Highlander Mine. Juliette Miller

my sister is being held against her will by an evil ganglord.

      Nay, the truth would be best kept quiet. “We hid, and we escaped,” was all I said on that topic.

      Knox Mackenzie was watching me intently. Little rays of kindness seemed to be shining through the veneer of his staunch authority, as though he wanted to contain them but couldn’t. “You’re safe now,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here inside the walls of Kinloch.”

      Here he was, this prodigious, controlling laird and warrior, offering not only protection, but solace. Safety. It was such an unfamiliar mood for me: that of feeling buffered from all danger and difficulty. There was no way Sebastian Fawkes could gain entry to this place, not with an entire army protecting its walls and its citizens. I had food on my plate and, aye, stuffed into my pockets. I was warm and sheltered and my nephew was more well cared for and happily engaged at this moment than he might ever have been in his life.

      It might have been the ale. In an unintentional gesture of gratitude, I placed my hand on Knox Mackenzie’s.

      The touch of that warm, comforting, calloused hand was unexpected and fed a fiery warmth into my body as though he was ablaze with currents of energy. The rush of my response was unnerving, and he, too, seemed struck. He exhaled lightly. And as he slid his hand from mine, I found myself simultaneously pulling back from his touch. I was afraid of my response to him: afraid of what I might do. I was wary of the volatility of my body’s urges. Bizarrely, I felt the effects of Knox Mackenzie’s touch as a squirmy, primal quiver in a most secret, womanly place. That lightly pulsing ache was wildly distracting.

      Shockingly, what I wanted to do was to pull his hands closer, to feel the strength of them. Gripping me, overpowering me, holding me down as he lavished his magnificence all over me, in whatever way he chose to do.

      Instead, I folded my hands demurely in my lap. I really might have been suffering some unexpected side effects to the stress of recent days that I made a point to discourage. I took a moment to focus on the light wring of my own fists as I squirmed lightly in my seat. I waited for the sweet, swelling anticipation to fade away. But the urges were so unexpected and so strong that I had to force myself to remain still. I was not well practiced in the art of restraint. I took a deep breath, summoning all my powers of control, composing myself as best I could.

      After a minute or more, I looked up at him. The thick strands of his black-on-black hair framed his face in artful disarray, contrasting somehow with the unyielding seriousness of his expression.

      He was waiting for me to continue, I realized.

      “I’m sorry,” I said. “’Tis difficult to speak of. All of it. We’ve had a number of trials to test our courage of late, and it all occasionally gets the better of me. I do want to give you the information you seek.” It felt strange to apologize—something I rarely had need to do.

      He might have been grateful for my apparent compliance. My tears, it seemed, had tempered the totality of his bravado and the forcefulness of his approach. I couldn’t help noticing that the sudden gentleness in his manner, shining out from beneath his staunch exterior, only succeeded in magnifying his beauty tenfold, if such a thing were possible. He literally took my breath away with his stately radiance.

      “’Tis I who should be apologizing,” he said. “You’ve not yet recovered from an unspeakable ordeal and already I’m forcing you to relive it. I’m sure you understand that my motives are purely in the interest of the safety of my clan and all those who reside within the walls of Kinloch, you and your brother included. If there are threats to our peace, I need to know about them.”

      “Aye,” I said, fairly overcome with the magnitude not only of all he had to offer but of all he was. Pure, somehow. Surly, aye, and stern, yet beautifully devoid of malice and spite.

      Could it be true that he believed me? The possibility unfurled something in me. I wanted him to believe me, I found. Desperately. I wanted to give him the truth and only the truth. I wanted to forge a bond and earn his trust.

      But I could not.

      My secrets were too deep. My truth was too sordid. I twirled a long coil of my hair around a finger.

      “I’m going to ask you one question,” he said, “and I want an honest answer. I won’t prod you further on this one point, nor will I ask you for any further explanation. But I ask for your honesty to spare my men unnecessary danger and my clan unnecessary work and worry.” He paused. His silver eyes speared me with sincerity and also challenge. Causing unnecessary danger to his men and frivolous, possibly harmful distractions to his clan would not be taken at all lightly; this was clearly written across his swarthy nobleman’s face. “I understand there are layers to your situation that may extend in directions you are not, as yet, ready to share. We all have details of our stories that are less desirable—or less easy, many of which are entirely beyond our control—than others.”

      Again he paused and I found myself disconcertingly drawn to him, for his patient diplomacy, his princely beauty, his sharp perceptiveness. If I hadn’t had cause to reasonably avoid all involvement with him for both our sakes, I might have described this surge of emotion in stronger terms. I might have admitted that I was in fact besotted with Knox Mackenzie already. Or at least the idea of him. Of this heady combination of his glaring beauty, his righteous protection and the true north of his moral compass.

      “One honest word is all I ask,” he continued. “Can you give me that much?” His voice was ridiculously soothing, penetrative somehow, as though he had the power to peel back my defenses with just the velvety tones of a well-placed request.

      “Aye,” I said. I could give him that much. I could at least try to give him that much.