Page 1 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Chapter One

Isle of Mull, Scotland, August 1608

If he was to die, Alec MacLean would take a couple of thieves with him.

The sharp scent of pine mingled with the thick odor of blood. His blood.

He edged back against the jagged rock wall and lifted his sword to the six advancing men. Blood flowed freely from the wound at his chest. The bastard had sliced him somewhere below the collarbone. His right arm was weakening.

At least the boy had gone ahead to the village and couldn’t do anything stupid to get himself killed. With any luck, the woman Alec had rescued was there by now as well.

The largest man of the group lunged forward, but this time Alec was faster. He crouched low, gripped the sword between both hands, and thrust, using the power of his left arm to compensate for the weakness of his right. The black polished steel slid deep into the man’s gut, a lethal wound.

Eventually.

Alec jerked his blade free. If he hadn’t been so travel-weary, the fight would have been over minutes ago.

But Alec was not the kind of man who surrendered. Not while outlaws roamed the woods, not while innocents were subjected to their abuse, not while he was the new laird.

A charge of energy spiked through him. He would fight this battle and he would win. For his people.

The ones he’d abandoned so long ago.

The force of his resolve roared from his throat in a battle cry. His muscles swelled with crazed determination.

The semicircle of men stopped their advance and their blades dipped. Alec held his at the ready.

But they were not looking at Alec.

Their gazes crept up the rock wall behind him.

“Bana-bhuidseach,” one of them murmured.

Witch.

The men’s eyes went wild and they scrambled back with their wounded man clutched between them. A gust swept around Alec so viciously it sent his kilt slapping against his knees and thighs.

Alec jerked around and looked up, but found only the rock wall and gray sky.

“Are you as foolish as those men?” A voice came through to him, soft, feminine, and impossible to locate with all the damn wind. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

His heart slapped against his ribs.

A witch? On his father’s lands—on his lands?

Impossible.

His gaze combed the forest in long sweeps. Naught was there but the trees bowing their limbs to the wind and the grass bending to its wrath.

“Who’s there?” The words came out strong and gruff.

The other men had been afraid.

He would show no fear.

He licked his lips. “Reveal yerself.”

“Perhaps you are foolish, then.” The voice was behind him now.