Page 21 of Enchantment of a Highlander

He knew he hadn’t hurt her, not when she’d encouraged him to move inside her when he’d tried to stop.

Alec groaned at the memory.

There had been many women in his past and he’d done many lusty things with them, but never had a one come to him like a water nymph.

He wrapped his plaid around himself and tugged on his leine and boots.

The only way to understand a lass sometimes was to talk to her. Though he’d stayed away from her cottage thus far, he would be damned if he’d stay away after she loved him better than any woman and then immediately left once he’d fallen asleep.

Though two weeks had passed since he’d last been to her cottage, he found the small home with ease. The entire ride, he’d tried to figure out what to say, how to reassure her of her decision to be his mistress.

She had agreed to be his mistress, hadn’t she?

Still unsure what to say, he approached her door and rapped upon the rough wood with his knuckles.

Nothing.

His blood surged in his veins.

Again he knocked and again Celia did not come. Surely she was not avoiding him.

His muscles seemed to swell with impatience. He did a swift walk around the small building, confirming all the shutters were tightly locked.

Tension grated the edges of his nerves.

He stalked to the front once more and heaved the door open. The cottage was dark inside.

The clawing, gnashing frustration inside him went wild. He rushed in and threw the shutters open so sunlight glowed brilliant inside the cottage, exposing the empty tables and stripped bed.

Even the bundled herbs once hanging from the rafters had been cleared away.

The home was empty.

Celia was gone.

• • •

The rocky coast did not provide much in the way of shelter, but the crude cave offered Celia more than most other locations had in the last three months. Sea water dripped from the jagged ceiling and echoed around her with a rhythmic plink.

MacDougall’s witch hunt was on the rise. People were being accused and subjected to fantastical, humiliating tests.

Innocents were being burned.

She’d heard the horrible tales from the few souls brave enough to speak to her.

Everyone was wary of strangers, of Lowlanders. Of healers.

Witch.

She knew too well what they did to witches.

She’d been subjected to their cruelty during the North Berwick witch hunt of her youth.

Her body had absorbed the cold, wet dungeon, her ears had borne witness to animalistic screams, her heart had suffered the suffocating loss of love.

The bitter November wind whistled outside the cave, but could not enter, not when the swell of the cliff wound to the side. It was not only far enough to block out the worst of the gusts, it was near enough to let moonlight filter through, to keep the black of night at bay.

Celia huddled deeper into her cloak. The proximity to the savage sea left everything wet and stiff.