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fingers.
    ***
    Duncan cursed himself for playing the fool. He never should have spoken to Brenna face to face. Her presence tested his every constraint. Why did he think that current circumstances would change that?
    He did not look at her. He did not speak to her. And most importantly, he did not touch her.
    These were the rules he set in place for himself. This strategy secured his honor while Ewan was alive, and it would continue to do so now—it had to.
    Even in death, Ewan was still his best friend, and he trusted Duncan to care for what he cherished most—Brenna.
    He clenched his jaw in frustration. By the saints, he was a man of honor. He valued truth above all else, but within his being he harbored a sinful soul, filled with feelings he had long kept at bay. However, the barriers in place to guard against temptation were falling down around his feet. He sought out Brenna today as her guardian, but the sight of her unbound hair, glowing like red fire and her deep blue eyes stole his breath and unraveled his self-control.
    He hastened from her land back to Gribun where he saddled his horse. A ride over the moors would rid his mind of Brenna. He winced, remembering her grief-stricken eyes and pale skin. Cursing with fury, he drove his heels into his horse’s flanks. Of course, he wanted more than anything to soothe her anguish. Still, he knew if he were to embrace her need, the love he bore her, suppressed deep within his soul, would bust through the wall he erected the very first night they met.
    His mind wandered back seven years to that distant night when first he glimpsed her from afar. He inhaled deeply as she stood before him, preserved in exquisite memory.
    There had been a dance celebrating Beltane in the courtyard of Dun Ara castle. Duncan’s replacement as watchmen over the stores had arrived, and so he hurried off to join the festivities. Upon entering the gate, his eyes had been pulled toward an unknown maid standing off to one side. She was alone and a vision with dark red curls unbound to her hips, wide eyes, and creamy skin.
    Her features were not soft or delicate like so many of her female counterparts. Her eyes were sharp and angled, her jaw strong with a stubborn tilt, and her lips tempted with soft fullness. Despite the strength of her countenance, he had noticed her hands twisting at her belt, revealing her discomfort as a stranger within a new clan. He did not know who she was, but the overwhelming desire to meet her and ease her worries was not to be denied.
    He had strode over to her and bowed low, placing a kiss on her hand. “Good evening, lass.”
    His heart quickened as he remembered the full smile that lit her face, causing her eyes to sparkle—the only smile from Brenna he would ever earn.
    Her smile was his undoing.
    He had stared unspeaking, not breathing, feeling as though the wind had been knocked from his lungs. She had blushed under his scrutiny and looked away. As she did, thick, red strands of hair fell across her eyes. He stepped closer and swept the wayward curls behind her ear.
    “’Tis a fine evening,” she stammered. He had continued to say nothing as he stared in rapture.
    “Are you aware, sir, that you still hold my hand,” she said.
    He laughed and brought her hand once more to his lips, “Painfully aware,” he said, still refusing to release his prize. “Are you real? Or will you vanish into mist like a cruel dream?”
    She laughed, “I assure you that I am made of flesh and blood.”
    He drew close and whispered in her ear, “Tell me your name so I might ask you to dance.”
    “Duncan,” a voice had called. Duncan turned and saw Ewan approaching.
    “Ewan, I did not hear of your return. I trust you were able to deliver the chieftain’s eldest daughter safely into the hands of her new husband.”
    “Aye. That and a lot more,” Ewan said. “You’ve met my surprise, I see.”
    “Surprise?” Duncan said. “What surprise?”
    Ewan had extended his hand to