Page 38 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“Yer coin from purchasing the homespun cloth. If I say so meself, the silk will suit ye verra fine. Laird MacLean knew what he was doing when he picked out the color.”

Alec.

Her body prickled with uncomfortable heat.

She put her hand up. “I cannot accept this gift. Please keep the silk and I’ll purchase the cloth.”

The merchant shook his head and a strand of hair caught against his white whiskered cheek. “Canna do that. The laird already told me ye’d say nay and said if I dinna want him to import all his fabrics from another merchant, I’d no sell ye the brown cloth.”

He nudged the fabric toward her. The sun rolled over the slick surface. “I’m also the only merchant who sells cloth in town, but ye already knew that, aye?” He gave a sniff and wriggled his cold-reddened nose.

A woman stepped to the edge of the booth with a fat baby in her arms. The infant gave a loud screeching squall and the woman began bouncing him while making a soft clucking sound with her tongue.

Celia refused to touch the fabric. “I spoke with the laird this morning and told him I refuse to accept any more of his hospitality. He understood.”

The cloth merchant stared at her without sympathy. “I dinna hear otherwise from my instructions.”

The baby’s cries pitched higher.

“I don’t want this. I’m sorry,” Celia said plaintively.

“And I dinna have a choice,” the merchant said. “Sorry.” His friendly wink took the edge off his mocking tone.

The mother glanced between Celia and the cloth merchant. A grimace puckered her brow. “Are ye done?” she asked in such a hard voice it quieted the startled child for one brief, blissful moment.

Celia stared hard at the merchant’s unwavering smile. Alec had planned too well. She stepped forward and pulled the silk into her arms. Her gaze landed on the merchant’s outstretched hand.

“Keep those,” she said of the meager coins.

The merchant pushed his hand out further to her. “Nay, lass. I’ll no take coin from the laird’s mistress.”

Shock slapped across Celia and for a moment all she could do was sputter, open-mouthed and idiotic. “I’m not—”

The child in the woman’s arms loosed a howl. She shifted him from one hip to the other with an exaggerated movement.

The merchant pressed the coin into Celia’s hand in a way that suggested there would be no protesting. Especially not over the screech of the child’s cries and the way the infant’s mother glared.

Celia folded her hand around the coins and clutched the costly silk to her chest. She strode out across the market, eager for the caress of silence against her poor ears.

The fabric in her arms was ridiculous and impractical. With all the time she spent in the forest combing through the foliage for herbs and working in her garden, it would be shredded within weeks.

It was cool under her arm, almost icy in the bitter chill of the day. Surely she’d freeze wearing it.

She’d return the next day and convince the merchant to at least sell her some of the homespun cloth she’d initially paid for.

Her gaze wandered down to where the fabric settled like a sigh over her arm. The color reminded her of the sky at night, deep blue with twilight before fading to black and displaying countless stars.

Her fair skin stood out like cream against the dark, rich color. Surely it would feel like heaven to wear.

But Alec had done enough already with what he’d purchased for her cottage. In addition to the drawers filled with bright new metal needles and true catgut string, there had been new bowls and a seemingly endless supply of linens. And then there had been the bed.

Her cheeks went hot to think why he might have gone to the expense of such a bed. Though he claimed otherwise, she knew what he’d wanted of her, what he doubtless still hoped for.

What the village already thought she was.

Celia glared down at the fabric and wished she could transform it into rough, cheap cloth—the kind no mistress would be seen wearing.

“Healer.”