Page 28 of Enchantment of a Highlander

She glanced down at her patient’s thin face and understood Alec’s concern. With the exception of glossy lips, Duncan looked no different than he had when she arrived. “Correct, I didn’t bleed him. I’ve never seen the process help anyone heal. Blood gives you strength. Bodies already weakened by illness need their strength.”

She sank to the floor and began separating the herbs into tea-sized portions for future use. “You’ll have to be patient—he will heal in time. I can speak to his parents if you like.”

Alec looked toward the boy and though he kept his face hard, there was affection in his stare. “His parents are dead, killed long before I met him.”

Celia stared up at the massive warrior. “You took him in?”

Not many people would take in an orphan.

She knew that better than most.

“Ach, the lad would’ve gotten himself killed, what with the way he chatters on and on. I couldna just leave him.” He shrugged as if what he’d done were some small deed. As if Duncan held no place in his heart.

The concern lining his brow said otherwise.

“Duncan will heal with time,” she said softly.

Alec’s gaze fell heavy on her, the way it had when he first came to her cottage.

“I want ye to stay here.” It was a command more than an invitation.

Celia stood and handed him the pack of dried herbs. “No.”

The muscles along his neck stood out, a clear indication of his feelings on her rejection.

“I need to return to my cottage and see to the herb garden.”

It was a partial truth.

How could she stay under the same roof as Alec, tortured by his alluring scent and the memories it evoked? How could she see him every day and keep from touching him?

How could she live among people again and not let herself care?

No, she was better off alone, depending only on herself.

• • •

Alec held the reins of his horse loosely to accommodate Celia’s slender body in the saddle in front of him. He rode slower than was necessary, to prolong their closeness.

She’d sat the entire way with her back stiff—every part of her keeping from touching every part of him.

Unbeknownst to her, tendrils of her hair swept across his arm as they moved, caressing him, enticing him to run his fingers over the glossy white-gold strands.

Her tattered dress hung loose on her body and made him all the more grateful he’d insisted she eat with them before leaving the castle.

She had dined slowly, her bites delicate and careful, but her shaking hands gave her away—the anxious, greedy tremor of a person who had not eaten in days.

The pale walls of her cottage came into view. She leaned forward. “Stop,” she said in a sharp whisper. “You must turn around.”

“Have ye changed yer mind?” he asked. A shot of hope flared through him.

“Someone else lives here.” The stiffness of her back sagged.

His horse continued to saunter forward at a leisurely pace. His chest bumped in a slight rhythm against her back with the steed’s gait, but Celia did not appear to notice.

“Why do ye say that?” he asked.

Her shoulders lifted and rose with a deep sigh and he knew she was gathering her strength to speak. “There is a new door, a new roof, and the garden has been tended to.” She shook her head. “I will not remove someone from their home when I abandoned it in the first place. Please, turn around.”