Preview: Conquered by a Beastly Highlander
Prologue
Before the War
Tormod Dunaidh watched them all dance, his eyes focused only on his star as she shone through the heavens. He had taken part in the first reel, to be polite, but he didn’t dance well or often, and so was content to watch from the sideline since.
Much to Roibert’s eternal disappointment. I dinnae think I’ll ever stop disappointin’ him.
Roibert Dunaidh was Tormod’s best friend and cousin, though as much by birth as by circumstance. The two had been born within days of each other five-and-twenty years before and had been inseparable ever since. They even looked similar, tall, dark-haired, and with the warm brown eyes that all the men in their family seemed to sport.
They’d been nearly impossible to tell apart as children, but that changed when they aged. Where Tormod was obviously muscled and bulky, Roibert was slender and toned. Tormod’s beard and hair were wild, though not unkempt–the thick dark curls simply refused to stay in one place. Roibert kept his beard short, and his hair was straight and tidy.
But that wasn’t what made them stand out from each other. No, that was their personalities. Roibert had been blessed with a silver tongue and the ability to charm with a smile. Tormod, on the other hand, just had the strength. He could hold his own well enough, but his manners were rough, and he found people and their complexities extraordinarily nonsensical at times.
Bit of a problem when ye’re soon to be the Laird of a sizable clan and ye cannae even talk to the girl of yer dreams for fear of mistakenly offendin’ her.
Because, for Tormod, it always came back to her. To Anabella.
Anabella MacAlpien was just twenty-years old, but already she was the finest woman that Tormod had ever met. She was the daughter of Ringean MacAlpien, Laird of the neighboring Clan Galloway. Therefore she and Tormod had moved in the same circles since childhood.
He didn’t know when he’d started to love her. Perhaps it was when she had first accepted a dance when they were in their adolescent years. Or maybe it was when she had been truly introduced to society, and he saw her as the woman she was rather than the girl she’d been.
Or maybe I was just always meant to love her. A woman like that deserves to be loved.
Anabella had long dark hair that cascaded down her back in an inky waterfall. Combined with her ivory skin and large gray eyes, it made her look like some Seelie princess. As she’d grown, she’d developed generous curves in her hips and chest, and Tormod knew he was not the only one to take notice.
He’d tried, at every event that his Clan–the Seaghaghs–and the Galloways both attended. He’d brought her gifts. He’d dined with her a few times. He’d held conversations and gotten to know her. He’d made it very obvious that he was attempting to court her, but he still could not tell if she returned his feelings.
And ye will nae just ask. A big lad like ye, scared of a lass.
Well, it was true. She did scare him. Nobody else held more of his happiness in her grasp.
Now was the time. There was a war brewing on the horizon, and Tormod needed to act before he went off to fight. He needed her to know of his adoration lest he never return and spend the rest of eternity in regret. He needed to take his tentative courtship and turn it into a real offer.
He’d almost begged off attending the dance, such was his fear. He could face down armies without flinching, but this was more daunting than any command. But Roibert had pushed him, reminding him that, at five-and-twenty and as heir to an entire clan, it was far past time he was wed.
But still, he had no idea how to approach her. She was dancing with everyone, confident and bright like the sun. He knew that some part of her was assessing every single male candidate on his suitability to be her husband.
If I dinnae act, I’ll lose her forever.
Roibert was dancing with her now, whispering to her, no doubt trying to promote his awkward cousin in her mind and heart. Of Roibert, at least, Tormod had no concerns. Though he was charming and loving, Roibert had firmly stated for years that he had no intention of ever marrying. He preferred the company of his friends, his cousin, and his dogs to that of women.
Which is all good for Roibert. He’s nae a Laird, just me advisor and cousin. He can do whatever he likes.
And what Roibert liked, apparently, was to be approaching him now, leading Anabella by the arm.
Tormod swallowed and got to his feet, feeling the sweat on the palm of his hands and the racing of his heart as he watched them approach.
Now or never.
“Ye remember me cousin, Seaghagh the Younger,” Roibert said cheerfully. “His friends call him Tormod, and his Maither calls him Torry.”
Tormod coughed, wondering just how bad it would make him look if he punched his cousin now for his teasing.
But Anabella smiled at him, and his embarrassment was immediately forgotten. “Of course, I remember. How do ye do, Sir?”
“Aye, I’m fair grand, Maid Galloway. Ye’re a fine dancer; I was watchin’ ye dance with me cousin here,” Tormod replied.