Page 39 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Her hand released the fist she’d made in the silk. Small wrinkles spiraled in a gathered bunch of glossy fabric.

A shadow fell over her and pulled her attention up to a tall man. His lashes were hopelessly, almost comically, long around dark, doe-brown eyes. He gave her a carefree smile, showing a flash of white teeth. That smile had left all the women and girls on the Isle of Mull swooning with desire.

Celia was unaffected.

He leaned against a merchant’s booth despite the owner’s chastising glare. “It’s good to see ye back, healer. Ye look a mite thin, but I’d still enjoy a tumble with ye.”

The muscles of his chest flicked alternately beneath his green cotton shirt.

Disgust clenched through Celia and it was all she could do to not take a step back from him. “It didn’t take you long to find me, Grant.”

“Well, I heard ye were back in town, which meant I needed to see ye.” He looked down at her and winked. He glanced around Celia, his attention momentarily wandering. The way his gaze combed downward, she knew it was no doubt a woman.

“Good afternoon to ye, Margot,” he said with a wink.

A comely brunette passed them, her gown tied a smidge too tight.

Grant waited for her to pass before craning his neck to watch her go.

Celia set her free hand on her hip and waited without patience. “When you’re done…”

“Aye, so…” He slowly turned his gaze from the woman and lowered his voice. “Can I see ye tonight?”

For the first time she noticed how he stood, with his back slightly arched to keep his kilt from grazing any part of his anatomy.

He’d obviously been enduring it for some time if he sought her out so quickly.

“How bad has it gotten? Have you noticed—”

“Tonight.” The charm slipped from his face for one cold flash of a second. His gaze darted around the crowd and his shoulder relaxed, his smooth smile showing once more.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve followed my rules?”

“Why do ye think I’m so damn desperate to see ye?” The flicker of irritation was back. He truly was miserable if he’d let his charm slip twice in one conversation.

“Fine, but don’t be late,” she acquiesced with a grate of irritation.

The smile flashed on his face once more. “I’ll see ye then. And I hope ye’ll be wearing this.” His finger slid across the silk in her arm.

This time she did roll her eyes. He shrugged and strode confidently through the market with his hips cocked back in that slightly awkward angle. Two women at a trinket booth stopped and gawked as he passed, oblivious to his altered gait. They turned to one another with flushed cheeks and excited grins.

As much as Grant loved women, the women loved him even more.

If only they had engagements planned with him that evening, instead of Celia. She’d forgotten how much she dreaded his late night visits.

Chapter Twelve

Night cast her cloak across Duart Castle’s great hall, but Alec paid it little mind. He sat at the head of the table in his seat of authority, alone and unfeeling.

He’d succumbed to his darkness. Nay, not just succumbed. He wore it the way a king wore a mantle of authority.

He couldn’t feel his fingers, his legs—hell, his whole body. It had gone numb. His hand hung limp over the edge of the chair.

Every part of him except the areas he’d wanted to quiet. His temples ached from churning thoughts, from the onslaught of emotion that screamed louder with each fiery swallow of whisky.

He’d put his people in this precarious situation—he had left them to his father’s mercy. Four months after his father’s death and still the people suffered.

Alec had never thought all those years of neglect could do so much damage.