Highlander of My Heart (Mcardle Sisters of Courage 1)

Her grin teased and sparked the green of her eyes and damn if his manhood didn’t inch toward arousal.

He strenuously ignored it. “Thatching a roof doesn’t involve people. It is a solitary chore. Show me what needs to be done.”

Sorrell watched John from a distance. He had worked at a steady pace and had finished repairs to three roofs and it was only mid-day. Gray clouds still crowded the sky, but rain had yet to fall. At the pace he was going, there was a good chance he would complete all the roof repairs today.

“Now I see why you refer to him as a giant.”

Sorrell turned with a smile to see Willow coming up behind her, her hair falling in lovely waves around her head and down over her shoulders. She was always jealous of Willow’s hair. Its dark red color was so much more attractive than her own blazing red hair and Willow’s waves more manageable than her stubborn red curls that did whatever they pleased. She had complained to her mum once and she had assured her that her own red color was just as lovely as Willow’s and suited her perfectly. But then even Snow’s light red and straight hair, not a curl in sight, was more attractive than her fiery red.

Thinking of Snow and seeing she wasn’t with Willow had her asking, “Where’s Snow?”

“She insisted she was chilled and wanted nothing more than to sit by the fire in her bedchamber. I didn’t believe her for one minute.”

“She’s feeling she’s a burden again,” Sorrell said, sadness stealing her smile. “I hate that this has happened to her. She had been so vibrant, always busy doing something, and helping however she could. Now it’s as if she’s a prisoner.”

“I wonder if that isn’t partially our fault,” Willow said.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re always there right on top of her. We never let her be, let her find her way in the shadows,” Willow said.

“She needs our help,” Sorrell argued.

“And what will she do when we are gone, off to live with husbands James has chosen for us? Who will help her then? If we don’t encourage her to be more independent, how will she ever survive?”

“You’re right,” Sorrell agreed, regretting she hadn’t realized it herself. “What do we do?”

“Let her be when she attempts to be independent. She will learn. She has learned in spite of our constant help and—”

Sorrell watched as a smile spread across her sister’s face and her eyes widened, and she looked to see what she had found so pleasing.

Sorrell didn’t smile, but her mouth dropped open when she saw what had her sister smiling. John had gotten down off the roof and had slipped his shirt off to shake the thatch from it. His naked chest was a sight impossible to ignore, broad and hard with muscles that extended down along his arms, and his midriff looked as hard as iron. She had seen men’s naked chests before but never had she seen such a fine one. Nor had she ever experienced such pleasure in seeing one as she did John’s.

Other women agreed, since the women nearby couldn’t take their eyes off him.

“He’s an exceptional man,” Willow said, still staring at him and was surprised when Sorrell marched, with determined steps, past her, heading straight to the giant of a man, and Willow’s smile grew.

“Put your shirt on,” Sorrell ordered. “It’s too cold to go without it.”

“It’s just for a moment. I wanted to get rid of the thatch poking me.”

“You have more roofs to do. You can rid yourself of the thatch when you’re done with them.”

John was familiar with that spark in a woman’s eye when she finds a man appealing, having seen it often enough. He wondered, though, if Sorrell recognized it in herself. While he didn’t mind seeing it there in her green eyes, it could prove a problem.

“You’re a hard taskmaster, Sorrell. I was hoping for a bite to eat, since I’ve eaten nothing since waking.”

The spark left her eyes to his disappointment, though, to his surprise, it was replaced with concern.

“You should have said something sooner. No one goes hungry here if we can help it.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, hugging it tight. “Come, I will get you food and drink.”

“My shirt,” he said and she let go of his hand and disappointment poked at him one again.

She caught him off guard when after slipping his shirt on, she reached out and took hold of his hand again with the same possessive determination as before.

Instinct, common response, or just because he wanted to, he closed his hand firmly around hers. It felt small and delicate in his large one, yet she grasped his with a strength he hadn’t expected. He followed along as she directed them to the keep.