Free Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) by Lily Baldwin Page A

“Sacrifice can always be born when it is suffered for something worthwhile. I sacrificed a great deal to follow my own heart once, and I’ve never regretted it, not for a moment.” Brenna pulled Bridget into a fierce embrace.
    A voice called from atop the hill. Brenna looked up to see Rona waving before she hurried down the slope.
    “Funny you should mention sacrifice, Bridget, because here comes one now.”
    Bridget sighed. “The lass prattles on without stopping to breathe, but she was the most logical choice to aid you. She is not needed at home, and their croft is closest to yours.”
    “I ken why she was chosen, but I shall have to be more careful to avoid injury in the future. She hurts worse than the blisters.”
    “Do not fear,” Bridget winked. “Soon Duncan shall return, which should prove a greater challenge to you than even the most loquacious of lasses.”
    Brenna quirked a brow at Bridget and crossed her arms over her chest as she demanded to know what Bridget meant to imply. But with a shrug and a smile, Bridget took Anna’s hand and motioned for Isobel and Fiona to follow. All four ladies turned away toward the hill. Brenna watched their departure, overcome by the vulnerable feeling that Bridget had once again peered into her soul and spotted Brenna’s confused desire.
    “I am a woman.” she said to herself as she stormed back inside not waiting to greet Rona. “He is a man.” A tall, powerful man with liquid black eyes ablaze with fire and sin. She took a deep breath as she closed the door and leaned against it. Then she remembered Duncan for what he really was—not the man whose tender hands seeped undercurrents of honeyed warmth—but a man whose face twisted with disdain and whose eyes were empty and cold like the final breath of the dying.
    Her body may have betrayed her for a moment, but it was a shell without thought or reason. Her heart and mind were hers alone to control. Control had always been effortless for her. She considered something only long enough to distinguish the right and good response and then the matter was concluded. This incident with Duncan was no different. He despised her and so she naturally disliked him. Yesterday meant nothing, nor would anything similar ever happen again.
    Satisfied, she hurried to begin the morning’s chores. Picking up a bucket, she winced as the handle squeezed her sores. She dropped it and stared at her bandages. In an instant, her mind returned to the dark heat she witnessed in Duncan’s eyes as air from his lips rushed over her open palm, and all at once her conviction fled, replaced by turmoil as thick as the air before a storm.
    What was wrong with her? Where was all this…this feeling coming from? Anna described her as being riled, but this was not riled. This was fury. This was fire. This was entirely unacceptable. She did not do fury and fire. She was even and uncomplicated.
    Plunking down into her chair, she mourned her loss of confidence. Her gaze moved to her pallet near the hearth, and all at once she was filled with longing to pull the covers over her head and forget about the burgeoning fire deep inside of her.
    A knock sounded at the door before Rona peaked her head inside. “Good Morrow, Brenna. I have so much to tell you. You will not believe the tales I’ve heard.”
    Brenna hid her grimace as she bid Rona enter. And to think, the day had begun with such promise.

 
    Chapter 7
     
     
    Every muscle in Duncan’s body ached as he took another long draught of ale. The great hall of Dun Ara Castle heaved with warriors bent on getting drunk to mask the pain Ronan inflicted with a tortuous day of training. Ronan pushed his warriors to the point of breaking, but they did not struggle alone. He completed every exercise and climbed every cliff alongside his men.
    A part of Duncan longed to join the revelries, but ever since Berwick, it was hard for him to be so lighthearted. Judging by the sober faces worn by Cormac and Jamie,