"Last I heard. Anyway, my uncle told everyone I died and took me to live with my mother's clan in Strathspey. I went to university a couple of years later." That was where he'd met Lachlan and Rebbie. "I've kept my identity secret for the past twelve years."
"What is your true name?" Rebbie asked.
"Dirk MacKay."
"You're not a MacLerie? Why did you not tell us?" Lachlan asked.
"My mother was a MacLerie. And… well, it was simply easier and safer that everyone think my name MacLerie. My uncle ordered me to tell no one, for my stepmother comes from a powerful clan with a far reach."
"I see. Your father holds a title and property, then?" Rebbie asked.
"Aye, but nothing so remarkable as yours. He's a baron and a chief. MacKay lands are vast but contain little arable land. The holdings include a keep called Castle Dunnakeil, a manor house about twenty miles away and several hundred clansmen scattered over MacKay Country along the north coast."
"'Tis impressive," Lachlan said. "You will one day inherit, then?"
Dirk shrugged. "'Tis my duty and responsibility to lead and guide the clan when my father is no longer able. He trained me for this from as far back as I remember."
One of his first memories was riding a large horse with his father. Dirk must have been three or four at the time. One day this will be yours, Da had said. When I'm gone, I want you to take care of the clan as if they are your children. Do you understand? Dirk recalled looking up into his father's proud and noble face, with his russet beard and blue eyes. Dirk had nodded, even though he truly didn't understand. But his father had known that someday Dirk would remember and know what he'd meant.
Now, he didn't even know whether he'd see his father again. His throat ached.
"Did you get on well?" Rebbie asked.
Dirk nodded. "As well as could be expected. But Da was smitten with Maighread. Back then, he thought her the most beautiful creature on earth. He didn't believe me when I told him she was trying to kill me. He accused me of having too vivid an imagination."
"How did you ken 'twas her?" Lachlan asked.
"She threatened me from the first time she laid eyes on me, and took great joy in slapping me every chance she got, when no one was looking. She was not careful in what she said to me because she thought no one would believe me. She was wrong. My uncle believed me even if Da did not."
"Bitch," Rebbie muttered.
Dirk nodded, a sense of urgency coming over him. "I'm thinking 'tis time for me to take my leave. But first, I want to thank you both for your friendship these last ten years. You've become like brothers to me."
"Och," Rebbie muttered. "You ken we feel the same way."
"Indeed, brother." Lachlan stepped forward for a handshake. "Have a care on your journey north. And I must thank you also for your help in clearing up the mess we had here at Draughon last month. I wouldn't have survived without you both."
Dirk nodded. "That's what friends do. Help each other."
"Which is why I'm going with you," Rebbie said, standing.
"I must warn you that the weather, especially in winter, in MacKay Country is harsher than anywhere we've been thus far."
"I'm well aware. I've traveled to Thurso before."
"And my murderous stepmother might be just as inclined to kill my friends as she is to kill me."
"Och. Let her try," Rebbie grumbled.
"Well then, you've been warned. We'll need some warmer clothing and some wool plaids."
"I have some excess ones," Lachlan offered. "And we have the thick, shaggy wool mantles we wore back from Kintalon. They'll work well in the snow and wind."
Dirk nodded. "I appreciate it."
"I wish I could go too, but Angelique is not feeling well."
"You must stay here and care for her and the clan." Dirk clapped him on the shoulder. He'd never seen Lachlan smitten before, but his wee wifey had tamed the wild Scot.
"Send me a missive to let me know how things go there. If you need me, let me know and I'll be on the first galley north."
Dirk nodded. "I thank you."
"I hope your father is alive and well when you arrive," Lachlan added as they proceeded into the corridor.
Dirk prayed his da had a miraculous turn of health. At just over two-score and ten, his father was not an elderly man and 'haps that would work in his favor. Dirk had always imagined returning to Durness one day and seeing the surprised look on Da's face. He hoped he still would.
***
With no candle to light her way, Isobel MacKenzie swiftly climbed the stone turnpike staircase within Munrick Castle. Soft footsteps pursued her, spurring her to quicken her pace. Likely, 'twas Nolan MacLeod, her future husband's younger brother. This would not be the first time he'd approached her. He was ever leering at her or murmuring lewd comments when no one was paying attention. She'd done naught to encourage him. In fact, she'd tried her best to ignore him as she awaited the return of her betrothed. No doubt the chief, Torrin, would tell his brother to go attend to his own wife.
When Isobel emerged at the top of the steps, the dimness of the cold corridor gave her a sudden chill. She had been here less than a fortnight and the unfriendly place felt less like home every day.
"Where are you fleeing to, my wee witch?"
Glancing back, she couldn't see him in the stairwell, but the voice belonged to that knave, Nolan.
"Leave me be." She rushed toward the only light, a sconce at the end of the corridor, near her own chamber.
Footsteps thumped behind her on the wooden floorboards, but the boisterous music from the céilidh in the great hall ensured no one would hear. Her heart beating loudly in her ears, she glanced over her shoulder and found him looming no more than two paces away. Stopping, she faced the bastard. In the dimness, one side of his thin lips quirked up within his scraggly brown beard, and the lusty gleam in his light brown eyes disgusted her.
"I'm feeling nauseous and thought I would retire for the evening," she said, glaring up at him. In truth, she wished she could vomit on him. Then, maybe he'd lose some of his unhealthy interest in her.
His smirk broadened and he took a step toward her. "I ken how to make you feel better, lass."
Her stomach truly did turn then. "Where is your wife?"
"Busy. Taking care of the babe."
She cringed. He was the sleaziest of men, seeking out attentions from other women when his wife had only given birth a fortnight ago. 'Twas indeed a pity her intended, Torrin MacLeod, was meeting with another clan and he'd left Nolan to oversee the castle.
"I'm sure she will be looking for you," Isobel said. "And in case you've forgotten, I'm to marry the MacLeod."
Nolan snorted. "Are you thinking Torrin cares about you? He's only seen you one time. Nay, he has Ruthann in the village. He has been smitten with her for years, and they have children."
Could this be true? Her nausea increased tenfold.
"With you, he but wants an heir," Nolan went on. "If you're capable of providing one." He snickered. "The rumor is you're barren, since you failed to produce an heir for your last husband before his death."
Revulsion and anger swelled inside her. She'd heard the rumors about her, but they were all lies. "That is none of your concern."
"I'm making it my concern. You see, if you're a widow who is barren, it will matter little if we have some fun betwixt the sheets."