Page 122 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“Celia, shush, it’s me.”

The voice penetrated the chaos of her fear. A gentle voice, the burr low and soothing. Tender.

“Celia, I’m here for ye, lass. I’m here to save ye.”

Tears burned in her eyes, as if her body recognized him before her reeling mind could.

Alec.

Her eyes had adjusted to the glow of light behind him and now she could make out the square of his shoulders, the stubborn set of his jaw.

How could she have missed it before?

So many thoughts, so many words, emotions, churned in her head.

“You didn’t betray me,” she whispered.

His breath hissed out and he caught her in such a sudden and aggressive hug, it squeezed the air from her. The spicy, wonderful masculine scent of him enveloped her like a dream.

“I dinna betray ye. I’d come to rescue ye, but when MacDougall showed up…” He swallowed thickly. “If I’d resisted, we all would have been killed. I bided my time waiting for ye and it felt like a damn lifetime. I feared…”

She pulled back away from him. “You can’t stay here. You shouldn’t be here. If they catch you, they’ll kill you.” Her throat tightened. “I can’t let you die for me.”

His hand stroked her cheek. “Ye’re no Fiona and nor am I.”

“But…” she stopped, sorting through the powerful surge inside her until she understood. “But I love you.”

He gripped her face in his hands and pulled in a deep breath. “And I love ye, my Celia.”

His lips pressed to hers, warm and familiar and wholly wonderful.

“But now we must go,” he said.

She allowed him to pull her to her feet and silently berated herself for so foolishly sitting on her cell floor in her open prison while they talked.

Talked.

Instead of escaping.

His hand wrapped around hers, strong and reassuring.

The heat of his fingers pressed over hers, soothing the icy chill from her flesh.

Together they left the cell and headed toward a mass of women in the middle of the aisle. Only then did Celia realize all the cells were emptied.

Footsteps echoed from the front of the dungeon. Clomping boots.

Several shrieks rose up from the women.

“How did ye get free?” a man asked. His voice slurred with drink.

Celia’s breath snagged in her chest.

Alec’s hand pressed her back, keeping her from walking forward. “Stay here.”

Before she could protest, he was already charging with his blade hissing free of its scabbard.

Chapter Thirty-Seven