Free Highlander Brawn by Eliza Knight Page A

brother, his chest a ridiculous expanse of muscle and his arms… Despite trying to convince herself she was disgusted by his show of brawn, she was captivated, spellbound—hungry.
    “No.” She whirled around and spiked the knife at the target. For the first time, it missed…by two feet. “Go to hell, Drostan!”
    “Ye’ve not the mouth of a lady, sister.”
    “I’ve not a lady’s disposition either. ’Tis not a thing that bothers me.”
    Drostan walked to the target and picked up her knives, including the one that was two feet away. “I dinna think a lady is what the Campbell is after. He likes a woman with spirit.”
    “What makes ye say that?” She cringed at the hope in her voice and quickly added, “I care not. Give me back my knives.”
    Drostan gave her back each one slowly, studying her. “I think ye do care. I think ye care more than ye want to. Keep it in mind. I have a sense he might be returning for ye.”
    “Well, I willnae be leaving with the bloody oaf.”
    Drostan chuckled, heading back toward the keep. “Suit yerself, sister. I’ve come to learn that happiness truly does come with love.”
    “Bah! Ye’ve become a—”
    “Dinna say it, lass. Ye’ll regret it.”
    “I never regret anything I say.”
    Drostan chuckled. “Aye, never.”
    “Humph.” She folded her arms and glared at her brother’s retreating figure.Magic had brought her brother love, maybe it would for her too… No. Never.
    Campbell had better not show his face here with the intent to claim her. She would see to it that he met an early death.
    Then, of course, she’d be labeled a murderess and start a war between the clans. She’d better just pray he not arrive.
    * * * * *
     
    He arrived two weeks later, a contingent of men behind him, as if that would bolster his confidence. As soon as Campbell rode to the center of the bailey, Sorcha launched a knife from her chamber window without thinking. It landed just in front of his horse, startling the animal, which reared up in fear.
    Sorcha smiled into the thunderous gaze of Campbell as he remained seated and calmed his horse.
    He dismounted, fury in his every move, and stalked to the stairs leading into the keep. Sorcha rolled her eyes at his obvious display of male power. She had no use for it. What did he intend to do? Storm past her brothers, up two flights of curling stairs until he reached her room and banged down the door?
    A thunderous clap sounded behind her as her door was thrust open with such power it ricocheted against the wall.
    “What the devil?” She whirled around and came face-to-face with the man himself.
    Her heart skipped a beat and fear trickled along her spine. Gooseflesh rose along her arm. She took him in with wide eyes. “What are ye doing in my chamber? Get out!” She pointed at the door and shoved at his hard chest with her other hand.
    “What am I doing? Ye have the nerve to question me after ye nearly killed my mount?”
    Again, she rolled her eyes to heaven and tucked her arms across her chest. She tapped her foot against the wooden planks of the floor. “I didna nearly kill your mount at all. I aimed for the exact spot I hit.”
    He laughed, his expression a storm of anger, belying the lighthearted sound. “I doubt that.”
    Inside, her pride was crushed but she cared not for his thoughts on it. She knew her own skills and wasn’t a braggart. She lifted her chin a notch, refusing to respond to him.
    He stepped forward, only a foot away. His heat consumed her, making her want to step the rest of the way so they would be touching, chest to chest, hip to hip. As the thought pummeled through her mind, her body reacted. Nipples tightened, ached. Her cunny grew slick, clenched with the need to be filled. Her breaths quickened. She bit her lip then swallowed hard, stunned by her reaction to him.
    “Ye’re a hellion in need of discipline.” His voice was husky, low, a sound that stroked her insides into flames.
    And yet she hated him for