Page 126 of Enchantment of a Highlander

He stopped, but shoved Celia back behind him, toward the trees. “Go, Celia. Run and dinna stop.” He watched only long enough to see her stagger a few steps before he whirled forward once more, pulling his blade free.

The woman who’d fallen dragged herself upright and two others ran to her. They hefted her arms over their shoulders and together the three stumbled toward the tree line.

Surely they heard the men coming, yet still they’d stopped to help.

If Niall and his men had the courage of these half-dead women, Alec might not be in so dire a situation.

The wind swept around him, tugging at his kilt and sweeping his hair wildly around his face. Sounds of the ocean roared just over the cliff.

The woman to whom Alec had given his dagger appeared at his side with the small blade drawn. It would be useless against what they faced.

“Go.” He said the word sharply.

The woman stared at the oncoming force. “They’ll do this again if we dinna stop them now.” The blade trembled in her hand, from fear or exhaustion or cold or all of it combined. Her breath puffed in fast, white billows of steam and into the wind as soon as they left her lips.

“I’m Laird MacLean of Duart Castle,” Alec said. “And ye can be damn sure I’ll wage war on him.” He jerked his head toward the edge of the forest. “Now go.”

The set to the woman’s jaw gave way to a tremble and tears glinted in her eyes. “God be with ye,” she said fervently before she spun away.

Alec turned and saw Celia standing several feet behind him, her feet planted in the ground like a warrior ready to fight. The woman passed the dagger to Celia, who took it with a nod and met Alec’s gaze with a stubborn stare.

“Get in the woods.” He said it with all the menace and ice he could pull from his core.

Her chin lifted. “I won’t leave you.”

He wanted to argue with her, to shove her into the cover of the trees to ensure she would be safe, but he never had the chance.

A band of MacDougall guards approached them with the figure of Laird MacDougall in the back.

“I wish ye’d go,” he said still facing forward, knowing it’d do him no good. “I’ll no ever forgive myself if something happens to ye.”

“Then you understand.” The voice she used settled deep within his chest.

The retinue stopped in front of Alec. His body tensed for a fight. He widened his stance and pulled in a deep breath of crisp night air.

His gaze swept over the band of his opponents. Approximately five men, all of average height.

Not a one with his blade drawn.

Was this another trick?

The men parted and let MacDougall walk forward between them.

No, Alec realized as the figure drew its hood back, not MacDougall—Saraid.

She did not stop walking until she was directly in front of him. A sheen of sweat glistened on her skin despite the frigid night.

“Are ye glad to see me, Alec?” There was a slight slur to her words.

Compared to MacDougall, aye, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“What are ye doing here, Saraid?” he asked.

She licked her lips before speaking again. “Ye should be happy I’ve done this so you could free all those wretched witches.” A gust of wind tousled her thick black curls and blew the cloak back to reveal the brilliantly red dress. “I figured ye’d try to free yer whore, but I dinna think ye’d actually help them all.”

“What are ye doing here?” he repeated.

“Helping ye free her, so ye can put all this behind ye and have only me. My father wants these women dead, but all I want is ye.” Her hand flopped in the direction of the forest. “Those women were all useless anyway.”