Page 6 of Enchantment of a Highlander

He narrowed his eyes, but did not move to touch her again. “I dinna think so.” His gaze trailed down her body before coming to rest on her face. Her skin sizzled beneath the path of his observation.

“Be my mistress.”

Celia blinked. “What?”

He closed the distance between them, the heat of his hard, naked chest touching the tips of her breasts. “Be my mistress. Stand by my side as I purge the land of the ruin my father created.”

His fingers combed through her long hair. Chills of pleasure tingled across her scalp and raced down her spine. “I want ye warming my bed.”

She arched away from the promise of his embrace and tried not to stare down at his muscular torso, at the way the sinewy muscle flexed and shifted beneath such scarred flesh. “Your wound is tended to as promised. I suggest you leave and not return.”

The corner of his lip lifted with a hint of arrogance as if he sensed her inner battle. “Ye are on my land. Of course I’ll see ye again.”

She pulled the door open and wind gusted into the cottage. Herbs rustled against one another from where they swung wildly on their threads, and the curtain strung around her bed sucked toward them.

Alec pulled a fresh leine from his bag and tugged it over his head. “I’ll leave only if ye tell me yer name, healer.” He hefted his sack to his shoulder with an almost imperceptible grimace and stared at her where he stood.

“Celia,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind. “Now be gone with you.”

The line across his brow eased with his small victory. He strode to the door and paused beside her. “I’ll see ye again, Celia.” He said her name slow, purposeful, as if he were savoring the way it rolled off his tongue in that soft burr of his.

The wind fluttered his leine and flattened his kilt to the tops of his muscular thighs, but he did not waver against its insistent push. He stood stoic in its wrath, unfazed by the wet cold. Celia’s legs trembled beneath her and she had to fight the part of herself that wanted to sway against his powerful body.

Neither of them moved for a moment, both staring with a mix of intimidation and curiosity. Finally, he strode out the door. She slammed it shut behind him and rested her forehead on the rough wood.

She had known the man was nobility by his fine dress, but she hadn’t expected him to be Laird MacLean. Nor had she expected the son of the former laird to be so just, so powerful.

So dangerous.

The law did little good from what she’d seen, from what she’d experienced. Innocents were sacrificed under the guise of “law”.

A scratch sounded at the base of the door where the wind mewled. Celia pulled the latch and held the door wide enough for the red fox to slink inside before bolting it shut once more.

“Is he gone now, Ruadh?”

The fox stared up at her with his golden eyes and flicked his bushy tail in aggravation.

“Good riddance to that one.” She tossed the remaining thread into the fire and watched the remnants of the laird’s blood sizzle and curl into ash. “For the time being we are safe.”

She glanced at the door once more. Her skin still tingled where he had touched her. Unwanted, a thrill wound down her spine and blossomed in goosebumps across her skin.

He would be back and she would need to keep her secrets locked away, the way she had managed to do thus far.

Her life depended on it.

Chapter Three

Alec stepped over a pile of refuse and glanced around the alley’s corner to the sea of faces crowding the market. An aging merchant argued with a woman over the price of something bundled in linen, but aside from their bickering, all appeared peaceful. It was better than he’d expected.

A tall, thin lad of twelve with straw-colored hair stood near a pastry cart. His head drooped lower, toward the outstretched hand of the young cart owner. She handed him a pastry with a wink and returned her attention to her cart.

Alec leaned against the pitted wall of a building and watched from the shade. The boy stepped from the stall and bit into the pastry. Duncan might be an awkward youth, but his shy smile won him a considerable amount of favors.

He nodded to a woman dressed in a blue silk dress and wove his way ever closer to Alec. The woman did not belong among the other villagers. Her dress was too rich, her chin angled with an edge of entitlement.

The boy waved to Alec before trotting over to him. The musk of sweaty boy filled the air.

Duncan’s eyes widened and seemed to fill half his face. “Is that blood?” he asked, pointing to Alec’s shirt. “What happened? Where did ye go?”