Page 28 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

With careful movements, he placed Elsea next to the firepit, then took his plaid from the rock ledge and belted it into place.

Elsea shivered, her teeth chattering.

She needed to be out of that wet smock, but... he hesitated. Maybe the heat from the fire would dry it soon.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a light squeeze. She stopped shivering. He frowned, wondering why that had happened.

Elsea?

Damnation! He couldn't even say her name. 'Twas like heaven and hell clashing and churning inside him.

'Twas as if someone had slammed a fist into his abdomen, knocking the breath from him. When he stood to inhale deeply, she shivered again.

"Lass? Wake up," he murmured. He knelt above her head, parted her hair, and found a bloody gash on her scalp. Had this happened when he and the selkies had knocked over the galley? Mayhap he was to blame, but they'd had to do it.

"Who is she?" Margaret demanded as she emerged from the deeper back cave. A spiteful glare radiated from her narrowed onyx eyes. Her face turned ruddy, and her black brows lowered.

She had grown grouchier and more demanding of late. At first, she'd been mysterious and beautiful, and an exciting, adventurous tryst. But now, she was acting as if she owned him. No one did. Soon, he would transport her to the mainland and send her on her way.

Rising, Brodie stood to his full height. "She was drowning in the sea, and I rescued her."

Margaret moved closer and glowered down at Elsea, then at him. "Do you ken who she is?"

"Aye, she's a chief's sister."

"A lady, then." Margaret's calculating eyes narrowed. "'Haps you should've let her drown."

Brodie scowled. "You've become a vicious harpy."

Margaret swung an open palm toward his face, but he caught her wrist. "'Tis time for you to go," he said through clenched teeth. "You've overstayed your welcome, and I tire of your waspishness. Tell me which clan you're from, and I'll have you returned to them."

"Nay! I'm staying. I refuse to let you replace me with that whore."

Had he not called Elsea that insulting moniker for the way she'd run away with another man? Aye, more than once. But he wouldn't abide Margaret doing it.

"I want neither of you!" he yelled. "I'm sick to death of faithless females."

Margaret drew back, blinking. "I'm nay faithless," she said in a submissive tone, though her eyes still glinted with ire. "I'm devoted to you alone, my love. I'll do anything you command me to do." She glanced down over his bare chest.

Her manipulation was obvious. Sometimes he could ignore such annoying behavior, but not this time. He was done with her, but she didn't need to know the extent of his disdain. 'Twould only increase her surliness, and he would see no peace this night.

"Go to sleep, Margaret," he said. "I'm going to sit here and make sure the lass wakes up. Do nay fash. She has a severe head injury. I'll nay be seducing her."

Margaret narrowed her eyes and shuffled toward her pallet.

Why the devil did she wish to be here, anyway, in a primitive cave, instead of a fancy castle? She had the speech of a lady. With her beauty, she could hook a wealthy aristocrat as a benefactor. Of course, she knew he was the MacCain clan chief, so mayhap she hoped to become his wife. Never.

He would soon need a wife to bear an heir and a spare, but he wanted no emotional attachment. Not after the torment Elsea had put him through. He glared down at her, unable to believe she was truly here. If he ever married, 'twould be a mere political arrangement.

A wife would be hard for him to find. Any Highland lady who didn't already know about his curse would soon learn of it through vicious gossip. Some of the nearby chiefs already knew about his predicament and would not be offering their daughters. Nay, they likely considered him an evil sorcerer.

He didn't give a damn. He crouched on the opposite side of the firepit, studying Elsea. The wound she'd inflicted on his soul was still an open gash. Hell, he'd thought he was over her. Had hoped he was.

Though she'd left him raw and bleeding, he still wanted her to open her eyes. He'd never wished death upon her.

With that head injury, she might not survive. He could've caused it by overturning the galley. If she didn't wake by the morn, he would ask Finnian to come. The physician would know what to do. Why had the old man chosen to stay the winter at Farspag? Had he seen some kind of warning in the keek stane?

Brodie rose and paced. The thought she might not live bore down on him. Even though his soul was still battered and bruised, if she were to die right now in front of him... how would he feel?