Free Highlander Brawn by Eliza Knight

Chapter One
    Scottish Highlands, 1296
     
    Sorcha stood atop the battlements and glowered at Laird Campbell, who was barreling across the landscape as though a demon were on his tail.
    How was it possible for a Highlander to be such a coward? Though she couldn’t say much more for herself. When their eyes had locked in the great hall as Campbell spoke with her elder brother Drostan, the Laird of Clan Comyn, her interest had been piqued. Drostan and Laird Campbell had settled a long dispute, agreeing to be allies. Good for them. Not so good for her sensibilities.
    Sorcha braced herself on the stones of the wall, leaning forward as if by doing so she’d catch his scent on the wind. There was naught but the usual scents of Comyn Keep.
    She closed her eyes, envisioning the moment when his stormy gray gaze had slid over her, warming her to her toes. His stare had been intense. Powerful enough to shock her system. To make her forget everything she’d vowed—never to get involved with a man.
    She’d been down that path before and did not care to repeat it—ever. Why then did this man, a former enemy of her clan, cause her body to betray her? Nipples taut, thighs quivering, cunny slick, she was completely undone by him. This raven-haired devil with sharply handsome features caused her to lose her breath.
    Campbell…
    The stricken look on Campbell’s face after their initial connection was enough to make her cheeks flame. He hadn’t liked the reaction—the sudden attraction—any more than she did.
    “Bloody hell,” she muttered and whirled around to go back inside.
    She would forget about him. She would remain true to her vow. She was Sorcha, sister to Laird Comyn, a warrior for her clan, a healer to the sick. The Campbell would not sway her from this. Not now, not ever.
    With her declaration renewed, she stormed down the stairs of the tower until she reached the third floor where her chamber was housed. She picked up a leather satchel filled with an assortment of knives and headed to the field where she could practice, exert herself enough to forget about the damn man.
    She imagined Cambell’s heart as the mark—and she hit dead center every time. She twisted around and threw. She hurled it from behind her head. She whipped the knives from beneath a lifted leg. She even launched one backward. Never once did she miss. She viewed it as a sign.
    “What are ye doing?” Drostan said from behind her.
    Sorcha turned to see her brother, arms folded over his chest, frowning at her. “Practicing.”
    “Looks more like ye’re trying to murder my target.”
    “Perhaps I am.”
    Drostan chuckled. “I know why ye’re so distraught.”
    Sorcha narrowed her eyes. Since he’d been bewitched by Briana and the sacred stones, he’d changed. The clan’s tradition called for the laird to await his bride within the stone circle. Their eldest brother Niall and his bride Ceana were brutally murdered as they made love there, leaving the clan devastated and Drostan as laird.
    She still missed Niall’s smile, his barking of orders and the way he chucked her on the chin as he passed by. His death left a tender spot inside them all. Drostan feared the sacred stones but had done his duty with flourish. When the moon was high, an ancient magic came to life and brought with it Briana, his soul mate. Their attraction and love had been instant as they bonded carnally within the circle, covered with mist and the power of the pagan runes.
    Now that Drostan knew love, he’d become sappy. Where had his lady love gone off to? And shouldn’t he be crawling behind her, begging for a treat?
    She snorted with disgust. “I doubt it.”
    He grinned. Sorcha tightened her grip on her knife, employing all her willpower not to aim directly at his face. “Might the Campbell be the cause?”
    Sorcha hissed through her teeth. Just the mention of his name brought back the image of him standing in the hall. He was a good two to three inches taller than her