Page 26 of Enchantment of a Highlander

The strained tension of her shoulders relaxed.

She was considering it.

“If ye dinna do this…” Alec squeezed his fist, hating the words he had to say, “…he will die.”

She swept an errant strand of hair from her forehead. “I’ll stay under two conditions. The first is that you promise to keep the witch trials from your lands.”

“I’ve already said I would.”

She nodded. “And the second.” Her gaze slipped down his body once more. “You have to promise not to touch me ever again.”

Her words were harsh and snapped him like the sting of a whip. Indignant protests rose in his mind, burning with the urge to be hurtled at her.

She’d enjoyed his touch, enjoyed their coupling, enjoyed the way he’d brought her release.

An urgent reminder blared in the back of his mind.

Duncan was more important than pride.

The rest could be handled later.

“Verra well,” he said in a slow huff. “Ye have my word I willna touch ye.”

Celia nodded. “Then show me the lad. I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Nine

The sweet, musty stench of sickness and sweat filled the small room.

Celia knew Alec had spoken true. Death was close. A boy no older than thirteen lay immobile under a pile of blankets with hair plastered to his scalp.

She pressed a hand to his scalding cheek. If she was going to help him, she would have to work quickly.

“Get a pot of water boiling, but not here. He can’t take any more heat.” She crossed the room and drew aside the heavy curtains.

Her eyes narrowed against the glare. She flicked the latch on the shutters and pushed the wooden screen open. Fresh, icy air immediately rushed in and she drew a deep, cleansing breath.

“Are ye mad?” Alec charged across the room and slammed the shutters closed. “He canna handle air blowing at him.”

“He needs fresh air,” she said patiently. “The air in here is tainted with sickness. You wouldn’t drink from a stagnant pool any more than he should be breathing this in.”

She pushed the shutters open once more and a refreshing gust filled the room.

Alec cast an anxious glance to the boy lying in the bed. She knew the fears he did not voice.

“Alec.” She waited for him to look back at her. “You have to trust me.”

He gave a grunt she took as acquiescence.

A shriek came from the doorway and a woman with a puff of bright red hair ran into the room, her finger pointed at the open window. “Ye canna do that—”

“It’s fine, Wynda.” Alec’s tone suggested the statement was more of an order. He put his arm out in front of the woman, blocking her.

Wynda stopped obediently and twisted her hands against her apron. Her nervous glance darted to Celia.

“Are ye Celia?” she asked.

Celia nodded. “I am.”