Page 112 of Enchantment of a Highlander

For her.

Right now to protect them would cost them all their lives.

There was only one way to save them.

The thought left a sour taste in Alec’s mouth, like the bile remnants after having been sick.

He looked at Celia one last time in the moonlight, trying to convey his love for her, trying to let her understand there was no other way to save her but betrayal.

“Duncan,” Alec said sharply without taking his gaze from her. “Did ye aid this witch?”

She sucked in a deep breath, as if he’d hit her.

“She’s no witch,” Duncan said vehemently. The boy lifted his blade and moved beside Celia.

“What do ye think?” Alec demanded sharply. “That ye could outrun these men? That ye could save the witch with all of Scotland seeking her?”

He glared at the boy and hoped like hell the lad would understand what he was trying to say. But the boy glared back with more hatred than Alec knew was possible for Duncan.

MacDougall swung off his horse and approached them. His armor clanked and clattered beneath his heavy cloak. “So, it was the boy and not ye, MacLean?” Skepticism carved deep lines on his aged face.

Duncan tensed and moved in front of Celia.

“Stand down, boy,” Alec growled. “Ye’ve gotten yerself in enough trouble as it is.” He looked to MacDougall. “The boy fancies himself in love with her.”

MacDougall’s stare fixed past Duncan to where Celia stood. “I hear he was not the only one.”

Alec hardened everything in him for the words he had to say. “Aye, she bewitched me.”

“And now?” MacDougall said in a snarl. “Are ye still under her spell?”

Celia pulled in an audible breath, but Alec could not look at her lest his lie become apparent to his enemy.

“Nay. It broke when I made her leave my castle.”

MacDougall grinned. “I’m glad to hear as much.” The men from the front of the hill had now made their way to where everyone stood and gathered around MacDougall, but he held up a hand to stop them.

“Laird MacLean,” he said. “I’ll let ye have the honor of arresting this witch.”

“Only if ye let me keep her in my castle.” Alec spoke too quickly, too ready with his opportunistic response.

MacDougall’s head snapped toward Alec. “Ye fell weak to her once and may verra well fall weak to her again. Nay, she’ll stay in my castle.” His hands clasped and rubbed together. “Where I can keep an eye on her.”

“Like hell ye will,” Duncan yelled. He charged forward without thought, without finesse, with nothing more than the impulsiveness of youth.

Celia screamed and reached a hand out to stop him, but it was too late. The boy was already lunging toward MacDougall.

Alec acted on instinct, protecting Duncan the only way he knew how. He stepped between MacDougall and the lad and swung his fist, connecting precisely beneath Duncan’s jaw.

The boy’s head popped to the side and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Celia screamed, but Alec did not turn to her. He stared down at where Duncan lay still on the moonlit ground. The boy’s jaw would smart in the morning, but at least he was alive. If he’d attacked MacDougall, one of the men would have cut him down without a thought.

Better a sore jaw than dead.

MacDougall patted Alec on the shoulder. “Perhaps I underestimated ye after all. Guards, seize the lad.”

“Nay,” Alec said. “I’ll handle him.”