The Highland Outlaw by Heather McCollum

Author:Heather McCollum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: British Historical Literature; Historical Scottish Fiction; Scottish Historical Romance; Women's Historical Fiction; Ancient World Historical Romance; Enemies to Lovers romance; Fake Relationship romance; Overcoming Odds; Redemption; scotland; samhain festival; Campbells series; series romance; heather mccollum; Beast of aros castle; highland isles series; Entangled Publishing; amara;
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-09-25T06:34:44+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Alana concentrated on inhaling slowly through her suddenly dry lips. Shaw looked fierce enough to wrestle a four-hundred-pound wild boar, breaking it in half with muscle alone. She knew he’d never hurt her. No, not since she saw him trying desperately to feed and comfort a newborn baby on the edge of the woods at the festival. Oh, she’d been furious when he’d let his men truss her up, but not afraid. A woman’s instincts were her greatest weapon, and hers told her that the honor that Shaw held himself to was unbendable.

“You do not have to answer,” she said. “And I am not saying that I do want something to happen. I am just wondering what would happen if I did.”

He took a controlled step forward, hands fisted at his sides, so that he stood directly before her. His eyes were so clear, the gray of them flecked with blue, as he stared down into hers. “The fire that has been smoldering between us, lass, would ignite,” he said, his voice low and rough as if he struggled with the answer.

“Fire?” Her voice was tiny, something she hated, and she stood taller. “I am not afraid of that kind of fire.”

She held perfectly still as his fingers came up to catch a curl of hers that lay along her shoulder. He still frowned as if he struggled, but he’d softened somewhat. “The fire is not something to fear, Alana, it is the ashes the next morning, what is left afterward.” He dropped her curl and shook his head. “For a lass, losing yourself to passion has consequences, permanent ones.”

Annoyance calmed her heart from full-out sprint to a rapid run. “Every girl who has ever had a mother, grandmother, or nosy crone next door knows that, Shaw.” Her hands propped up on her hips. “An unfair disadvantage for women.”

“There are also the consequences that would fall of me being a Sinclair and ye being a Campbell. Two clans at war with each other,” he said.

“I am not at war with the Sinclairs,” she said, anger sharpening her tone.

“The Sinclairs are at war with the Campbells who have taken over our lands and castle.”

“I had nothing to do with your lands and castle,” she replied, realizing that they were standing nearly nose to nose.

“Your brother would likely feel differently,” he said, his words sounding like a growl.

Her hands dropped from her hips to land palm down on his chest. It was a barrier, but she didn’t push against him, shoving him back. In fact, the contact begged her to press into him. Her gaze dropped to her splayed fingers where they sat against the hard muscles of Shaw’s chest. She remembered too well the contours that she’d explored in the darkness of their tent, and when she lifted her gaze, she saw that his had followed hers down his chest.

Slowly she curled her fingers inward until two small fists sat against him. She tapped his chest with her knuckles. “You do not strike me as someone who would fear my brother,” she whispered, not ready yet to step back.

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