Page 130 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Alec went through the motions as automatic to him as breathing. His body was fluid, following the rhythm of battle with ease.

The edge of his blade caught the first man under the chin and ripped his throat open. The man crumpled to the ground from where he would never rise.

Unfazed, the other two men continued their efforts. They moved together, cohesive, but their attacks were not enough to get through Alec’s defense.

His muscles burned with the pleasure of a good fight, but his mind raced with concern for Celia.

Behind him came the choked sounds of coughing. The groan of someone very sick.

But he had not heard Celia. Had she stayed to help Saraid vomit?

He tightened his muscles.

Focus.

Two more men.

He swung his sword with two hands, knowing it was foolish to do so. His ribs were exposed, but the power of his hit would be worth the moment of vulnerability.

The force of the blade came down on top of one man and he slid to the soft ground with his fallen comrade.

Celia cried out softly behind him.

He flicked his gaze left and saw her in the semi-dark, held tightly between two soldiers. She stared at him with eyes so wild they reminded him of the women he’d seen in the dungeon.

A blade flew into view and his body acted on an instinct that had saved his life far too many times to count. He blocked the blow, but his breath came heavy and a mild pain eked into his conscience.

He turned toward Celia and found the guards dragging her toward the scorched earth where fresh poles had been erected among piles of fresh kindling.

• • •

Celia wrenched her body against the bindings at her wrist. The rough rope cut into her with its hair like splintered braiding, but it did not still her efforts.

The hands holding her were rough, insistent. They didn’t wait for her feet to find purchase on the ground before dragging her forward.

She sagged in their arms and tried to make herself as heavy as possible, but they drew her forward with far too much ease regardless.

Her eyes searched the poorly lit field, looking back where Alec had been.

The last thing she’d seen was the guard’s blade cutting into Alec’s ribs. There were too many sensitive places there.

A lung, a liver if the cut was deep, a curl of intestine, his heart.

A low rumble sounded overhead.

She stared out into the empty, dark landscape of rolling hills devoid of witches and guards alike.

And devoid of Alec.

She wanted to call out, but feared to distract him if he was locked in battle.

The men carrying her were panting now.

She willed herself to be heavier and tried to sink further into the earth. Their heaving breaths grew more ragged, but they did not slow. Not even when she dug her heels into the soft earth and let them rake her across the landscape.

The castle walls loomed into view. Celia twisted her body from side to side in an effort to wrench free of their iron grips. To no avail.

But the rough scrape of cobblestones never came.