Page 97 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“Do ye know whom I speak of?” MacDougall asked, glancing around the room as if she might suddenly appear.

Alec ground his teeth and focused on the chilled air to slowly cool his anger to a tolerable level. “Aye, I’ve seen her.” He swallowed around the distasteful words he needed to say to protect his people. “I’ll agree to help ye, but ye must retract yer offer of gold to the outlaws.”

MacDougall stared hard at Alec. “There might be more witches on yer land. Witches to be punished once they confess.”

“Those are my terms,” Alec said with finality. “And I will help ye find the witch ye seek.” MacDougall’s eyes flashed with a barely restrained rage. “And my daughter?” Alec swallowed down the bitter taste of defeat. “Aye, I will agree to that as well. I’ll marry yer daughter.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Loneliness numbed Celia’s flesh and seeped into her body like poison. A week of long days and even longer nights passed in excruciating time, marked only by the decrease in her food supply.

Sunlight sluiced from a thin line at the base of the door and streaked across the dirt floor. The cottage’s crude, whitewashed walls reflected the meager firelight. The small hovel had been carved from a swell of earth and blended with the forest. Unless you knew where to look, it would not easily be found.

It was genius, really, and set far enough away from town to keep outside visitors from stumbling upon it by accident.

Duncan had been right—it was warm and the solid earth walls kept out the merciless cut of wind. Celia’s stare wandered to the firelight once more and her mind slipped down a torturous path of memories.

The heat of Alec’s body next to hers, the masculine scent of him lingering on her skin after they’d coupled, the deep sound of his voice and the way it grew husky when they were alone.

The door rattled in a familiar pattern, one quick jiggle then three more in rapid succession. The door outside had been dressed to match the forest, but the inside remained wooden.

She ran to the door and unbolted the lock. The simple bit of metal and leather would break under the weakest of kicks, but it was better than nothing.

Duncan came in, and with him a burst of wind and scattering dry leaves. It was the first time she’d seen him since she’d arrived.

The first time she’d seen anyone.

She scanned the forest behind him before she closed the door, ensuring he wasn’t followed.

“Are ye doing well here?” he asked.

She glanced up and everything inside of her squeezed against the ache of solitude. In all the years she’d spent by herself, she’d never felt the pull for companionship so desperately.

“I am, thank you,” her voice wavered.

Duncan’s mouth pressed into a frown. “Ye dinna sound so well.” He set a full sack of food on the lone table. “The witch trials have ceased on MacDougall’s land and all the prisoners have been released.” His tone was too monotone for such joyous news.

“But?” she prompted.

His brows tucked downward in a pained expression. “But now MacDougall seeks only one witch.”

Celia kept her face impassive despite the frantic thud of her pulse. “Me.”

Duncan came toward her, his long, thin arms spread in preparation for one of his tender hugs.

Her breath cut off in the swell of her throat. The simple act of being embraced, the very thing her lonely soul cried out for, would crack the delicate wall of will keeping her tears at bay.

If they came, they might never cease.

She shook her head and backed away. “You must return lest someone wonder where you’ve gone to. No one must suspect you are aiding me.”

His hands fell to the side and disappointment showed in the way he cast his gaze to the floor. She’d hurt his feelings, a painful knowledge she regretted.

He nodded and opened the door to the low whistle of wind. His gaze met hers, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I just miss ye. And so does Wynda.”

And Alec? She hardened her heart against the thought.

“I know,” she said softly.