Page 25 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Was he actually disappointed?

“I don’t know if I intend to stay or not,” she said.

He reached out and touched her wrist with three fingertips. “Stay, Celia.”

The stares from earlier now weighed upon her like stones.

Too many people watched.

Too many people knew she’d come back.

“I must go,” she said in a sharp voice. She tried to push past him, but he caught her at the waist gently and pulled her back toward him.

Back against his chest.

He was hard and warm despite the chill of the day.

“Listen for one moment, aye?” His breath was warm, the subtle spice too familiar for comfort. Her pulse ticked a languid, sultry rhythm.

“I dinna do this often, but I beg ye to stay. My people need ye.” His lips brushed her neck. “I need ye.”

She stiffened. “People are watching. I’m not—”

“Please, Celia,” he said in a softer voice.

Her traitorous body wanted to melt against him. Deep down was a part of her needing him too. It craved the attention he’d paid her and reveled in the memory of the intense pleasure they’d shared.

He nuzzled her neck and a soft sigh escaped her lips. “Will ye stay and keep yer promise to me?”

She stepped back from him and this time he did not stop her. “Promise?”

He stared hard at her. “Aye, to be my mistress.”

• • •

Alec reached for Celia once more, but she shook her head and her gaze darted to those around them.

“I made no such promise to be your mistress.”

Her proximity made his body ache to feel her body against him again. “Aye, that day on the shore, ye agreed to be my mistress.”

“You asked if I knew you wanted me to be your mistress and I did. Then you asked if I still wanted you.” Her slender throat squeezed around a swallow. “I did.”

He watched her carefully. “And now?”

Her cheeks tinged a delicate shade of pink and she looked around the crowd once more. Fewer people stared, their interest lost when the conversation went quiet enough for only Alec and Celia to hear. “I must go,” Celia said.

“Ye canna go.” He put his arms up once more. She couldn’t leave, not without at least looking after Duncan first. Alec refocused his attention where it should have been the whole time. “There’s a lad at my keep. I need ye to look at him.” Alec lowered his arms, but she did not move. “He’s verra, verra sick.”

Hesitation crossed over her face. “It’s not a safe time to be a healer.” Her eyes were even larger in her narrow face than they’d been before she left. He could see himself in them, the oval of his face framed by mesmerizing deep blue.

“Ye mean the witch trials?” he asked. “I dinna allow that on my land.”

She studied him carefully, as if weighing his words, his appearance, for the truth.

The same as he’d done to her.

“Please,” he said. “The boy is verra sick.”