Highland Heat by Jennifer Haymore Page A

had been at her side, helping when he could with his one functional arm, offering murmurs of support and a calming hand when she began to feel like she might fall apart.
    He was a powerful, strong man. A warrior who must evoke true terror on the battlefield. But he was gentle and kind, with light, clear eyes and a smile that made them twinkle with humor and warmth.
    Just being with Duncan yesterday had been a delightful experience, despite the hardship of the day’s activities. Having him at her side contented her, made her feel confident in a way she never had before, made her feel oddly powerful.
    And now he was coming with them to London.
    She glanced out the carriage window to see him riding beside them, his kilt swinging around his muscular legs. Her gaze roamed up his body, past where he held the reins in his uninjured hand, until it snagged on his rugged face. He grinned at her and tilted his head in greeting before riding ahead, leaving her smiling and feeling warm.
    He had to be the most masculine, appealing man she’d ever seen. He seemed to find a feminine appeal in her she’d never thought she possessed. It was an utterly drugging sensation.
    Claire was the beautiful one, the one who garnered everyone’s focus with her looks and impulsive, saucy behavior. Grace had always stood quietly on the side, not craving attention like her sister.
    Claire had changed, though. Nearly a year ago, she and the major had lost their infant son, Jamie. That had been the catalyst of the rift between her and the major, and it had altered her irrevocably. Claire appeared more mature now, more thoughtful and introspective. But the sparkle in her eyes had dulled, and sadness still hovered around her, even when she was at her best.
    Claire stirred beside her, and Grace turned to find her sister giving her a narrow-eyed, assessing look.
    “You fancy him, don’t you?”
    Instantly, Grace’s warm face grew hot. “I…Who?”
    Claire smirked. “Sergeant Mackenzie.”
    She didn’t know what to say. Quickly, she attempted to unscramble her thoughts. “Um…He is very kind, and he was so helpful to me at the hospital. I like him, of course. He seems very loyal to the major.”
    “Oh, Rob thinks he’s quite capable. Which is why he was chosen for this mission.”
    Grace frowned. “What
is
this mission, anyhow?”
    “I’m not sure, exactly. Neither is Rob. He was told they’d be given specific instructions when they arrived at the War Office in London.”
    “I see,” Grace said, happy to have successfully maneuvered her sister’s attention off her feelings about Duncan Mackenzie. “Is he concerned?”
    “Oh no,” Claire said. “Rob will perform his duty with equanimity no matter what it is.”
    “What about you?” Grace asked softly. “Are you concerned?”
    “I’m simply thankful that he’s coming home with me. I’m so glad he didn’t join the march to Paris.”
    “He would have never let you march with the regiment.”
    “I know.” Claire sighed.
    Grace hesitated a moment, then asked, “So…you have reconciled, then?”
    While Claire had fallen into a deep mourning, the major had hardly seemed to notice poor little Jamie’s death. Claire had despised him for his lack of compassion, his utter blankness of emotion. She’d railed at him, told him that if he was going to be such a stiff and uncaring ass, he should leave her, because she couldn’t bear the sight of him.
    To Grace’s deep disappointment, the major
had
left. He’d abandoned Claire, who was lonely and grieving. The only communication he’d had with his wife over the past year had been in terse, over-polite letters. Grace had tried to help her sister as much as she could, but Claire had been inconsolable for a very long time.
    Grace didn’t hate the major, exactly. But she didn’t like him. And she certainly didn’t trust him.
    “No,” Claire said softly, “we haven’t reconciled—not completely. But we have made strides.” Her blue