If Dirk were a superstitious man, he might have looked at the ominous clouds differently than he was this morning. He might have thought they were a sign to remain at Dunstaffnage, or that the treaty he’d struck with Olafsson was ballocks and that the lass he was delivering should instead be returned to her family.

Or he should claim her for his own.

But, he’d never been superstitious and he wasn’t about to start now.

And he certainly wasn’t going to take her for a wife.

So, he stared up at the darkened clouds forming over his castle, the uneasy sidestepping of the horses, and the somber faces of his people, and determined to think nothing more of it than a case of the weather setting them all to gloom.

Overhead, the sky was overcast, the clouds dark and forming strange pockets of gray in a quilted pattern like hundreds of bairn bottoms mooning them from the sky. A swift wind blew, the scent of rain carried with it. Highlanders never let a little rain get in the way of a mission. If the rain came down too hard, they could always stop until it passed, but they couldn’t wait. If he waited until the rain ceased, they might not leave Oban for months. Spring was oft chockfull with downpours.

“Travel safe, my grandson.” Lady Elle stood beside him, her hand stroking over his horse’s mane.

“I will.” He bent to give her a kiss on her cheek.

“Take care of her.” She nodded pointedly at his charge.

Dirk gave his grandmother a teasing look and said, “Well, I had planned on losing her in the woods, but if ye insist.”

She laughed, but it was missing her usual cheer. Another sign, if he were a superstitious man, that whatever plans he’d carefully arranged would be disrupted.

Taking her somberness as sign of worry, he sought to comfort her. “Dinna worry, seanmhair. Soon the strife of our lands will be laid to rest. When I return, we will rebuild and fortify. We need not worry about Olafsson anymore after that.”

She patted him now instead of the horse. “I have every confidence that ye will make the right choices and that peace will reign once more.”

“Good. And I thank ye for remaining behind and acting as mistress for the interim.” Dirk was about to tell her how he planned to fortify the castle, a tribute to her late husband, his grandfather, but the words stilled on his tongue as he gazed up at the sudden shuffling of movement near the doors of the keep. All thoughts of fortifying left him as his mother exited the castle and beside her, the beautiful, feisty Lady Lilias. He was glad to see she was sufficiently clothed in sturdy traveling boots and a thick mantle to keep her warm. The hood was pulled up over her head, hiding the glorious golden locks beneath its dark wool.

Even still, the lass stole his breath. In fact, everyone in the courtyard seemed to cease moving, speaking, as they gazed at her. She looked up then, as if noticing just now the sudden silence, that all eyes were on her. Deep, sapphire eyes met his, tension in their depths that cut him to the quick.

Why did he get the sudden feeling like they were taking a lamb to slaughter?

He shook the ominous thought from his mind, and broke eye contact. This was a necessary task to ensure the safety and prosperity of his people.

She would be fine. Olafsson would do her no harm.

Elle nudged him in the ribs with her elbow and he hurried forward to take their guest’s hand as another guard led his mother to her horse.

“May I help ye onto your horse, my lady?”

She pursed her lips. “I can manage.” Despite her refusal, she slipped her hand around his offered elbow, and he gritted at the sudden spark of heat that raced over his arm. Where her slim fingers touched, branded him.

“I never doubted.” What he was starting to doubt was his strength of character. Women didn’t make him feel sparks of anything. Aye, he had desire for them. Had plenty of lovers, as well, but Lady Lilias was making him feel like an untried green lad. A man locked in a prison for all his life only just now coming out.

And that wouldn’t do. Not at all.

He led her toward her horse, and let go of her arm, waiting for her to mount on her own. The lass tilted her head at him, perhaps surprised that he was not going to simply ignore her and lift her up. A smile curved her mouth before she ducked her head, hitched her skirts up to free her boot with one hand, and held onto the pommel with the other. A moment later, she had her foot in the stirrup and had hoisted herself into the saddle. Not watching intently had been a torment, as he was certain that the creamy flash had been her ankle leading into a soft calf.

She straightened her skirts and murmured her thanks.

Dirk stalked away from her, calling for his men to mount up. He hoisted himself on his own warhorse and signaled for their caravan to depart.

He charged ahead, keeping a good distance from the women, and scouring the road and woods as they went, the feeling of foreboding not quite leaving him.

The ladies rode in the center of the party, surrounded by guards. Though Dirk was the powerful Lord of the Isles, that did not mean that opportunists would not strike. Outlaws, Sassenachs, Vikings, all of them roamed the lands seeking out their next bounty, whether it be money, lands, or simply a body to run through.

An hour into their ride, the dark clouds that circled, opened up around them. Thunder cracked and lightning streaked across the skies. If it were just his men, they would have continued on. But with his mother and Lady Lilias in tow, he eased their group into the forest where the leaves were denser and the rain less likely to spill on their heads. The horses’ hooves sank into dirt that quickly became mud, and water dripped in rivulets from Dirk’s nose, fingers, and the tips of his boots.

When his mother let out a yelp at a particularly deafening boom of thunder, Dirk turned his horse around and approached the women. He loved his mother dearly, but she’d always been a wee but less hearty than most Highland women. Perhaps because she was from the Lowlands. Both of the women had tugged the hoods of their cloaks low on their foreheads, shading their eyes from his view. He was surprised to catch Lilias patting Lady Fenella’s hand in comfort, and the warm smile of his mother. Lilias didn’t seem to mind the rain, a particular character trait he found appealing.

“Are ye all right to keep going?” he asked, not singling his mother out.

Lilias cocked her head to the side, her eyes squinting a little as she studied him. “Why wouldna we be? ’Tis just a little rain.”

Lady Fenella nodded, a grateful smile on her face. She was most likely embarrassed at her yelp.

Lilias’s lip twitched, her eyes filled with mirth. “Unless, it is ye that doesna like to get wet, my laird. I’m happy to accommodate if that is the case.”

Dirk grinned, then quickly wiped it from his face. He didn’t want to grin at her. Didn’t want to share in anything with her, because it only made that place in his chest that had started to swell the moment he’d first met her, grow. Still, he couldn’t help the goading words that left his tongue, nor the answering jollity in his gaze. “Are ye accusing me of being weak, lass?”

“The mighty Lord of the Isles?” She raised a sardonic brow and tsked. “Never.”

Lady Fenella looked between the two of them, the expression on her face unreadable. “Shall we continue, then?”

Dirk nodded, feeling only mildly embarrassed that his mother had to put him back on track. He rode back to the front of the line and urged the men to continue on. But his mind stayed on the lass and every chance he got he asked after her comfort until she looked him dead in the eye and said, “Though ye’ve only known me since yesterday, I am certain ye know I speak my mind. If I’m in need of something, I will tell ye. Now please, quit acting like my nursemaid.”

To which, his men teased him mercilessly the rest of the day.

Ballocks, but he had been acting like a nursemaid. And the worst part was that it had been compulsory. Several times, he found himself nudging the reins of his horse toward Lady Lilias only to force himself to straighten out.

The difficulty was, Dirk was struck by the fire that lurked beneath the surface of her exterior, and yet, he wished she’d not such a salient tongue. ’Twas as if he’d met his equal in a woman. She wasn’t afraid of him as most were, but willing to argue with him. Willing to tease him. Not even his closest companions could do that, though Gunnar did get close.

Lady Lilias was beautiful spitfire. A paradox among women.

Olafsson was not worthy of her. Hell, Dirk wasn’t certain any man was.

* * *

Lilias shifted uncomfortably on the ground in front of their campfire.

Lady Fenella handed her a trencher of roasted fish, which she ate slowly. Saints, but her bottom was sore. Aye, she’d told MacDougall that she’d let him know if she became uncomfortable, or needed anything, but to tell him that riding was causing her significant discomfort would have been mortifying. Especially after their discussion of her riding the day before.

She rode plenty on her own lands, but for only an hour or so at a time. Not eight hours straight with a rare break to relieve herself.

Her bottom had to be black and blue with bruises. At least, that was what it felt like right now. She shifted again, wishing she’d folded up a plaid and put it beneath her. The hardness of the earth had her wondering if she’d sat on a pile of uneven rocks instead of the grass.

To make matters worse, every time she looked up and into the flames, she could see MacDougall on the opposite side. Staring at her with those dark eyes. His expression unreadable. Almost brooding. The setting sun put shadows on the striking angles of his face. Made his dark eyes appear to glow all the more.

The leader of the isles was remarkable. An incredible specimen, to be sure. So tall and broad. He had muscles upon muscles. She had no doubt that he must strike fear into those who went against him.

She was glad that the flames were between them, for the blaze put up a barrier she couldn’t seem to erect herself when he came near her.

Though his eyes spoke volumes, looking deep into her soul, he didn’t actually say anything to her. But she was almost certain he sensed her discomfort, and after the dressing down she’d given him about being a nursemaid, and the way his men had teased him mercilessly after, she was certain he wouldn’t speak to her the rest of this trip.

She really must learn to control her tongue. Her mother had often admonished her that it would be the one thing that got her into trouble.

“I want to thank ye, lass, for what ye did earlier today.” Lady Fenella had leaned over conspiratorially.

“What?” Lilias asked absently.

“Not letting me succumb to my fear of thunder. I would have never forgiven myself had I shamed my son into remaining where we were.”

“Oh, I’m certain Laird MacDougall could never be ashamed of ye.”

Lady Fenella smiled. “One can always hope that is the case.” She patted Lilias on the knee. “Would ye care for a mint herbal? I often find it aids in digestion, but also freshens my mouth after eating.”

“Aye, my lady. That would be lovely.”

Lady Fenella moved to the fire, boiling water and sprinkling a sachet of herbs into the pot.

Lilias shifted her gaze away from the flames, finished her fish and plucked at the blades of grass on the ground beside her. Every time she glanced up, he was still looking at her. ’Twas most unnerving. She’d almost rather he came across the fire and told her exactly how he felt about her. Which she was certain was not at all positive.

On the morrow, she resolved to be much more complacent. A vow she’d continued to make and break since entering his castle the day before.

Lady Fenella handed her a steaming cup, the scent of mint permeating the air before her. She took a tentative sip, delighted at the almost sweet, minty flavor.

“A touch of honey helps it go down,” Lady Fenella was saying, and then she went on about herbs and their healing properties, while Lilias continued her surreptitious glances across the fire.

The sun finally set and MacDougall stood, dividing his men into watch shifts. She observed the way the men responded to him. Respectfully. With deference. They adored him. Trusted him. Yet another positive mark on his character.

“We’d best get to bed,” Lady Fenella said, standing beside her.

The men had erected small tents of downed tree limbs and sinewy rope with plaids draped overtop. They were crudely put together, but she was glad for a little privacy, and a barrier between her and the wind and rain while she slept.

Dirk MacDougall kept his gaze on her the entire dozen steps she took to her tent. She could feel it boring into her back, heating her spine and sending tingles all the way to the tips of her toes. And while she would have liked to duck behind a tree to relieve herself one more time before the light was completely gone, she also desperately wanted to escape his scrutiny.

As it was, two hours later, she shifted painfully on her makeshift bed, cursing herself for not having been braver. Saints, but her bladder felt like it would explode. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, and was in very real danger of embarrassing herself, Lilias crawled from her tent to find Dirk sitting by the tree just outside. He leaned against it, long legs stretched out before him. Arms crossed over his chest. Eyelids dipped closed. He didn’t move. Was he asleep?

It was so dark she couldn’t see. And she didn’t want to wake him, just because she had to relieve herself. That had been the whole point of skipping it earlier—to get away from him and the odd reaction her body was having to his presence.

Inching forward on her hands and knees out of the tent, a rock bit into her palm and she jerked back with a hiss, bringing her hand close to her face to see if she’d cut herself. In the very dim light of the fire, she didn’t see any blood. She stood, stretching at first, working the kinks from riding and lying so still, from her body. Then she turned in a circle, looking for just the right place to go.

The forest was dark behind her, hulking, thick shadowed tree trunks, waving branches, all of them looking like beasties reaching for her.

“What are ye doing?”

She not heard him rise, but there he was all the same, standing beside her. Looming. Powerful. Again, tingles lurched up her spine. She bit her lip and wrung her hands to keep them from trembling.

Lilias glanced up at him, struck by the light of the moon that reflected in his eyes.

“I need to…” She trailed off, embarrassed and waved her hand toward the trees.

A smooth brow shot up. “Piss?”

Lilias gave a mock gasp of outrage, then rolled her eyes. “Ye needn’t be so crude.”

“We all do it.” He chuckled. “Come on, I’ll escort ye.”

Lilias jumped away, nearly tripping over her own hurried feet. “I dinna need an escort. I can go on my own just fine.”

Even if it was dark. The last thing she wanted was this braw Highlander following her into the woods as she lifted her skirts. But the thought of him being nearby when she exposed herself sent a shocking flip to her belly that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, and was consequently extremely unpleasant.

“I didna say I was going to lift your skirts and help ye, lass.” Oh, heaven help her! “Just provide protection. Put that viperous tongue away for a minute and let me do my duty in seeing ye safe.” He grabbed a makeshift torch from the campfire.

“All right,” she managed to ground out. She bit the edge of her tongue, recalling her vow to be more complacent. And worried that if she spoke more, the tightness in her throat would give away the sinful thoughts she’d been having. Jerking her head in some semblance of a nod.

His hand pressed to the small of her back, and she could have simply melted onto the forest floor. Somehow, she managed to walk normally, as she allowed him to lead her a few dozen paces into the woods.

“There ye go, lass. Here is good. I’ll turn my back.”

“Nay,” she flitted her hands, shooing him away, “ye must walk back.”

MacDougall gave her a stern look. “I canna.”

Lilias returned his expression. “Then I canna.”

He locked his eyes on hers in challenge. “I’ll wager ye will whether ye like it or not.”

Truer words than she cared to admit.

With a frown she hoped showed him just how much she despised this plan, she humphed out, “Fine. But if ye turn around, ye and any future progeny ye might have wanted, will regret it.”

The grin that covered his face in that moment was enough to make her want to stamp her foot, but the wink! Oh, that sultry stare had her nearly choking on her breath.

At last, he turned his back and she went about her business.