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?”