Page 115 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Fiona.

Being taken out only to watch the woman she loved get burned at the stake.

The prison came into view—cages lining as far as she could see in the flickering torchlight.

Women cowered inside the cells, their eyes wide and haunted in faces gone too thin, too dirty.

A scream loosed from Celia then, so savage it felt as though her throat would bleed.

She screamed for the women in there, the memories she could not escape, the fear she now possessed. It was wild and feral and fierce.

And for all that was in her, she could not bring herself to stop.

• • •

Shrieks of terror spiraled up from the gaping darkness Celia had disappeared down. They coiled around Alec’s heart.

He stepped toward the yawning entryway where another animalistic scream met his ears and scratched into his mind.

“MacLean, are ye going somewhere?” MacDougall asked.

A warning went off in the back of his brain, a clanging reminder he was surrounded by MacDougall’s men. Yes, he could run down there with his sword bared, and he might save her for a moment before they were both run through.

Alec spun around and regarded MacDougall. The other laird wore a massive fur over his shoulders, making him look part man, part beast.

“I dinna help ye capture her to torture her.” There was a savagery to Alec’s voice he almost didn’t recognize.

“She’s a witch,” MacDougall said by way of explanation. “And no one can touch her but me.”

A choking sob sounded now where the screams had come from, a breathless, gasping sob of someone not in control of their own emotions.

His Celia, down there in the dark, in the hell she’d had nightmares about. And he was here with his enemy, unable to do anything to save her.

He stared back at the hole. It would hurt less to stand idle and watch as someone sliced open his chest and drew out his frantically beating heart.

Celia.

His throat was tight and such powerful rage racked through him he felt as though he could kill a thousand men with one swing of his blade.

But he knew that wasn’t the case.

He knew he’d have to wait and suddenly he wished someone had cut out his still beating heart rather than have to endure another second knowing Celia was down there.

MacDougall clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, boy, let us get some wine and celebrate the capture of the witch. For tomorrow we shall watch her burn.”

Alec’s heart dropped into his stomach like a gut punch.

Tomorrow.

He hadn’t intended to wait until tomorrow, regardless, but the suddenness was surprising still.

Just another hour or so, he said silently to himself. To Celia.

Just another hour or so and he could rescue her.

Alec turned from the doorway and followed the laird to the great hall. But while they celebrated their disgusting victory, he would watch and he would plan.

Celia would be rescued.