Page 61 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“Laird MacLean?”

She stared at the man’s wife, who watched her husband with a wide, terrified gaze.

“Of course it was him,” the man bellowed. “Who else could get a hit like that on me and no already be dead?”

“Sit down so I can clean your nose.” Celia’s voice shook. Thoughts raced through her mind, thoughts she hated.

Had he started drinking liquor again?

Had he gone to the village and picked a fight as he had with Grant?

“I’ll need a cloth, please,” she said.

The woman cradled her right arm to her waist and handed the linen with her left hand.

Celia thanked her and dabbed the cloth to the man’s nose. Blood seeped into the white fabric, staining it a brilliant red. “When did this happen?” she asked.

“This morning,” the woman answered for her husband.

“Aye,” the man agreed. “And the bastard is still in town. Do ye no hear him?”

The room fell quiet and the gentle tap, tap, tapping of a hammer echoed in the distance.

Celia’s hands trembled while she cleaned the rest of the man’s face. His nose still appeared slanted, but looked significantly better than it had upon her arrival. The wife carefully packed up Celia’s supplies one-handed and pulled a coin from a jar on the hearth.

“Is something wrong with your arm?” Celia nodded toward the woman’s feeble limb. “I can look at it while I’m here.”

“Nay,” the man growled. “Ye’ve done yer job, now go.”

Celia’s cheeks burned with offense. “She’s obviously hurt. It won’t take but a minute.” She looked imploringly at the woman, who averted her eyes and lowered her head.

The man pressed a meaty hand to Celia’s back and shoved her from the house.

She staggered out the door and straightened herself upright. The husband would not always be around. She would come back at a later date to look at the wife’s arm.

Her heart squeezed with the understanding of what had most likely happened to the woman.

The tapping was louder outside, nearby. Her heart pounded in time with the quick beat.

Celia followed the sound through a maze of cottages until it was overhead. She shielded the sun from her eyes with the back of her hand and searched the side of the thatched roof.

Her gaze caught Alec’s broad back. His leine was slick with sweat despite the freezing temperature and clung to his muscular shoulders. He looked powerful, imposing.

Her pulse flickered wild and erratic, like a flame tangling in a breeze.

“Alec,” she called.

The hammering stopped, but he did not turn.

“Ye shouldna be in town, Celia.”

His response was not what she’d expected. She frowned. What did he mean by that?

She shifted the weight of her bag to the other shoulder. “I’d like to speak with you.”

He didn’t answer and she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he rose from his position on the roof’s edge with the same ease as if he were on the ground. He leapt from the ledge and landed perfectly on his feet.

His cheeks were flushed red from his labor and sweat glistened where his leine lay open. “What are ye doing in the village?”