Page 2 of Enchantment of a Highlander

He spun around, and his body pumped with a fight he resisted.

A tall, willowy woman stood before him with her hands clasped at her narrow waist, serene and eerily beautiful. Her long, silver-blonde hair blew loose behind her, like a cape rippling in the wind. That same wind flattened her pale blue dress to her body, hugging the curve of her breasts and the roundness of her hips.

He stared at her, fascinated. This was the witch? This was what had caused the men to run?

She stepped—nay, glided—toward him, and he had to stand firm to keep from staggering backward.

“Do you need so much comfort from your sword?” She nodded toward his blade. “Surely a strong man like you isn’t afraid of one unarmed woman.”

He grunted and slid the blade into the scabbard between his shoulder blades. Pain burned across his chest and a fresh stream of warmth ran down his torso.

Her careful, calculating gaze lowered to his chest, to his wound.

He wanted to stand there, to stare longer, to see if she was real.

Perhaps she was a nymph come to tempt him from his path.

She beckoned him with a gentle curl of her finger. “Follow me.”

Perhaps she was an angel and he was dead.

“Come with me and I will heal your wound.”

He flexed his shoulders out in a motion he’d used before to intimidate men on the battlefield. “It isna more than a nick.”

Her brow lifted. She reached out one long, delicate finger toward him and hooked the hole in his blood-soaked leine. His flesh was torn beneath, the muscle glistening red and exposed.

“Aye.” She peered into his shirt. “A nick.” She released his clothes and her hand fell away like a sigh. “Do what you want, but be warned—if you try to walk home, you will lose strength.”

Alec forced himself not to take a step back. “Do ye curse me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve already lost a considerable amount of blood. If you don’t have enough in your body, you will die.” Her words were slow and measured, as if she were speaking to an errant child.

“Why do ye aid me, witch?” He watched her carefully, marking the way the wind ripped against the trees, yet did little more than brush the length of her hair.

Her pointed chin jutted up and her eyes sparked. “I’m a healer, not a witch.”

Alec kept his gaze fixed on her willowy frame and bent to retrieve the pack he’d thrown at the onset of battle. The forest pulsed hot white and spun.

Perhaps the wound was more than a nick after all.

He hefted the thick leather strap to his good side, but the torn skin on his chest still wrenched against its weight. A low grunt slipped from his throat.

She did not move to aid him with his bag, and for that he was grateful.

He didn’t want the woman’s pity.

“The villager you saved was with child,” she said. “That was kind of you, to offer her your protection.”

“How do ye know I saved a villager?” he asked.

She turned and glided away. The wind caressed her pale hair, sweeping it aside to blow like a tendril of linen caught in a breeze. Her waist was so narrow he could probably span it with his hands.

“Are you coming or not?” Irritation laced her tone. “I won’t drag you.”

Alec stumbled after her then, focusing on keeping his footing sure in a world where everything had begun to tip and rock. Certainly he was in no position to refuse her offer.

Even if she very well might be a witch.