Page 119 of Enchantment of a Highlander

Each footstep closer to Celia left his body sizzling with power.

He wandered down the hall toward the room meant for him, but instead of turning right, he turned left. Toward her.

His breath came faster and his heart pounded so damn hard in his chest his hands shook from it.

Never had he been so fraught with emotion before a battle. Not since the first time he stood up to his father.

Alec tried to pace his steps, to appear as though he wasn’t hurrying.

But he was hurrying. Every second passed was another second Celia sat in Aros’s dungeon—cold and scared, thinking, no doubt, of his betrayal.

The last thought quickened his step.

MacDougall’s men be damned.

If they suspected him, he’d kill them before they could raise an alarm.

He swept quickly down the hall where the warmth of the fires was no longer present and the chill of the frosted air blew against his face and hands.

Fortunately, no guards had emerged.

The pungent scent of human waste and death tainted the air now and he knew he neared the dungeon.

He followed the path he’d taken earlier with MacDougall until he got to the dark, gaping stairwell leading down into the pits of hell.

Where his beautiful Celia lay.

It was dark below. Too dark. As if all the torches had been snuffed out.

He would be at a disadvantage to the guards down there. They would be used to such darkness.

But if he used a torch, he would alert them of his presence before he arrived.

A woman cried out from the black depths, a sharp, urgent sound.

Alarm spiked through Alec and his blood turned molten hot in his veins.

Whoever made her cry out, he’d kill them too.

He grabbed the torch from its sconce and slid his blade free of its scabbard, careful and slow to ensure he remained as silent as possible.

The woman below did not cry out again, but her whimpers drifted on putrid air and assaulted his ears and his psyche.

He took the stairs quickly, hating the way the flame glowed off the walls like a beacon. The deeper he went, the more wet the chill became, until it felt as though it permeated through his skin and penetrated his bones.

“I thought we agreed no light so we wouldna have to see how filthy they are.” The masculine voice came from below.

Two more steps. Alec cleared them and came to an open area with a row of cage-like cells as far as his light extended. The odor hit him like a punch, the overwhelming stench of human degradation.

A man stood in the nearest cell, eyes squinted against the light, with a woman held tight in his hand. Her dress had been unlaced and sagged from her shoulders, her breasts bared and stark white where grime and dirt did not touch them.

Alec surged toward the gaping doorway. The man was no longer squinting against the light and his recovered gaze lowered to the drawn blade.

He never had a chance to cry out.

Alec moved without thought and shoved his blade through the man’s throat—one clean punch forward with his sword until the sharpened tip bit into bone and stopped.

The man choked, once, twice, then his knees buckled and he folded to the ground.