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And wasn’t it just like a man to desire what he couldn’t have? What he’d deliberately put from him all those years ago?

Wee Kendra had grown into an exquisite woman.

A woman he’d observed many a man watching with a less than brotherly intent. How many times had he tamped down the urge to throttle a chap for overstepping? For daring to turn a lewd or lustful eye upon her? For remarking to another insolent whelp what he’d like to do with her lush form?

The same damned things Broden longed to do to her, God curse him.

But she’d never shown any degree of warmth toward him these past several years. The reverse was true. Icy and aloof, she seemed to detest his presence as if he’d somehow offended her.

And how they bickered and quarreled. Constantly, and over the most trivial and mundane things. Stupid, inconsequential things. Each one vying to win the current battle they were engaged in.

Like an ill-suited husband and wife.

Only Kendra Eislyn Olive MacKay could set his teeth on edge, ignite a wildfire in his blood, and burrow beneath his skin, causing him to behave like a recalcitrant schoolboy.

“We’re nearly there, Broden.” She gave his waist the merest nudge, worry tinging her low voice when he didn’t respond. “I see Eytone Hall’s chimney stacks. Do ye?”

He opened his eyes a fraction, squinting at the mansion, as familiar to him as his own much humbler house. The difference in their stations had never mattered to him and Liam. Now Broden had come into a bloody earldom and outranked Liam. And according to Oswald, he was damn wealthy, too.

Perhaps even suitable to court a baron’s sister?

The irony didn’t escape him.

Even in his weakened state, the idea brought a reluctant grin to his mouth.

“Broden? Do ye see Eytone?” Near panic had leeched into her voice.

“Aye,” he said, through the gravel clogging his throat.

Raising his head took too much effort, so he peered through his half-open eyes. Pray God, someone from the house would spot them, or else he had no idea how they’d dismount.

“Simmons! Liam!” Kendra shouted at the top of her voice as soon as they’d clattered into the courtyard. “We need help.”

The manor’s double doors flew open.

Prince, Liam’s huge mongrel, bounded down the stairs, woofing a greeting. At once, he sensed something was amiss and began whining as he circled the horses and sniffed Broden’s feet.

The butler said something over his shoulder into the entry before hurrying down the stairs, too. In all of the years Broden had visited Eytone Hall, he’d never once witnessed Simmons moving faster than a sedate, perfectly-measured stride.

In his haste to reach them, the servant actually trotted.

Trotted, by God.

“What’s happened?” Liam descended the risers two at a time. He reached Sheik, and forehead furrowed in concern, swept his pewter gaze between Kendra and Broden. He put a hand on Broden’s knee. “Ye look bloody awful, my friend.”

Only Kendra’s presence kept Broden from telling him to sod off.

He might very well vomit on him still, however.

Liam’s wife, Emeline and his mother, Louisa, took one look at Broden. Both went pale as milk as they, too, scurried from the house.

“Good Laird and all the blessed saints,” the dowager whispered upon seeing his blood-saturated front. “My poor, dear lad.”

Emeline wrapped an arm around her mother-in-law to steady her. “Oh, Broden,” she whispered, then bit her lip, her distress as palpable as the dowager’s.

“He’s been shot, Liam.” Kendra’s voice shook slightly, and not for the first time, Broden acknowledged what stoicism and bravery she’d shown.

He’d likely have died if it weren’t for her courage and quick thinking.