Page 47 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“Laird MacLean did not seem well when I saw him yesterday,” Celia said carefully. “These are for him.” While she had no desire to see Alec, she could at least aid in chasing away the pain of the previous night’s intoxication.

“Ach, that’s sweet of ye, lass.” Wynda took the herbs and sniffed at them. Her nose twitched. “What’s in this?”

“Skullcap for his headache, some ginger to ease any stomach discomfort he might have, and St. John’s wort to improve his mood.”

“An improved mood, ye say? I think that might be in order after all.” Wynda winked.

She glanced at Duncan, who had fallen asleep again, and leaned closer to Celia. The aroma of freshly baked bread hovered around the woman. “Between ye and me, the laird has too much he’s trying to take on. He’s hard on himself, especially after yesterday. I dinna think I’ve seen him so upset.”

Wynda’s eyes shadowed with concern and the line on her brow had returned. “I havena seen the laird drink a drop of liquor since he’s been home. No until last night…” Wynda twisted her hands together. Flour clung to the cuticles of her nails. “This will help him relax a wee bit also?”

Celia rummaged through her basket until she found the slender vial of valerian root oil. She’d brought it in case Duncan had been in pain or upset from fever.

“Have him put a drop or two of this in his ale at supper each evening, but not in tea. The hot water will dilute the effect.” She set the small bottle in Wynda’s outstretched hand. “He’ll complain about the smell, no doubt, but it will help.”

Wynda tucked the vial into the swell of her bosom and patted her hand over the location, as if to secure it. “He can complain all he wants, but I’ll make sure he drinks it.”

Celia looked down at her basket to avoid eye contact. “What happened yesterday?” she asked. She shouldn’t have, yet she could not quell her curiosity.

The idea of Alec going to visit Laird MacDougall had writhed in her thoughts all night.

It tangled with the events that transpired between them and kept sleep at bay.

“The laird dinna like what he heard.” Wynda swiped at a streak on her apron. “But ye can ask him yerself.”

Celia regarded the cook with questioning uncertainty.

Wynda nodded toward the door with a cheeky grin. “He’s right behind ye.”

Chapter Fourteen

Alec leaned against the doorframe of Duncan’s room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so damn tired.

Celia turned and looked at him with her wide, mystical stare. A spike of adrenaline shot through him.

“Celia.” He loved saying her name, even now when it came out low and deep like he’d woken from a long slumber. “Celia, I need to speak with ye.”

She tried to keep her face expressionless, but he knew her too well now. He’d watched her too much, had studied her beautiful face too often to not notice her lips tighten ever so slightly.

His heart went to lead.

She didn’t want to see him.

A soft, grating groan came from somewhere in the room and both women looked toward the bed.

Alec straightened, his pulse a wild thrumming of a hope he dared not believe.

“Was that Duncan?” he asked.

A smiled bloomed over Wynda’s face so wide it bared all the gaps with unabashed obliviousness. “He’s awake,” she said, and quietly clapped her hands in rapid succession.

Alec stepped into the room and let his eyes fall on the boy. What he’d been expecting was a frail shell, white with the lingering threat of death.

He opened his mouth, but found his throat too clogged to speak.

Duncan’s color had returned to a normal pallor. This wasn’t the face of a boy near death; this was the face of a boy who would live.

The room faded away and even Celia faded with it.