Page 7

After hearing his slurred, unkind pronouncements, she’d stopped finagling excuses to come upon him and Liam. In fact, she’d begun avoiding Broden as much as possible, a habit she often employed now, as well.

From her observations, she was the only woman to do so. Lasses flung themselves at him, and he took their worship and adoration in his masculine stride. As if it were his due.

Arrogant devil.

Snorting, she shook her head, causing her hair to swirl around her shoulders.

“Broden McGregor. A royal pain in my backside. When I do take a husband, he’ll be nothin’ like that great conceited lout. He’ll think I’m the most splendid thing he’s ever set eyes upon because he’ll love me.”

Flaws and all.

Pandora raised and dipped her head, almost in a nod of agreement.

Kendra made a rude noise in the back of her throat. Now Broden only succeeded in pricking her temper every time they were in the same room together, and she struggled to recall precisely what she’d found so attractive about him in her youth.

Why Liam counted him such a great friend, she would never appreciate. Perhaps because he’d never had a brother and both of Broden’s had died. Liam and Broden had been dear friends since boyhood. Mother said boys needed other boys about, to tussle with. They formed bonds women couldn’t understand, the same way women formed bonds with each other.

The mare whickered softly and shook her head, shying away from the swaying branches of a nearby bush.

“Shh.” Kendra soothed Pandora with a calming hand to her warm neck.

It wasn’t like the mare to be skittish.

She scrutinized the familiar area, noting nothing unusual. Unlike other parts of the Highlands, which still dealt with tribal strife, bandits, and occasional issues with the gypsies traveling through, this area remained untroubled by those inconveniences.

Good thing, too, else her mother and Liam would never permit her to ride to Eddleshaugh alone. To her knowledge, no one had ever been robbed or assaulted within thirty miles of Eytone Hall.

Nonetheless, disquiet prickled between her shoulder blades, and a shudder scuttled down her spine. Shivering against the increasingly icy wind, she pulled the mantle’s hood over her head, grateful for the fine, protective fabric.

The wool to make the cloth had come from Liam’s sheep. Not that Kendra or her mother spun the wool. Neither possessed the talent and, at least in Kendra’s case, had no desire to learn the craft, as well.

She doubted her mother did, either. No, the Dowager Baroness of Penderhaven’s interest in wool consisted of what she’d knit next.

A rider approached from the direction of the village, and raising a hand to cover her eyes against an inconvenient ray of sun determined to blind her, she squinted into the distance.

Blast and bother.

Bunions and boils.

Ballocks and…and…and blisters.

A muffled noise escaped her lips as she forcibly exhaled a frustrated breath.

Of all the rotten luck and wholly undesirable people to encounter.

She well knew the burly form so casually exuding masculine grace atop Sheik, Broden’s light chestnut gelding with its distinct blond mane and tail.

How many times had she seen Broden’s wide shoulders that easily filled a door frame? Or those ridiculously muscled thighs sprawled out before a fire? Or flexing as he danced or wrestled with her brother or one of their friends?

Not, she reminded herself sternly, that his physical attributes meant anything to her. She simply made objective observations.

What a colossal lie. Bald-faced and self-deceiving. Self-protecting too, in point of fact.

With an unyielding resolve to ignore the unwelcome sensations having the audacity to flit about behind her ribs at the sight of him, she swallowed. What she felt was annoyance. Absolutely—absolutely—nothing more.

Liar, that damned, vexing little voice whispered again with a distinct note of glee.

Fine then: irritation, aggravation, and exasperation, as well.