Page 67 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Celia’s body tensed with hope. She rubbed her hand across the woman’s distended stomach and a heartier bump nudged her palm.

Excitement sparked across Celia’s skin and blotted out all vestiges of sorrow.

The baby’s survival marked a beautiful display of life in a day scarred by death.

Bessie stared up at Celia with large eyes set in her narrow face. “Ye brought my baby back to life.”

“No.” Celia shook her head vigorously and stepped back. “He was resting and the pressure of my hands woke him from his slumber.”

She glanced around her and found several wounded villagers staring up at her, their faces mirroring Bessie’s shock.

“I heard ye command him to move and he did,” Bessie said in wonder. She wrapped her thin arms around her stomach.

Celia opened her mouth to protest.

“I heard it too,” said a woman beside Bessie’s bed, the wife of the man with the broken nose. She did in fact have a broken arm, which was now bandaged and propped across her body with a sling. Her gaze fixed on Celia with reverence. “Ye gave life to the dead.”

An old man nodded his head in rapid succession. “I saw it with me own eyes, the way ye looked at her belly when ye spoke, the way yer hands moved over it.”

Fear prickled the hair on her scalp. “No,” Celia whispered. “You saw wrong. I’m not…her child was not dead, only sleeping.”

Her heart smacked against her ribs.

Her knees softened and the room went stuffy with thick air.

Would they take her to MacDougall land where the bodies of witches tainted the sky with oily black smoke? Would the man with the red ring be there, waiting to give her the same grisly fate as Fiona?

“Ye saved my baby,” Bessie whispered in a shaky breath. “Ye risked yer life to pull me to safety and ye protected the only thing I have to live for.”

Celia eased back to sit on the edge of the bed lest her legs collapse. “I’m not a witch.” Her voice strained with her passionate vehemence.

“I dinna care what ye are.” A woman with bright red hair spoke up from across the room. Her arm was locked around little Moira’s shoulders. “Ye work miracles and ye saved no only our children, but those wounded in the attack.” Her head lowered in gratitude. “Thank ye.”

Words of appreciation murmured around the room. The woman with the freshly bandaged arm nodded at Celia, a shy smile on her lips.

Celia regarded them in silence, the shock at their gratitude holding her tongue in place. Their kind smiles and genuine appreciation peeled back the blanket of her paranoia.

But she did not deserve their praise. She was no brave warrior, no magical healer. She had only done what Alec had asked of her.

The door flung open and a man rushed in. “The warriors have returned.”

Celia leapt to her feet in a pop of anticipation.

Alec.

Had he returned with the men?

Her heart pressed so hard against her lungs her breath came in short, enthusiastic breaths.

Several women rushed toward the door and shouts of enthusiasm drifted into the crowded cottage.

Celia turned to Bessie and tried to shrug off the restless urge to run into the streets with the other women. “Sleep now. You’ll need a lot of rest and you’ll need to eat more.”

Bessie’s fingertips brushed over her stained dress and a wistful smile touched her lips as she nodded.

Celia wound through the makeshift bedding of the injured and made her way to the door.

Her body shook with expectation.