Excerpt of So I Married a Highlander by Kate McKinley

Not several feet past the cluster of shops stood a small barn, its doors wide open, and the name McAllister etched into a sign above the door.

As Evelyn approached, she caught sight of the man himself. He was much younger than she imagined. Tall with dark hair, and tanned skin. He wore a tattered green and blue plaid kilt, but was otherwise completely unclothed from the waist up. His biceps flexed as he brought a mallet down onto a glowing, red-hot horseshoe.

Evelyn stood, mesmerized, at the threshold of his workshop, unable to speak. She’d never seen an unclothed man before. She’d seen illustrations, certainly, in the medical books her brother kept in his library. But seeing the male specimen in the flesh was rather…diverting, to say the very least.

Every muscle and sinew flexed as he moved, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin. It should have repulsed her, but something inside stirred at the sight of him. He was miles different from the men in her circle, so unlike the finely tailored men she knew. He was rough and untamed. Beautiful.

“Is there something ye want?” he asked brusquely.

Evelyn blinked. He’d stopped hammering and was now staring at her, the mallet hanging limply at his side. Dark hair fell over a pair of chocolate-colored eyes that looked into her so keenly, she felt as though the air had been drawn forcibly from her lungs. His sharp nose and angular features gave him a harsh, masculine appearance that caused every female cell in her body to sigh in approval.

She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing. “I’m looking for Mr. McAllister. My fiancé and I—”

“No’ interested.” And just like that, he turned his attention back to his work, bringing his mallet down again, the forceful blow causing the windows to rattle in their frames.

“You didn’t even allow me to finish…”

“I know what ye want, and I’m no’ interested. Good day to ye.”

If Evelyn weren’t mistaken, she’d say she’d just been dismissed. The very idea! Evelyn Alexander was never dismissed. And if by some absurd twist of fate she were, it certainly wouldn’t be by a blacksmith. A woman of breeding did have her standards, after all. Balling her hands into fists, she stepped forward, and schooled her features into pleasant civility. It was a tactic she often used in society. An amiable smile and a calm countenance could smooth even the most ruffled of feathers. “If you please, sir, we are just looking for someone to officiate. It would be most kind of you to help us.”

“Mr. Lindon is down the lane.” He continued to hammer at the horseshoe, never glancing up at her.

“I’ve just arrived from there, in fact, and the queue is horribly long. Seeing as you have no queue, I don’t see why you can’t do us this small favor.”

Mr. McAllister straightened to his full height, tossed his mallet to the ground and stalked toward her. He was quite tall—shockingly so—and at this very moment, he wore a scowl that would have stricken fear into even the bravest of men.

But Evelyn was sister to the most powerful duke in England, and she would not be cowed. And if she felt a little faint, well, that was to be expected. In their haste to cross the border, she and Stephen had skipped lunch. She was hungry. Famished, really. It certainly had nothing to do with the grimace stretched across Mr. McAllister’s too-handsome face, or the way he moved toward her like a prowling leopard.

“And where is this man ye are so eager to marry?” He growled the words, his tone tight and angry.

Despite her resolve, her voice wavered when she spoke. “I…He is parking the carriage.” She shook her head. No, heavens, that was the driver’s task. What was it about this man that flustered her so completely? No man had ever affected her this way. “I meant to say, he’s securing a room at the inn. He will only be a moment.”

His lip curled up into the semblance of a half smile. “Were ye my lass, I wouldna leave you alone for a heartbeat.”

He was close now, his tanned, glistening body within arms length. All she had to do was reach out, and her fingertips would meet with taut, molded flesh. She clenched her hands at her sides. “What you would or would not do is of little consequence, Mr. McAllister. I am not yours, nor will I ever be. I’m here to marry Stephen Crawford.”

This entire conversation was ridiculous, and not a little coarse. She’d never ventured into Scotland before today, but thus far, the rumors had proven true. Scottish society was rough and unrefined. Utterly uncivilized. Or perhaps it was just Mr. McAllister who was uncivilized. It seemed unfair to blame an entire country for one man’s lack of manners.

He continued to advance, forcing her to retreat several steps, until her back met with the smooth surface of the wall. She swallowed. Perhaps she was a bit beyond her depth here.

In London, she navigated society with ease and confidence. She understood London’s intricate, often contradictory rules, and knew how to twist them to her advantage. Here…It appeared there were no rules—none that she could distinguish, in any event. And that realization was more frightening than she cared to admit—she had no compass for a world without rules.

Leaning in, he placed both hands against the wall, one on either side of her head. She was trapped. Completely caged in. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she considered her options. Scream, faint, or fight—or perhaps she could manage a combination of all three. Fainting, in particular, sounded quite tempting.

“Do ye love him?”