Page 46 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Celia blinked rapidly.

The sound came again and she sucked in a deep breath of air to clear the fog from her mind.

No.

Not Fiona.

Duncan’s head shifted on his pillow.

The blood thrumming through her veins pounded harder now with hope.

“Duncan,” she called softly.

He groaned. Green eyes lined heavy with red squinted up at her. “Are ye an angel?” he croaked.

A smile touched her lips. “No, I’m a healer.”

Wynda rushed in with a pile of linens, which she hastily shoved aside. “Is that Duncan?” She pressed her palm to her chest. “Ach, lad, ye’ve no idea what good it does to my heart to see ye awake.”

With a grunt, she sank onto her knees and took his hand in hers. She regarded Celia with tears in her small blue eyes. “Ye work miracles, ye know that?”

The boy looked up at Celia with the adoring gaze of a new puppy.

Something warm blossomed in her chest and though she’d never done such a thing, she had the sudden temptation to reach out and stroke his cheek.

“He’ll need to drink his tea from a cup since he’s awake.” Settling back into instructing the healthy to care for the ill was a far more comfortable place.

She purposefully kept her gaze averted from the boy’s doting stare.

Wynda jerked a look up at Celia. “Are ye no coming back now?” There was a pitch of nervousness to the woman’s voice.

Celia gave her a reassuring smile. “I will be back to check on him throughout the week, but will not need to come daily anymore.”

The thought of not having to come into the castle every day was like cool, sweet air to her still-tight chest. She couldn’t afford to have her fear attack like that again, not where someone could see.

Where someone might press her for answers.

Her skin pebbled with goosebumps at the mere thought. Even today had been too close.

With luck, Duncan would make a full recovery in a couple of weeks or so and she could cease her visits altogether. She could make enough coin with her herbs, poultices, and healing to pay a handsome rent.

She could afford rent more than she could afford a growing fondness for the boy or the overbearing cook. There was no room in her life for affection.

There could not be.

Wynda hefted her weight forward and used the bed to hitch herself to her feet. “Ach, no, the laird said ye are to come every day. I dinna think he’ll take exception to that.”

Alec.

He’d been so drunk the night before, so unguarded, so tortured.

His words had scalded her mind and branded her heart. She’d thought about them for far too long after he’d left.

Celia handed a packet of herbs to Wynda. She needed to leave this place. She needed to breathe fresh air and free herself from the entrapment of the pressing castle walls.

And the possibility of seeing its laird.

Wynda smiled and shook her head. “We’ve enough herbs for Duncan, but thank ye all the same, lass.”