Page 132 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Everything in her was alive, feeling.

She wanted Alec’s arms around her with this heightened awareness of living. She wanted to die with his scent surrounding her and his soft voice in her ear.

Her nose tingled with the threat of tears, but she blinked them away. Something dark filled her blurred vision and made her jerk backward reflexively. Her head smacked against the ragged bark behind her again, scraping a part of her head that was already too sensitive.

“Are you ready to die, witch?” a voice asked.

Her vision cleared and MacDougall’s face came into view, his eyes glittering with excitement.

His fingers curled around her neck, cold and wet and sharp.

Panic flickered through Celia before pain even registered, a frightened awareness. She could no longer breathe.

Then came the pain, brilliant and dazzling.

Her body struggled in vain, her tattered wrists tugging in a pathetic, futile effort against her bindings.

But he did not stop, he only tightened his bony fingers with more zeal.

Harder and harder and harder until everything inside her clawed for reprieve, for one more taste of beautiful, sweet air.

Chapter Forty

Alec staggered to his feet. He felt his injuries now, burning hot at his flesh, the blood beneath molten.

The last remaining guard circled him.

“Ye’re too late to save her.” He jerked his head toward the castle wall where the shadows of two figures showed atop a small hill.

Alec’s mind was thick with thoughts of war and rescue, of sacrifice and love.

Was that Celia?

The man lunged forward, but Alec stopped his blade.

If that was Celia, his time was running out.

“No,” Alec growled through his teeth. Every muscle in his body exploded with a reserve of energy he didn’t know he possessed. He slammed toward the man, knocking him to the ground.

Before the MacDougall guard had a chance to recover, Alec punched his sword into the man’s neck with so much force it severed his head from his body.

Alec jerked his blade free and ran, limping, toward the two shadowed figures.

As he drew closer, he saw a third shadow standing at the edge of the wall near the cliffs—Saraid. She swayed like a drunkard, her glassy eyes distant and unblinking.

Alec’s thigh ached something fierce where the man’s blade had bitten into it and his side stung. He wouldn’t glance at either just yet. It wouldn’t do to see the wounds, because then the real pain would start.

There was too much to do to really feel.

He limped like a beggar, one crippled inch at a time, making his way to Celia.

When he could finally see MacDougall, the man had moved away from Celia and lit the tinder beneath her feet.

Alec’s gaze darted to Celia.

She was still, her head hanging limply to the side.

The darkness swept over Alec as suddenly as a squall can overwhelm the light of a summer day. It pounded in his temples and beat a rhythm through his body he could not ignore.