Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

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      HIGHLAND WARRIOR

      Ewan told himself he was a grown man, a man of strength and resolve. He should be able to be alone with Fiona and not give in to his base urges. She was touching his leg only to tend his wound, an innocent touch that could be ignored.

      That resolve began to fade away with each touch of her fingers against his thigh. He felt his ardor stir to life as she bandaged his leg, her soft fingers brushing perilously close to his groin as she worked. A quick look revealed that the bedcovers were bunched up enough to hide his reaction to her touch.

      “Ye have blood on your face,” Fiona said as she straightened up from tying off the bandage on his thigh.

      “Tis naught,” he said. “Tis just a wee scratch.”

      “It should still be cleaned.”

      When she leaned over him to bathe the cut, Ewan inhaled so sharply he nearly choked. Her skin was a clear, soft honey shade. No matter how hard he tried, he could not dispel the urge to see if her skin would taste as sweet and warm as it looked.

      Just as she started to walk away, he wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her still. She trembled and he heard her breath catch as he kissed her throat. Feasting upon her soft skin, he kissed his way up her elegant neck to her lips. Her eyes were wide and held a look he was sure was one of a growing desire. Her full lips were slightly parted and he took quick advantage, kissing her deeply and with a fierce need he could not hold back…

      Books by Hannah Howell

      ONLY FOR YOU

      MY VALIANT KNIGHT

      UNCONQUERED

      WILD ROSES

      A TASTE OF FIRE

      HIGHLAND DESTINY

      HIGHLAND HONOR

      HIGHLAND PROMISE

      A STOCKINGFUL OF JOY

      HIGHLAND VOW

      HIGHLAND KNIGHT

      HIGHLAND HEARTS

      HIGHLAND BRIDE

      HIGHLAND ANGEL

      HIGHLAND GROOM

      HIGHLAND WARRIOR

      RECKLESS

      HIGHLAND CONQUEROR

      HIGHLAND CHAMPION

      HIGHLAND LOVER

      Published by Zebra Books

      HIGHLAND WARRIOR

      Hannah Howell

      ZEBRA BOOKS

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      About the Author

      Chapter 1

      Scotland—1472

      “Satan’s big toe!”

      Fiona cautiously stood up, steadied herself, and vainly tried to rub away the throbbing pain in her backside as she watched her horse disappear over the hill. Her brothers were going to kill her, slowly. Gillyanne, her sister by marriage, would probably not come to her aid this time. Fiona had the lowering feeling that she had sunk herself deep into trouble this time, had, in fact, been utterly witless. She was miles from home, had no supplies, and the sun was rapidly sinking below the horizon. Even worse, no one at Deilcladach knew where she had gone.

      “Weel, ye certainly showed Connor who is in control, didnae ye,” she muttered as she tried to discern exactly where that cursed horse had dropped her. “If only Connor had asked nicely instead of commanding me in that irritating way he has. Nay, nay, this isnae his fault. Tis yours and yours alone, Fiona MacEnroy. Tis ye who is to blame for this disaster.”

      She looked around and realized it was not only the people of Deilcladach who did not know where she was. She did not know, either. Her annoying mount had dropped her in a place she had never been before. The wild ride she had just survived left her uncertain of which direction she should turn in to head home; not that she was very good at finding her way around under the best of circumstances.

      This was undoubtedly the most reckless thing she had ever done. There was only one good thing about it that she could think of. The madman who had precipitated her long confinement at Deilcladach could not possibly know where she was, either. The man may have succeeded in causing her to do something completely witless, but at least he would not benefit from it.

      Fiona idly rubbed her finger over the scar marring her left cheek. He had given it to her the first time he had cornered her, along with a matching one on her right cheek. She could almost feel the others he had inflicted before her family had caged her behind the thick walls of Deilcladach until they could hunt the madman down and kill him. Just thinking about the man sent chills of fear throughout her body, yet she had briefly, foolishly, forgotten that danger. She had succumbed to a raging need to ride free after too many months of confinement.

      A sound caught her attention and she tensed. Horses were coming her way, fast. Even as she looked for a place to hide, the riders crested the small rise directly in front of her. Fiona drew her sword and dagger, then stood with her feet apart. She knew she had no chance of successfully defending herself against ten or more men, but decided it was better to die fighting than to allow that madman Menzies to keep slicing away at her.

      Then she realized Menzies rarely had more than a few men with him. There were at least a dozen riders in front of her. One good look at the huge dark man at the fore of the troop told her this was not Menzies. Fiona held steady in her fighting stance, but had to fight back a wave of fear. Menzies might be insane, but he did not want her dead. She could not be sure these men would have that much restraint.

      “Jesu, look there, Ewan!”

      Ewan MacFingal just grunted in response to his brother Gregor’s cry. He was looking, but he was not sure he was seeing too clearly. Surely there could not be a small female facing them with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other? Could she not count? There were twelve of them and only one of her, a very small, delicate one.

      Signaling his men to halt, Ewan slowly rode toward the woman. She was dressed as a lad in a jerkin, breeches, and boots, but there was no doubt that she was a woman. It was not just the long, thick honey gold braid hanging down to her slim hips which gave her away, either. The lad’s clothing could not fully disguise her lithe feminine shape. Her face was definitely that of a woman, as well. A very beautiful woman.

      When he was close enough