Free The Highlander's Sin by Eliza Knight Page A

myself?”
    “Scream.” Duncan turned back toward the entrance to the great hall. He’d check each level of the castle first and then outside—
    “Scream? Are ye jesting with me?” The woman sounded like he’d told her to go jump into the nearest loch and hand-catch them some fish for dinner.
    Duncan whirled , ready to gag her for certain this time. Enough threats. “Devil take it, woman, what do ye want of me? Should I give ye my sword?”
    She nodded , serious. “Aye, that would be good.”
    Exasperation did not begin to describe the burning emotions pummeling his insides. “Lass, ye canna handle my sword.” And he meant that in more ways than one.
    Heather pursed her lips, scrunched up her pert nose. “I’ve handled a sword before.”
    “And I’ve heard that line more than a dozen times.”
    Her face colored. Either she understood the double entendre or she might genuinely know how to handle a blade and was getting angry at him for doubting her. And he was seriously leaning more toward the former.
    “I’m serious.”
    Damn, it was the latter.
    “I’m not giving ye a weapon.” He turned back, deciding he would ignore any more interruptions. He had to scout their camp before all light was lost. These were dangerous times they lived in. He wasn’t going to get caught unawares and with a woman holding him back.
    “Do ye truly think the Earl of Sutherland would allow his sister to go untrained in protecting herself?” she called after him.
    Duncan responded over his shoulder, not bothering to slow his pace. “Ye’re here, aren’t ye? Let that answer your question.”
    He was pretty sure whatever it was that she grumbled behind his back was worse than bastard, whoreson or heathen. Duncan smiled, had to stop himself from whistling. There was something about the lass that really got his blood rolling. He was either burning with rage, hot with desire or laughing his arse off.
    It’d be rough when he had to drop her off with Lady Ross. The part of him that was starting to doubt this mission was only growing stronger.
    “Not a chance,” he mumbled. He was not going to let that impish twit wiggle her way inside his head. Letting her change his mind would be his downfall.
    Duncan was a loner. And he’d remain that way until he met his end, preferably a death worthy of a warrior.
    Exiting the great hall, Duncan was careful to step quietly over the stones and scattered debris. If anyone had chosen to make camp in the courtyard in the time they’d been inside, he need not let them know he was here. In all his days of coming to the ruins, not many dared to camp inside. The castle was rumored to be filled with restless spirits and demons. He’d never run into any ghosts, and the only demons he was aware of were his own.
    Stepping silently, he crept to the main doorway. Two large wooden, iron-studded doors used to fill the space, but one had long since fallen and rotted into the ground. The other hung on a hinge. The only reason he’d never repaired them was that doing so would have called attention to his being there. And would have invited unwanted guests to try to slumber there as well.
    A cursory glance around the courtyard showed it to be quiet. There appeared to be no one approaching from where he could see through the broken-down gate, but that didn’t mean they were safe from the rear. This castle had been built upon a motte, and so it looked down into the surrounding valleys, but it was not protected by a loch or the sea, nor a cliff. Completely exposed in the open wilderness, it was no wonder that it had been easily overtaken.
    The sun was fast setting, and the storm that had been brewing in the skies above appeared to have picked up speed. Not a simple drizzle, as he’d first thought. Mother Nature was not working well with him on this mission. But he refused to believe in superstition, which told him everything he was doing here was wrong. Dark clouds made the already setting sun dimmer, and a