Page 97 of My Brave Highlander

"Och. 'Tis damned unfortunate. Because, of a certainty, you want to remember when you've…."

Dirk sent him a cutting glare, warning him not to go too far. He would tolerate no crude remarks about Isobel. "Say naught of it. Maighread and her people cannot find out or Isobel could be in danger." That was the important thing. Of course, she probably already knew, if Haldane had anything to do with it.

"I'll tell no one. You ken that. But I wish to congratulate you." Rebbie held out his hand for a shake.

"What for?"

"You're going to marry her, are you not?"

Dirk's heart rate quickened at the thought, for he did want to marry her. But he didn't yet know how he'd accomplish that, given all the obstacles in his way. "Aye, of course. 'Tis the only honorable thing to do considering she was…." Dirk snapped his mouth closed.

"Was what?" Rebbie's dark eyes widened with curiosity.

"She's a lady," Dirk amended.

"Forget honor. That woman will make you happy."

"How do you know? You're no expert on marital bliss. Besides, the very thought of marriage terrifies you, does it not?"

Rebbie shrugged. "This is not about me. You're different with her. And clearly, she cares about your health, considering how she warmed you up with her almost bare body last night. She's precisely what you need to get you out of your grumpy mood."

"I'm not grumpy," Dirk muttered, distracted by the delightful memory of Isobel lying on his naked body the night before to share heat, naught but the thin smock between them. She'd warmed him up, for a certainty. His shaft had been awakened first, ready for action even before he could feel his numb toes.

He adjusted his sporran, making sure the pouch concealed his burgeoning arousal at an awkward time. The kilt was one of his father's clean belted plaids. He thought it appropriate for the hearing with the MacKay clan. He also wore an ivory linen shirt and a gray doublet he'd brought with him.

Continuing on, they passed a group of clansmen. Rebbie nodded to them and changed the subject. "And how is your head feeling this morn?" he asked Dirk. "There's still a nasty red mark on it and a bruise."

Given that Rebbie had already asked about his health, he knew it was for show. "Better. It doesn't pain me as much."

"Are you hungry?"

"Nay. A servant brought me bannocks and eggs earlier."

The great hall was a buzz of activity. Several clansmen fell silent when they noticed Dirk and Rebbie enter, then they came forward to inquire after Dirk's injury. He was glad to see most members of the clan were concerned about his well-being, and that they were also welcoming.

All the elder male clan members and gentlemen of the clan, including Haldane, Uncle Conall and Keegan sat down around the tables in the great hall, as did Rebbie and Erskine, while Dirk and Aiden took seats at the high table. His father's ceann-cath or sword-bearer, his fear sporain or treasurer, and others who held official positions were also present. Maighread lurked in one darkened corner like a hungry spider. He ignored her poison scowl and glanced around.

Isobel entered and stood on the opposite side of the room with Jessie, Seona, and several more women. Isobel's dark gaze always bewitched him, even now, at twenty paces. What power did she hold over him? He had to stop staring at her for she distracted him far too much.

His father's senachie, Phelan, who was also one of the elder clansmen, rose from the bench. His long white beard gave him a wise and distinguished air. "This hearing is to determine who the rightful chief of the MacKay clan shall be. We want a strong leader who is also the son of our revered former chief, Griff MacKay, may God rest his soul." Phelan's rich voice rang out and everyone listened intently. The man was a gifted orator, and had been telling stories of their ancestors to the clan all Dirk's life, and long before.

"I remember when Dirk MacKay was born." Phelan motioned toward Dirk. "I was standing right here in this hall when the proud Chief Griff MacKay came down the stairs carrying his firstborn son. The bairn was screaming to the top of his lungs, roaring like a wee lion cub. We could tell then he would be a fearsome warrior one day, just like his father and his grandfather before him. I ask that you all honor the memory of Griff MacKay by acknowledging his firstborn son, Dirk MacKay, as the rightful and current chief." Phelan resumed his seat.

Another clansman stood, Dirk's great uncle, Hamish. "Aye, and when his da held him aloft without a stitch of clothes on, we all saw the wee birthmark on his left shoulder in the shape of a Highland dirk. All of you who were here when Dirk arrived a few nights ago saw that same mark on this man's shoulder." He pointed to Dirk.

"You are mad, old man," Maighread growled from her corner.

Hamish turned to glare at her. "You were nay here, old woman."

She gasped and her mouth hung open.

Dirk couldn't hold back the soft snort that escaped. 'Twas about time Maighread got some of her rudeness returned. He glanced aside at Aiden to find him holding back a grin as well.

"Laird MacKay would turn in his grave if he knew you spoke to me that way," Maighread said, offense dripping from every word.

"And, if he were here, Laird MacKay would know this man is his eldest son." Hamish pointed toward Dirk. Ignoring her, he addressed the rest of the clan. "If you see the evidence and hear the testimonies of everyone who knew Dirk when he was a lad—almost everyone here over the age of twenty—you will see that Dirk is the rightful chief of our clan. You but need to look at him to see he is the spitting image of his father. Clearly, he is also a strong, intelligent man, a well-trained soldier and will be a powerful leader for our clan."

Reverend MacMahon and five more clansmen acknowledged that they knew without doubt Dirk was who he claimed to be.