Page 66 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Niall folded his arms over his chest. “Why would we leave the women and children unprotected to follow the son of the arse who cursed us?”

The other men all stared at Alec.

Irritation snapped all his patience.

“Because ye’ve abandoned them for months. They’ve protected ye while ye hid away and they’ve died for it.” The horse pranced anxiously beneath him, feeding from the anger firing through his veins. “I’ve looked for months for ye to help me defend them. Ye used to be men of honor, conviction, and integrity. But now…” He met Niall’s stabbing glare without flinching. “Now I see aging men so stung by pride and plagued by stupidity they canna aid the verra people who have helped them.”

He held Niall’s stare until the older warrior slid his gaze away. Alec caught the reins of his borrowed horse. “I dinna want the help of men who lack honor and I’ll no waste my time with ye while the outlaws escape.”

It was a stupid plan, but he hoped it was simple enough to work.

Alec pulled the reins to the side, turning the horse before he flicked his heels into her plump sides and sent her galloping over the rolling hills of the coast in pursuit of the outlaws.

With the number of outlaws already killed, Alec stood a chance to handle the rest on his own.

Maybe. With a little luck.

The steady beat of a horse’s gallop pounded behind Alec’s own steed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Niall was racing closer, the other men not much farther behind him.

Alec grinned to himself.

He would not need luck on his side after all, not when he had the force of his father’s men.

• • •

Celia knelt beside Bessie’s makeshift bed and held the woman’s hand. Her palm was cold to the touch and slick with sweat and blood.

“Have you felt the babe move?” Celia asked.

Bessie’s eyes watched the ceiling without blinking. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and melted against her hairline.

She didn’t speak, which was answer enough. The bleeding had long since stopped and Celia had done as much as she could to calm Bessie. Fear of losing her baby would only increase the chances that she might.

The battle had ended shortly after Celia had dragged Bessie indoors. For that, she’d been grateful. She had clean water for Bessie and the woman was in a comfortable bed.

Many other villagers had been injured in the attack and she’d aided them all as well as she could with the provisions she had.

Some had been too far gone in their injuries to be saved. Celia had fought regardless, but in some of her battles against death, she’d lost.

She hovered a hand over Bessie’s swollen abdomen. “May I?” she asked.

Bessie’s shoulder lifted in apathetic permission.

Celia pressed gently on the firm rise of flesh, her focus trained on her fingertips for the slightest movement.

Her heart squeezed with painful sympathy. Nothing.

“He’s dead,” Bessie said in a flat tone. “The only thing I have left of my Connor.” Her face crumpled and hearty sobs wracked her too-slender body.

Celia blocked out the low keens of Bessie’s mourning and concentrated on her fingers, hoping with every fiber of her being the child had indeed survived.

She focused her energy on the woman’s stomach and leaned closer, as if wishing with all her might could make such a thing truly happen.

Celia moved her hands over the little mound of Bessie’s stomach. She followed the shape of the babe through Bessie’s skin, a feat easily done with so little fat on its mother.

“Move,” she whispered in a quiet voice. “I want you to move.”

The taut skin of Bessie’s stomach bounced against Celia’s thumb. Bessie’s sobs ceased with a choked gasp and she stared down at her belly with tears glinting against spiked lashes.