Hannah and the Highlander by Sabrina York

wrenched the man up by his collar.
    â€œStop,” he said, handing a blow to the man’s midsection. “Stealing.” Another blow. “My cattle.” With a final punch, this time to a pointy chin, he let the man go. He tumbled into the dirt and lay there, moaning.
    â€œWell,” a too-chipper voice came from behind Alexander. “That was fun to watch.”
    Alexander whirled, his blood still high. He’d been furious to ride up on yet another raid in progress, determined to make a statement here and now.
    Dunnet lands and people would be protected with ferocity.
    He frowned at his brother. “You could have helped.”
    Andrew shrugged and set his hand on the hilt of his sword. His sheathed sword. His blue eyes twinkled; his dimples danced. “You were having too much fun. I dinna want to ruin it for you.” His grin was slightly crooked, and mischievous. It usually was.
    They were like two sides of a coin, the brothers, Alexander dark and silent and Andrew bright and lighthearted. His face was chiseled like a Greek sculpture, flawless in every respect, and his hair, a startling shock of white, caught every lady’s eye. Though they were both big men, well-muscled and strong, with the blood of ancient Norsemen coursing through their veins, Andrew had gotten all the good looks in the bargain.
    Alexander should resent him for the ease with which he breezed through life, but he couldn’t. The bastard was too damn charming for anyone to begrudge him his gifts. Also, he was the only family Alexander had in the world and he loved him so much it made his chest ache sometimes.
    Hiding his sudden swell of emotion, he bent and picked up his sword, wiping off the dirt. “Well, thank you for nothing,” he grumbled.
    â€œIt wasn’t nothing. It was an enormous sacrifice.” Andrew blinked innocently. “Do you have any idea how much it cost me to exert such restraint? I would have loved to trounce that bastard.” Aye. Andrew did love swordplay. And trouncing people. It was something of a sport for him. “But I let you have the pleasure.”
    â€œAgain, thank you?”
    â€œYou needed the distraction.”
    Alexander set his teeth. “What do you mean?”
    â€œSeriously?” Andrew barked a laugh. “Ever since you returned from Barrogill you’ve been a bear.”
    He had been. Even more surly than usual. “I’ve been … preoccupied.” Since he’d sent his offer to Magnus, he’d had one thing and one thing only on his mind.
    Hannah.
    He’d been lashed with dueling bouts of excitement and dread. She’d refused every man who’d offered for her hand. It was quite possible she could refuse Alexander as well. Now that he’d made up his mind about marrying her and adding the Reay lands to his holdings, he couldn’t countenance the prospect that she might say no. Beyond that, he couldn’t evict the memory of her sweet lips and her sweeter form.
    And that kiss …
    God in heaven above. That kiss. Shivers skittered down his spine at the memory. Surely that boded well for his suit. It had nearly blinded him, the innocent passion in that simple buss. It bemused him still.
    It wrapped him in the coils of fantasy and hope, battered him with thoughts about the ebony silk of her hair and how it would feel twined in his fist; or her rosy lips, or her amber eyes. Or her body, lush and full and oh, so soft.
    She crept into his mind more often than he should allow.
    Especially at night, when all his work had been dispensed with, when he lay in the cold clutch of his enormous bed … alone. He thought of her. Dreamed of her. And at those times, the desire within him rose.
    And discipline evaded him.
    Even the fear that she could reject him didn’t dampen his obsession.
    She might say no, but she might say yes. The prospect thrilled him to the core.
    â€œAye. You have been preoccupied,”