"You watch me like I've horns beneath this plaid, lass. Perhaps you should."Laird John Snodgrass buried his brother in the frost of midwinter, and grief left him guardian to a small niece who hasn't spoken a word since. The keep is his to hold and the clan his to protect, and neither task, he's certain, requires a wife. Not when he's spent a decade convincing his clan he needs no one at all. Then Melinda Kemp rides through his gates carrying her dead sister's last wish, and a promise she means to keep no matter what it costs her: bring the girl back to herself.
What it costs is Melinda's hand in marriage. A rival clan is circling, hungry for the guardianship and the land bound to it, and the only way John can hold both is a match no one asked for and no one can undo. Melinda tells herself she's only doing it for the girl. John tells himself the same about the clan. Neither of them believes it past the first night under one roof. Behind a bolted door, in a household two grieving people are quietly rebuilding into something that might become a home, John discovers how fast wanting can outgrow duty.
He touches her like she's something breakable. He watches her like she's something he hasn't earned yet. And every night he leaves her wanting more, he tells himself it's mercy. Melinda knows better than that. Some men take. John Snodgrass waits, and that is far more dangerous.
"You watch me like I've horns beneath this plaid, lass. Perhaps you should."Laird John Snodgrass buried his brother in the frost of midwinter, and grief left him guardian to a small niece who hasn't spoken a word since. The keep is his to hold and the clan his to protect, and neither task, he's certain, requires a wife. Not when he's spent a decade convincing his clan he needs no one at all. Then Melinda Kemp rides through his gates carrying her dead sister's last wish, and a promise she means to keep no matter what it costs her: bring the girl back to herself.
What it costs is Melinda's hand in marriage. A rival clan is circling, hungry for the guardianship and the land bound to it, and the only way John can hold both is a match no one asked for and no one can undo. Melinda tells herself she's only doing it for the girl. John tells himself the same about the clan. Neither of them believes it past the first night under one roof. Behind a bolted door, in a household two grieving people are quietly rebuilding into something that might become a home, John discovers how fast wanting can outgrow duty.
He touches her like she's something breakable. He watches her like she's something he hasn't earned yet. And every night he leaves her wanting more, he tells himself it's mercy. Melinda knows better than that. Some men take. John Snodgrass waits, and that is far more dangerous.