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.