Page 27 of My Brave Highlander

Just before dawn, they neared Munrick Castle. Isobel sat atop Dirk's massive black horse while he led the animal and carried a lantern. Rebbie, George and Beitris followed on horseback.

Her stomach aching, she wished they didn't have to pass the castle, but they couldn't avoid it. The immense granite Assynt Mountains stood tall and forbidding against the dark blue predawn sky. The rippling, dark loch reflected a few stars that peeped through the clouds. Between the mountains and the water lay Munrick Castle and the narrow trail.

The torches at the castle gates loomed ahead, the flames flickering wildly in the wind, their reflections dancing in the water. Isobel had hoped to never see this hellish place again. She pulled her cowl and the extra plaid blanket Dirk had provided more securely over her head, hoping none of the MacLeods would recognize her or her maid. Beitris knew to hide her face as well.

"Say naught," Dirk murmured back to her. "I'll take care of it."

She nodded, thankful she could trust him.

Closer and closer, Dirk led them all to the shadowy castle. They would not enter, she reminded herself.

Breathe.

Dark figures moved near the gates. Three guards were watching them. Their swords gleamed in the torchlight.

"Halt there! Who are you?" a man called out in Gaelic, approaching along the trail leading from the castle.

Oh dear heaven, the same guard she'd seen when she'd left here. If he saw her face or the worn plaid arisaid she'd been wearing when she'd left, he would surely recognize her. At least he wasn't one of the guards who'd searched the cottage the night before.

"I'm a MacKay," Dirk said in a commanding voice. Halting, he faced the guard. "Just passing through on the way to MacKay Country."

"Who is this?" The guard motioned toward Isobel.

Her breath stopped. She feared she'd pass out and topple from the saddle.

"My wife," Dirk said without any hesitation.

His wife? Isobel flushed with heat from her head to her toes, despite the frigid weather and being near frozen with fear.

Dirk motioned back to Rebbie. "And that is my friend, Robert MacInnis, and our two servants."

As the guard paced by her and moved toward Rebbie, she swallowed hard and prayed he would not drag her from the horse.

"We must make great haste," Dirk called. "My father is on his deathbed."

'Twas a pity that was not a lie too.

She forced herself to draw in air as she listened to the footsteps crunching in the snow, the minute clanks of weapons and bridles. One of the horses snorted. The chill, wet air seeped into her bones.

Dirk's wife? The thought would not leave her. Good heavens, to be his wife in truth. Although he was the most fearsome man she'd ever met, the thought of being his wife did not fill her with dread as her first husband did. Nor like the MacLeod she was now betrothed to.

Returning, the guard passed her again. "Well then. Godspeed, MacKay." He motioned them along and headed back toward Munrick.

A breath of relief rushed out, leaving Isobel shaky, weak and cold. Dirk led the horse forward at a brisk pace while he sent the occasional glance back toward the guards.

Even though it would be far more pleasant to daydream about being Dirk's wife, she'd best remain in reality and stay attentive. If Dirk's father was indeed on his deathbed, or had already passed, he would experience great emotional pain and grief, just as she had when she'd lost her parents. She shivered, praying his father was alive and well by the time they reached Durness. She remembered the older man when he'd been hale and hearty, a huge bear of a man with auburn hair flecked with gray. She even remembered how he'd laughed louder than anyone else.

What would Dirk's laugh sound like? She barely remembered one smile from him. Back then, he'd been rather quiet, watching everyone else with suspicion. His sharp gaze never missing a tiny detail. He was ever serious, as he was now.

He had even observed her more than she was comfortable with, his pale eyes assessing her.

She knew not why he unnerved her. Clearly, he was trustworthy. He had just saved her from the MacLeods.

She must think of a way to thank him properly.

∞∞∞

Isobel's toes were numb with cold by the time they arrived at a place Dirk called Scourie that evening. They'd not even stopped to eat their midday meal and had instead eaten while moving forward. The wind through the passes and glens was brutal at times. Once they'd moved from the treacherous mountains to flat moorland that wasn't too soggy, Dirk had again ridden in front of her so they could make better time.