Page 95 of Enchantment of a Highlander

She wanted to lie with the debris on the floor and weep for all she’d lost—both the things taken from her and what she’d just given up. But she knew she could not.

The urge to move on, to press forward and survive, thrummed insistently in her veins. It forced her into the ravaged cottage, to find what was salvageable.

Ghosts of peat smoke clung to the air and mingled with the sweet scent of fresh lumber. The unique smell had once marked the sturdy hut as home. The aroma now churned in her stomach and brought on a wave of nausea.

She didn’t have time for mourning. Whoever had done this would doubtless be back.

She picked her way through the broken drawers, purposefully ignoring the way the once-luxurious bed had been slashed with an angry blade.

Few supplies remained intact, but she managed to recover several needles and a few rolls of linen. The rest would be left for whatever outlaws raided her home later.

Aside from the ravages of winter and abandonment, her garden had remained untouched. For that she was grateful.

She lowered herself to the snarls of weeds and dying plants on legs that trembled with exhaustion. A few pokes and prods revealed the healthy green buds of several herbs trying to live.

The steady crunch of leaves sounded behind her, but Ruadh did not stir at her side. Whoever was there was no enemy.

Celia squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears. “I’m not coming back, Alec.”

“I’m no Alec,” a male voice wavered and pitched behind her.

Duncan.

She looked over her shoulder and found his gaze sliding over the cottage.

“If Alec sent you to fetch me back, you’ve wasted your time.” She refocused on the herbs, trying to harvest of the dried leaves what she could. It was easier to work with her hands than to figure out her next move.

She had nowhere to go.

If leaving the Isle of Mull had been difficult in the autumn, it would be impossible in the winter. Despite her better judgment, her gaze shifted toward her broken home and despair stabbed into her heart.

“Alec doesna know I came.” The rustling grass grew louder and marked Duncan’s approach. “I came because ye left without telling me ye were going.” A pack fell beside her and he folded himself to the ground in a pile of lanky legs and jutting elbows.

Celia looked over at him and found his eyes brilliant green with a sheen of tears. “Ye canna leave us.” He swallowed and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed under the skin of his throat. “We love ye, Celia.”

His words squeezed at her bruised heart and the plants in front of her smeared in a watery blur.

She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t go back.”

“Alec dinna…” he said after a pause, “he dinna…was he no good to ye?”

Celia spun around to face Duncan in horror. “It was nothing Alec did. He was good to me.” The very thought made her want to bury her face in her palms and cry until there was no hurt left.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” she shook her head. “It hurts too much to explain.”

“Ye dinna have to say yer reason to me if ye dinna want to.” His hand settled on hers, hot and sweaty, as if he too had run there. “Ye canna stay here.”

Celia nodded, unable to speak around her own anguish.

“I know where ye can go, though.” He pulled at the pack he’d thrown on the ground. “And I brought ye some bread and cheese to last ye a couple days.”

She stared down at his innocent face and the affection shimmering in his eyes. This boy she’d cared for and nurtured was now trying to care for and nurture her.

Already he sacrificed too much in coming to her. “Duncan—”

“Nay,” he said sharply, and his jaw hardened with the same stubborn display of authority Alec’s so often did. “I willna send ye to yer death in the middle of winter with no food or shelter. I know where Niall and the other men lived. They told me after they came to live in the castle. I can take ye there.” He shrugged. “It isna much, but it’s warm. And it’s safe.”

Celia’s protests faltered.