Page 37 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“I wasna as lucky as yer da,” MacDougall said. “I dinna have a son, but a daughter.” He shook his head. “I need a son, lad. I need heirs to inherit what I’ve built.”

The memory of his conversation with Saraid flicked through his mind. “I dinna think she was of the mind to wed.”

“Och, aye, she is. She’s just a picky lass whom I’ve indulged too much.” MacDougall placed a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “She’s got it set in her mind that yer the man she wants to wed.”

The laird’s words shot through Alec’s brain.

“Ye need more men, more protection,” MacDougall continued. “I need heirs and the power of a strong alliance on Mull.”

“What are ye saying?”

The hand on Alec’s shoulder squeezed with surprising strength. “I’ll give ye all the men and coin ye need, but I want ye to marry Saraid.”

• • •

Celia shielded the glare of the sun with her hand and scanned the marketplace for the fabric merchant. She’d purchased a bolt of homespun cloth with newly earned coin just before Alec saw her the day before. The merchant had needed to get more, but she’d forgotten to return to claim it.

Running into Alec had completely swept clear her thoughts that day.

Alec.

A sharp blend of excited attraction and fear shot through her.

If Alec aligned with Laird MacDougall, Celia would have to further distance herself from Wynda and Duncan lest the witch hunt sweep Duart and its lands. She would not have them stand up to defend her and find themselves punished in her stead.

She refused to place them, or anyone else, in danger. If what was said of MacDougall’s witch trials were true, she knew how quickly people could be implicated for even having known someone who might be considered a witch.

And she’d seen what loving her had done to Fiona.

She’d seen how those awful men had twisted love, wielded it, to get what they needed.

Never again would she let others sacrifice for her.

Hopefully she’d blundered her strange relationship with Alec with her awkward speech before his meeting.

And yet there was a tightness inside her stomach she did not like when she thought of never seeing him again.

Even if it was for the best.

Her eyes lit on the familiar merchant with long, gray hair. The booth beside him had flaps lifted at the front to reveal multicolored cloth of varying degrees of costliness, from the finest silk to the plainest homespun cloth. The kind of cloth Celia had ordered.

The cloth merchant looked up with the same friendly hazel gaze as he had the previous day. “Ah, the healer returns,” he said in a fog of frozen breath.

His gaze trailed down her ruined dress and all the heat in her body went to her cheeks. The cloth had been the most necessary of goods to purchase now that she was near the village once more.

Her palms practically itched with the need to clutch the fabric in her hands and stitch a new overdress. The garment she currently wore was beyond shameful.

“Aye, I have a purchase made for ye.” He turned his back to her and rummaged through a stack of bound fabric.

Celia peered around him toward the folds of cloth he focused on. “A purchase made for me? I believe you’re mistaken—”

“Nay, lass, I’m no ever mistaken.” He pushed a bundle of dark blue silk onto the table and tapped his right temple. “I’ve got a mind sharp as a battle axe, aye?”

She pulled her hands back from the fine fabric lest she leave it dirty and find herself beholden to pay for it. Silk was far more than she could ever afford. “I purchased the brown cloth, not this.”

“Ah, right. That reminds me.” He ducked under the booth and popped up with two coins in his hand.

Celia stepped back from the money. “What is this?”