Erskine followed at a distance across the bailey. Dirk was glad he took his body-guarding position seriously. Although Dirk was not yet used to the idea of being followed around at all times by an armed warrior. He'd taken care of himself for years. But all chiefs were heavily guarded, so he'd best get accustomed to it.
The bracing cold air and bright sunlight helped clear his head.
Damn, how the elders irked him. They couldn't make him their leader one moment, and then order him around the next. Either he was chief or he wasn't, but he wouldn't be somewhere in between. Nor would he have someone else telling him who he would marry.
There was naught wrong with the Murray lass. She was bonny enough. But she wasn't Isobel.
He'd compromised Isobel, but he knew not how he could marry her without setting off a war. The MacLeods and the Murrays would be coming down hard on them for breaking all sorts of contracts.
"Hell," he muttered. How did he get himself into such a predicament?
Inside the stables, he paused. Inhaling the scents of horse and hay helped him relax. Isobel. Damnation, the lass drove him mad. He craved her every moment, but he couldn't have her again. Not now. He didn't even know whether he could trust her.
Although his memories of last night were fuzzy, he kept recalling how he'd kissed her here in the stables several nights before. How she'd kissed him back with abandon and an eagerness he had never before experienced. Surely that couldn't be feigned.
As he'd consumed her mouth, relishing the sweet female taste of her, he'd yearned to let loose, to rip the clothing from her body, to lay claim to her in every way possible. And now, apparently, he had, but the memories were too vague to appease him. It had been more like a dream. He needed to know, with sharp clarity, how it had felt to be with her.
He'd been her first, and some deep, primal part of him roared that she was his… that she should be his. But she wasn't. Not yet. And a contract somewhere said she belonged to another man.
***
Dirk was angry with her. That was all Isobel could think about. How could he possibly believe she thought him disgusting and brutish?
She slipped up the tiny flight of spiral steps, hoping to find a secluded spot to be alone and think. Beitris had dogged her every step, asking questions about why she'd spent the night alone with Dirk again. She'd pretended to be headed out to walk on the beach, and Beitris had thought her mad for that idea. In truth, Isobel didn't want to go out into the cold wind.
She followed the stairs upward to a conical tower on the southwest corner of one section of Dunnakeil and closed the small door. The rare afternoon sunlight shining in the two tiny windows was just what she needed to perk up her mood.
Since he was now chief, Dirk was busy with clan affairs. He always would be and he'd likely have little time for her. Though she needed to spy on Maighread and find out her plans, she couldn't stand to look at the woman after the lies she'd told Dirk. Nor would Maighread trust her any longer.
Taking a deep breath, Isobel glanced around the diminutive circular stone tower room. At one time, guards must've been stationed here, but after further additions to the castle, it was no longer needed for this purpose.
She squinted out the wavy glass window, unable to see clearly what was below, but at least she could enjoy the sunlight for a few moments without freezing. The rhythmic movement below was waves crashing onto shore and sliding across the sand. It reminded her of the day she'd walked on the beach, then found Dirk at the church. Having seen him little today, she missed him, especially after the intimacy of sharing a bed last night.
He'd said he could barely remember what happened. What annoyed her most was that he suspected her of drugging him. Certainly, she'd wanted to lie with him but she would do naught underhanded to seduce him. How could he not know this?
Should she search him out and assure him of the truth or give him some breathing room? How could he trust such a duplicitous woman's word over her own? After what he'd been through, with the attempts on his life, Isobel could understand that he would find it difficult to trust anyone. Even her.
For most of the day, she'd been unable to think of much beyond their lovemaking. She couldn't believe the profound intimacy they'd shared and how much she'd enjoyed it, craved it again. No one could've ever explained coupling to her sufficiently. 'Twas simply an act she'd had to experience to believe. Although she felt wicked for indulging with a man who wasn't her husband yet.
How pleasant and amazing marriage must be for women who were truly attracted to their husbands… and surely attraction led to love.
She shook her head, trying to put last night from her mind.
Focusing on her surroundings again, she realized this tiny tower room reminded her of the one in the castle where she'd grown up. When she was ten or twelve, she'd daydreamed about being a bride someday, and marrying the handsome man she would fall in love with. Her naïve fantasies were modeled after her parents' happy marriage. And she'd always imagined her favorite love ballad, The Laird o' Logie, being played at her wedding banquet.