Page 41 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Celia would see him whether she wanted to or not. He would not refuse Laird MacDougall’s offer if she truly did not want him.

But, if she did…

He leaned his head against the stone wall and reveled in the cool quiet press of it against his temple.

If she wanted him—God help him, for Laird MacDougall surely would not.

• • •

Alec staggered through the shadowed forest. He’d been foolish to leave without his horse and yet every part of him had long ago memorized the path to Celia’s cottage.

The whisky fired through his blood with each step, encouraging the darkness, strengthening his resolve to speak with her.

Lights burned bright in the windows of her cottage and hope spurred his pace. She was still awake.

He caught sight of her profile in the window and stopped. Her sharp chin jutted upward. She shook her head and gestured with her hands.

His breath came faster.

She was not alone.

• • •

Celia turned away from Grant lest she be forced to watch him unlace his codpiece.

“I like meeting ye like this,” he said softly behind her.

There was an intimacy in his voice she did not care for.

She opened her mouth to throw a sharp retort at him when the front door burst open and smacked the wall with a deafening crack.

A short, fast scream squeaked from her throat—a mighty pathetic sound for the way her heart knocked into her ribs.

Alec stood in the doorway with the black of night behind him. His massive arms braced either side of the door frame and his chest rose and fell with a frenzied breath. His pale eyes were glassy in the firelight.

Glassy and wild.

An edge of fear scraped down her spine.

He stared first to Grant, whose hands were frozen on his gaping codpiece, then to where Celia stood in front of the pestle.

“What. Is. This?” He bit out each word in a low growl.

Celia stared at him a moment, her mind still spinning with a lack of understanding. “What are you doing here? You can’t just come in.”

He stalked inside and stopped in front of Celia, his face red. “I own this cottage.”

Her cheeks flamed with the offense. “And I pay my rent to you by healing Duncan. It was the agreement we settled upon. This is my home and you cannot enter whenever you please.”

The scent of whisky stung her nostrils and there was a slight waver of his stance.

The long, slow breath he drew seemed to do little for his patience. “I can do whatever I damn well please. I’m laird of this land and if I dinna want men in yer home in the wee hours of night, ye will do as I say.”

Grant had already laced up his codpiece and crept behind Alec toward the door. His movements were quick and silent, a master of sneaking out undetected.

Still, he was a customer and Celia would ensure he came to no harm. She thrust her chin up at Alec with intentional defiance. “I don’t belong to you. I thought I’d made that clear.”

Grant slipped silently through the still open door and out into the night.