isobel easily knocked him off kilter. She was lovely in the firelight, her midnight eyes bewitching. Her body was well concealed beneath that thick wool blanket she had wrapped about her, but he knew she was curvy in all the right places.
He enjoyed women as much as any man, but this was no time for a tryst… and certainly not with a lass betrothed to another man.
"You must tell me why you gave me such a sharp look when Lewis MacLeod mentioned the rumors about your death," Isobel said.
Dirk frowned. Had he done that? He'd have to guard his expressions more. "No reason." He didn't wish to speak of Maighread now. The fewer people who knew about his situation, the better. Anything he said, Isobel might run and tell his stepmother, being that the witch and Isobel's mother had been fast friends.
"I heard the rumors that you'd died," Isobel said. "But I didn't start them or spread them, if that's what you're imagining."
"Nay. I never thought so."
"Good. So… you were giving me a pointed look for some other reason. What was it?"
He tried to recall what she was talking about. "I was not aware of giving you a pointed look." He dropped his blankets before the hearth, knelt and prodded at the fire with the poker. Likely, he had exhibited a harsh expression, imagining Isobel telling Maighread he knew of her attempts at murdering him.
"Sometimes your lovely sky blue eyes are remarkably expressive," Isobel said. "Other times, you are like a stubborn granite cliff."
Lovely? What the devil? His defiant body responded to her compliment in ways it shouldn't have, a torrent of arousal simmering in his blood. 'Haps she'd drunk too much ale at the meal. He didn't know whether to thank her or disagree.
"I see." Though daft, that was all he could think to say. He had to change the subject and fast. Besides, he needed to learn more of her situation. "I wish you would tell me why Nolan MacLeod broke your finger and bruised your face."