Page 133 of Enchantment of a Highlander

His stride lengthened, his injuries were no longer felt. He approached the other laird and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw.

MacDougall’s head snapped back and he staggered in shock.

Alec cocked his arm to hit the bastard once more, but something knocked into him from behind and dropped him to the ground.

He flipped over and knelt on his good leg to stand once more. The remaining two guards faced him now. The wound in his thigh sizzled with pain and left the muscle feeling heavy and exhausted.

His heart was heavier, too. Even more exhausted. It hung in his chest like a sack filled with iron.

The darkness loomed over him, wanting to envelop him like a blanket of black velvet. Even if he had strength enough to fight it, he would not.

He let it sweep over him like the darkened clouds had done earlier to the moon. It blotted out anything light in him, it dulled the hurt of his wounds, it made him mad with the desire to taste revenge.

They would pay. Every last one of them.

The guards circled him with a menacing expression and Alec lifted his blade to fight.

He would die, yes, but he’d drag these bastards down with him.

The first one attacked. The jab was practically offensive in how meekly it was delivered. As if he thought Alec so easily slain.

Alec snapped his blade through the air, not even feeling the wound at his side anymore.

The guard’s eyes widened in surprise. His second lunge was more substantial, but also easily blocked.

Alec glared at both men, seeing their deaths before they could even be delivered, and let loose a roar pulled deep from his soul.

They would all die.

• • •

Pain flickered through the darkness of Celia’s nothing existence. Something echoed around her, distant and muted, a cry of some sort.

She tried to swallow, but her throat ached so badly. It was difficult even to drag in a breath of air.

Awareness pricked her brain.

Smoke.

The thick, heavy scent of it was everywhere. So strong it stung her nose and clogged in her chest. She tried to move, but found herself bound to an unyielding mass scraping already throbbing skin.

She opened her eyes and a haze filled her vision, stinging her eyes.

“Father, she’s still alive.” Saraid’s voice.

Celia squinted through the smoke. Even in the night, even from where Saraid stood far off, near the edge of the castle, Celia could see her eyes were wide and fixed.

“She willna last long,” MacDougall replied.

Saraid swayed on her feet and Celia remembered the poison.

Fire crackled along the edges of the woodpile where Celia stood. Alarm screamed through her. The flames hadn’t reached her yet, but they would.

The wind howled and swept the smoke from her vision. The reprieve came with a cost, though, and the flames gave a brilliant glow as they were fanned to life.

A low rumble sounded overhead where the clouds threatened to unleash their fury.

But there was something else. The metallic ring of battle.