“A gift.”
Dougal turned his gaze on Isobel again. The urge to quail under his piercing stare was great, but Isobel squared her shoulders andreturned his gaze.
“What is this?” Dougal asked.
“Isobel MacDonell, daughter of MacDonell of Glen Laire. I’m escorting her home.”
Dougal’s brows raised in surprise. “The witch’s spawn? Hmm…we all thought you were dead, lass.”
Isobel’s smile turned wooden.Witch’s spawn?Was that how she and her sisters were known? “I’m quite alive, it seems.”
“I’d be careful,” Philip said mildly. “You’re speaking to the future countess of Kincreag.”
Dougal turned his sour gaze on Philip. “Lord Kincreag is not my chief.”
“Heisthe Colquhoun’s overlord. And the Colquhoun isyourchief.”
Dougal grunted, apparently unmoved by this truth. “So you’re still serving other chieftains, rather than tending your own inheritance.”
Philip cocked his head in mock confusion. “Is it mine? Last we spoke you threatened to name Colin tanist.”
Tanist.Isobel searched her memory. Though Highlanders did practice primogeniture, she remembered that tanistry was an old Highland custom that chiefs and chieftains called upon when they either had no heir or found their own heir unfit.
Dougal shook his head disgustedly and began speaking in low, rumbling Gaelic.
Philip cut him off abruptly. “Ye’ll not speak the Gaelic in front of Stephen or the lass. Ye ken yer Scots as well as I do.”
Though his face hardened, Isobel saw a flash of respect in Dougal’s eyes. He nodded at Isobel. “Ye should marry this one. A MacDonell tie couldn’t hurt. Things are getting ugly with the MacGregors.”
“That might trouble the earl of Kincreag somewhat.”
Dougal made a purely Scottish sound, dismissing the significance of an earldom. Philip just shook his head.
“What does it matter?” Dougal said. “Ye’ve no need for a wife or heirs, aye? As ye’ve no intention of heading the clan.” He started past them, but stopped when he was beside Philip. “Come see me when you’ve got the lass settled.” And he was gone, striding out into the courtyard.
The hand on Isobel’s neck had tightened unconsciously.
“He never gives up, does he?” Stephen mused with admiration, watching Dougal’s retreat.
Philip’s hand slid down to Isobel’s back, and the tension seemed to flow out of him. “No, he does not,” he agreed, and urged her forward, into the keep.
Isobel blinked when she entered the great hall, momentarily blind in the dark, firelit room. Rushes covered the floor. Two deerhounds squabbled over a bone near the hearth but stopped when Philip entered. They scrabbled to their feet and bounded over to him with excited barks. Philip scrubbed their wiry gray fur as they licked and pawed at him, yipping with delight.
“Lucifer. Daemon. How are the lads?”
Isobel held out a hand so the dogs could sniff at her, but they whined and shied from her, one of them baring its teeth threateningly.
“Hey,” Philip said sternly, giving the dog a harsh look. It whined, tail between legs and pressed against his legs, watching Isobel cautiously.
Philip gave Isobel a questioning look, and she shrugged. “I like animals, but sometimes they don’t like me. With time, though, they usually come around.”
A small smile curved his mouth when he straightened. “I’ve no doubt of that.”
Stephen had left them, heading straight for the kitchens, in search of food.
Philip glanced at her as he led her from the hall. “Why do you look at me so?”
“It’s nice to see something about your home makes you happy, even if it’s only the dogs.”
