Excerpt from "Dangerous Highlander" by Donna Grant

Lucan and his brothers were dangerous. Not to themselves, but to everyone else. There was great evil out there, and it wanted to use them.

Three hundred years of confinement in the castle. But what else was there? They couldn’t be seen, not as they were, the monsters they had become. As the middle son, he had always been there to make peace for his brothers. A rock, solid and steady to keep them all together his mother had called him. He didn’t allow himself to think what was becoming of him and his soul.

Fallon had taken the role as heir to the clan seriously. Everything he did, everything he thought about was their clan. He hadn’t known what to do with himself when there was no clan, and with the beast constantly hammering for control and no way to reverse what had happened, he turned to the wine.

As for Quinn, they had nearly lost him to the beast. Lucan snorted. Beast seemed such an understated name. There was no monster inside them. It was a primeval god banished to the pits of Hell. Apodatoo, the god of Revenge, was housed within each of the MacLeod brothers. A god so ancient, there were no records or tellings of him. And he was far worse than any beast.

Whenever this despondent mood struck him, as if often did when it rained, Lucan took himself off to his chamber away from his brothers. They had their own worries. They didn’t need to see him grappling with his inner demons. He could wallow in his self-pity the rest of the day if he allowed himself. But he couldn’t. His brothers needed him.

He took a deep breath and started to turn away from the window when he something caught his eye. Lucan’s gaze narrowed as he spotted a breathtaking vision. It was a woman, a very young, shapely woman who had dared to come close enough to the castle that he could see the comeliness of her face heart-shaped face. He wished he could see the color of her eyes, but it was enough that he saw her full lips that begged to be kissed and her high cheek bones that turned pink in the wind.

And the thick, dark braid that hung down her back to her waist. What he wouldn’t do to see that hair unbound and falling about her shoulders. He fisted his hands and he imagined running his fingers through the tresses.

Her gown was plain and worn, but they didn’t disguise her small waist and rounded breasts. She moved with a freedom of one who enjoyed being outdoors, of one who reveled in the beauty around her. The gentle curving of her lips as she looked out at the sea tugged at something inside him. As if she wanted the freedom to fly on the wind currents.

She picked the mushrooms with care, her fingers tender as she placed them in the basket. When she stared at the castle, she had looked as if it pained her, as if she had known what had taken place.