How to Marry a Highlander

  WANTING A KISS

  No woman had ever been more desirable, more sensual to the touch, than this delectable redhead. She had been passionate and feisty in the water and Dugan knew she would bring those qualities to her bed. But despite what so many thought, he was a man of principle when it came to women and he did not take advantage of them, even if every molecule in his body commanded him to do so.

  “You just hit your head,” Dugan said more to himself than to her, and began to rise.

  He was about to leave her side, and when he did he would never return. Something inside Adanel refused to let that happen. She reached up behind his neck to stop his retreat and framed his cheek with her other hand. “I know exactly what I am asking. I’m asking you to kiss me.”

  Dugan held himself immobile, but his heart was pounding loudly, making it clear that her desire was not one-sided. “I won’t be able to stop with just a kiss.”

  “I’m counting on that. . . .”

  Books by Michele Sinclair

  THE HIGHLANDER’S BRIDE

  TO WED A HIGHLANDER

  DESIRING THE HIGHLANDER

  THE CHRISTMAS KNIGHT

  TEMPTING THE HIGHLANDER

  A WOMAN MADE FOR PLEASURE

  SEDUCING THE HIGHLANDER

  A WOMAN MADE FOR SIN

  NEVER KISS A HIGHLANDER

  THE MOST ELIGIBLE HIGHLANDER

  IN SCOTLAND

  HOW TO MARRY A HIGHLANDER

  HIGHLAND HUNGER

  (with Hannah Howell and Jackie Ivie)

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  How To

  MARRY A HIGHLANDER

  MICHELE

  SINCLAIR

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  WANTING A KISS

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by C. Michele Peach

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3884-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3885-6 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-3885-5 (eBook)

  In memory of my father,

  who very unexpectedly passed away

  far too young in April 2016.

  Dad, I cannot tell you how much I miss you and wish you were here.

  You are in my thoughts so many times each day and your words still give me renewed strength when I have nothing in me left.

  You were right.

  Family does not have to be made up of those related by blood, but those who honestly love, accept, and support you for who you are.

  You told me so many times to be around only those who positively impact one’s character and internal mind-set. The others, regardless of who they are, you just need to let go. This book is for you, Dad.

  You may be gone, but you still come and remind me of who I am, what is important, and to do what I need to in order to be happy. Thank you, and I will always love you.

  Chapter One

  April 1317, Loch Coire Fionnaraich

  “Now that is a man,” Adanel murmured to herself, brushing a stray lock of her wet, unruly, embarrassingly red hair out of her eyes to get a better look.

  Sitting astride his horse, the handsome figure had light brown hair, a strong jawline, and an upper body that would make even the most devout nun go weak in the knees. Whoever this mystery man was, he was as close to visual perfection as Adanel had ever seen. Her large dark brown eyes widened as he stretched his arms high over his head and then out and behind his back. The effort pulled his léine tightly across his chest, leaving no doubt to what it hid—corded muscles, beckoning deliciousness, and most of all trouble. For that was what she would be in if he were to discover her in her current undressed status.

  Adanel took one last look at the tempting morsel across the little loch and was about to surreptitiously return to the shore where she had hidden her clothes, quickly slip them on, and sneak back the way she came when a glint of silver caught her eye. A very large sword.

  Adanel bit back a groan. Of course, he would not simply be a well-built farmer out for a curious stroll. The Lord’s sense of humor would not be satisfied if he were only a scrumptious temptation for her to fantasize about at night. No, the man was a saighdear. Her one weakness.

  “A soldier? Not fair, God,” Adanel whispered. And then with a little more bite, she added, “If I get caught staring, it’s your fault for bringing him here, let alone creating such an attraction.” Besides, she thought to herself, any Highlander who could wield that large weapon and fill out his léine the way this man did deserved to be ogled.

  She had been around would-be soldiers all her life for most of the men in her father’s army did look the part. They were large, brawny, and trounced around carrying scary-looking swords and halberds, but she had spied on them during one of the rare times they had mustered together to train with the handful of mercenaries her father had hired. The sight only proved what she had suspected. They were just large men who could do little more than wave their weapons around in a showy but uncoordinated fashion.

  The man across from her, however, was nothing like the ones in her father’s army. He had not even touched his sword, yet Adanel suspected that when he did, it was not to boast or to pretend he knew what he was doing. It was to shed blood. Sword, dagger, halberd, or poleax—whatever this man used, he would be deadly.

  She had nothing definitive to substantiate her guess, but Adanel’s instincts all screamed that she was right. There was something in the way he sat in his saddle, gripped his reins, and studied the area around him. He reminded her of the mercenaries her father often hired. Like them, this saighdear was in complete control of his every move. Even the simple stretching of his arms was unconsciously calculated. Such control was perfected only after years of practice, honed and engraved into even the smallest and inconsequential of actions.

  Adanel watched spellbound as he adjusted his seat and then swung his leg over to slide off his horse. Without thought, she rested her cheek upon a nearby, partially submerged boulder and sighed. The soldier, whoever he was, was not just incredibly good looking, he was tall—even for a Highlander. She wondered just where her own lanky form would come up to him. His chin? His shoulder? P
robably the latter. She could just imagine fitting perfectly against his warmth as he held her tightly to his side.

  It had been a long time since she had been held by a man, but that did not mean she had completely forgotten what it was like. Nothing was better at making her long-legged, curvy body feel feminine and attractive than lying against something large and hard. And next to that man . . . Adanel blew out the breath she had been holding. Lying next to him she would feel practically dainty. Unfortunately, that was something she would never know. Lord, why did he have to be the best-looking soldier she had seen in years? Perhaps ever.

  Movement across the loch snapped her thoughts from daydreams back to reality. The soldier was bringing his horse closer to the water . . . and therefore closer to her. Worse, she was unable to see where he was going without revealing her current position. Adanel knew she should take the opportunity to sneak away to the shoreline on her side of the loch, but instead she stretched her neck, hoping to continue her gawking.

  Nestled high within the Torridon hills next to a massive cliff, the saddle-shaped loch was very small compared to most in the region. One end of the shoreline was comprised of near vertical cliffs from a decades-old landslide, making the water inaccessible as well as frigid from being constantly shaded from the sun’s warmth. Only the northern tip of the loch, which was divided into two sections, was free of debris and accessible to trespassing swimmers and mysterious soldiers. On the side Adanel had traversed to access the loch, varying-sized boulders were scattered along the water’s edge. Swimming approximately twenty horse lengths directly across the very large boulder Adanel was crouching behind, one could reach the small loch’s only other accessible shoreline. That stretch contained fewer rocks and multiple large patches of grass. Until now, Adanel had no idea there was even a path up to the loch via that side. She had thought her narrow, rocky route up to the hidden loch was the only one, but obviously, there was another, much larger path that could accommodate a horse rather than the difficult one she climbed up every week.

  Adanel froze when the man suddenly turned and stared intently in her direction as if he could sense he was not alone. The only way he could see her was if he knew exactly where to look, and while he was looking in her direction, it was not directly at her.

  Forcing herself to relax, Adanel ducked back down and glanced over her shoulder to see if he might be spying her clothes. Had she left them in the open where he could see them? Adanel did not think so. She had been coming to the loch whenever possible for over a year now, and after one unfortunate afternoon where a bird’s waste found her bliaut while she had been swimming, Adanel had been careful to fold all her garments and store them safely under a small ledge. Unfortunately, while that blocked a bird’s view of them, it might not from an observer across the loch. As silently as possible, Adanel swam back a couple feet, being careful to remain in the shadow of the boulder so she could check. Upon seeing nothing but gray jagged rocks being lapped by the water, she relaxed and slowly released the breath she had been holding before returning back to the boulder. As far as she could tell, she had left nothing near the shore to indicate another presence. So why did he continue to look her way? A ripple of the water? Was there a shadow she did not realize she was casting?

  Tension rose in her again as her mind raced. It only eased when the Highlander shifted his gaze to study the rest of his surroundings. Adanel lay her forehead on the boulder and chastised herself for reading into things and leaping to conclusions instead of just enjoying the view.

  She craned her neck once more to take a final look. Now that he was off his horse and standing on the water’s edge, he was close enough to make out many more details. Murt, the man was fine. He had chiseled cheekbones, a strong shaven chin, and thick hair that was too dark to be blond and yet too light to be truly brown. He was too far to actually see the color of his eyes, but with his bone structure, Adanel knew he also had to have dreamy eyes and deep dimples that could snatch a woman’s free will with just a glimmer of a smile. But even if she was wrong, he would still remain delectably attractive. Who could resist those powerful arms and large hands? Strong, capable, and without a doubt deadly. If only she had fallen for such a man six years ago. If she had, maybe Daniel would still be alive and she would no longer be living under the tyranny of her father.

  With fisted hands on his hips, the Highlander stared at the water. His body was taut as if he sensed something there and needed to be ready to leap into battle. A woman under this man’s protection would never have to worry for her safety. And if Adanel were any other woman with any other father she might have called out on the chance he was single and seeking a wife. But she had already been forced to watch one man die for her. She refused to see another.

  Daniel had been all things sweet and good, and Adanel had believed him to be her one and only true love. But unlike the Highlander across the loch whose brutal strength could be seen even at a distance, Daniel had looked like what he was—a young, naive, hopeful merchant. She had fallen in love with his easy smile, and his trusting spirit had captured her heart the first time they had met. But what had amazed her the most was that she had captured his. Never did Adanel dream her father would not approve of them marrying. She had honestly believed he would not care or notice her absence. She certainly had no concept of just what her father was capable of to ensure not only that she and Daniel were never together, but that she never dared to fall in love again.

  The horse neighed. Taking one last long look at her side of the loch, the man pivoted and walked over to his mount, but instead of getting back on, he pulled free his water bag. Returning to the shore, he knelt down to refill the leather bag. Afterward, he would no doubt disappear the same way he came.

  Adanel bit her bottom lip. Don’t leave, she silently implored. Just linger for a few more minutes before you vanish, never to be seen again. She hoped she was wrong, but it was unlikely.

  With the exception of the cold winter months, she had been coming to this loch almost every week for nearly a year and not once had she seen anyone or even anything in the area that hinted someone had visited during her absence. The loch’s guaranteed solitude was the main reason Adanel came. Constantly surrounded by the noise and stink of grungy dock workers, harbor men, licentious seamen, and overconfident want-to-be soldiers, she needed a weekly reprieve, and this secluded spot gave her the strength to endure another six more days. And while she coveted the peace and privacy the loch typically provided, this Highlander was a feast for any woman’s eyes and Adanel was going to enjoy every second of looking at him before he disappeared.

  After filling the bag, the soldier put back his waterskin and then, instead of remounting, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and held it. His chest expanded and Adanel had the urge to run her fingers across every bulge, from his arms, to his chest, to what she had no doubt were perfect abs, and then on to what was under his tartan. Crinkling her brow, Adanel studied the dark plaid of greens and blues that was accented with bright colors of gold, red, and burgundy.

  “Mo chreach,” she grumbled under her breath. The soldier was a McTiernay. She should not be surprised; after all she was on McTiernay lands . . . though just barely. However, multiple nomadic families had made these hills their home and only a handful called themselves McTiernays.

  A few years back, the majority of the locals who had been left clanless after years of fighting the English had banded together under McTiernay rule. Most had left this area to live closer to the protection of the closest McTiernay castle, Fàire Creachann, nestled on the edge of Loch Torridon. A few, however, had pledged their allegiance to the McTiernays, who had elected to continue making their living among these hills. Then there was the small handful who had outright declined to move or live under anyone’s rule, which included the McTiernays’. The area was technically McTiernay land, but as long as they created no harm, the powerful clan’s laird had let them be. Such generosity would not be extended to her. She was a Mac
kbaythe, the McTiernays’ northern neighbor and enemy.

  Her father had made his disgust clear when Cole McTiernay had been named laird of the area. Having lived his entire life in the region and already a laird, he thought he should have been the one to be placed in charge. Rumor was that he had not even been considered or even invited to the talks. As a result, her father had made sure only animosity was shared between their two clans. The last thing she needed was to get caught swimming in the nude on McTiernay lands.

  Adanel did not fear the McTiernay soldier; she feared her father. Just the thought of what he might do made her cringe—especially if this Highlander saw her and got the notion to take her back himself. Devoid of any emotion that may have been perceived as kind, her father controlled everything of his with a ruthless, maniacal fist, and her younger brother Eògan longed to prove he was just like him.

  It’s time, saighdear, Adanel silently urged with a sigh. Get back on your horse and go back to wherever you came from. Forget this small slice of heaven. I need it far more than you.

  Adanel had discovered the rocky path to the loch a little over a year ago during one of her weekly rides. The escape it afforded was only temporary, but she had grown to need these few hours away from her father and his enjoyment of the misery he liked to create on those around him.