"I thank you, but the troubles are only beginning. Unfortunately." He glared at the bedchamber door, knowing Maighread would redouble her plotting efforts.
"Are the injured guards recovering?"
"Aye, one had a shallow flesh wound. The other awoke with a headache."
A moment later, Maighread stepped out of the chief's chamber and moved toward them. "I've heard rumors about the two of you in bed together." She grimaced, making Dirk want to smash the woman's face in. "I find this hard to believe, Isobel, after you told me you couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. That you found him to be a disgusting brute," Maighread said.
Had she truly said that? Dirk stared hard at Isobel, trying to discern the truth. 'Haps he had been a brute in bed last night, but he'd not been himself.
Isobel's mouth hung open. "I didn't say that!"
"Are you calling me a liar? I understand your game now. You think if you pretend you're interested in him that he will protect you from the MacLeods. You want to use him."
"Nay, none of this is true! I'm not using anyone. I'm simply trying to get home." Isobel's face reddened and her eyes gleamed with ire.
"I'm not daft, lassie. Your mother and father would be so disappointed in you. No good man will have you after you've aligned yourself with an imposter who stole a title and land; that's a certainty."
"Enough!" Dirk said. "Go!" he told his stepmother and pointed down the corridor.
She clenched her teeth, giving a slight snarling appearance. But she turned to leave.
Tears glistened in Isobel's eyes as she glared after Maighread. "You're wrong… about all of it!"
"Keep lying, little one," Maighread called back, then followed her sons as they exited the chief's bedchamber, carrying a trunkful of Aiden's clothing down the corridor to a smaller room.
Dirk studied Isobel, trying to discern the truth, but at the same time wanting to choke his stepmother for making Isobel cry. Even if they were angry tears.
Though he knew Maighread was a liar, he hated her all the more because she'd planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Did Isobel find him disgusting and brutish? Considering what happened last night, it was possible. He couldn't remember if he'd been too rough with her. He hoped not. The last thing he'd want to do was hurt her.
"That woman is truly mad," Isobel whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I said none of those things."
He wanted to believe her. But a doubt lingered in his mind. Was she using him simply to escape the MacLeods? Or was her attraction to him genuine? Had she drugged him last night so he'd give in to his desires for her… so he'd be forced to marry her? Women were fond of manipulation to get what they wanted. What if he became like his father, allowing attraction and lust to blind him to a woman's cunning ways? He shook his head and forced himself not to look at Isobel, for he couldn't think logically when he did.
"Surely you don't believe her." Isobel grasped his hand and peered up into his face. He avoided her eyes. "You were the one who told me she lies and she is untrustworthy."
"Aye," he admitted.
"Haldane probably told her he walked in when I was warming you last night. Besides, she's obviously realized I'm fond of you."
Fond of him? He detested the way his heart sped up with hope. He even longed for something beyond fondness.
"Dirk?" Isobel touched his face, her cool hand against his skin, stroking the scratchy roughness of his beard stubble, her midnight eyes gazing into his with a plaintive expression, silently begging him to believe her.
Everything deep inside compelled him to trust her, but the rational part of his mind fought against it. All he could think of was how easily Maighread had fooled his father, perhaps much like this. But he didn't know.
He took Isobel's hand into his own. He wanted to kiss it, but refrained. He stroked her palm, then released her. He didn't know….
He didn't understand the many nuances of emotion he saw in her eyes, nor the intensity she made him feel. Could he trust her, or himself?
After having just been named chief of the clan that morn, he didn't ken who he was anymore. His own view of himself had shifted drastically. Somehow he felt validated, more worthy than he had in years. At the same time, he wondered if it was too good to be true. Would it last? Could he successfully lead the clan?
Aye, he could. He had to. It was his legacy and what his father expected of him.
"Chief," someone said behind him. It took Dirk a moment to realize they were talking to him.
Abruptly, he turned. One of the clansmen stood there, staring at him. "Aye?" Dirk asked.
"The clan elders would like to meet with you now."