Page 33 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

"Try to speak," he urged.

Hesitating, Elsea nodded, then attempted to make an ahh sound, at least. But nothing happened, except a burning ache in her throat.

"I must get her to Farspag and Finnian," Brodie said.

"Nay!" Wilona shrieked. "He will kill the lass."

"Are you mad? You don't even ken Finnian. He's a physician."

"I know of him. He's an evil sorcerer."

Elsea's second cousin Torr had an elder clansman named Finnian who was a physician. Why was he at Farspag instead of with the MacPherson clan?

"He has special abilities, but he's nay evil. I'll take you to the mainland," Brodie told Elsea. "Back away, Margaret! Leave her be."

The witch threw her hands into the air, whirled, and stormed toward the other cavern, mumbling more sinister ancient Gaelic words in a guttural tone. She paused in the opening and turned to glower at Elsea.

Warm liquid dripped from the ceiling onto Elsea's head. Cringing aside, she swiped her hand over her hair and found it covered in dark blood. She tried to gasp, but no sound emerged.

Her thoughts vanished as she stared at the blood.

She could not figure out why blood stained her hand, or—she glanced around—where she stood.

'Twas as if swirling mist off the sea flooded into her mind. She knew she was Elsea MacAuley. She remembered her parents, her brothers, and her clan. Her home was at Kincreag. But this place and these two people... she had no memory of them.

Chapter 7

Elsea gaped at the handsome, dark-haired man. Why was he shirtless and wearing only a plaid belted about his hips? His golden tan skin and the well-developed muscles of his arms and torso, marred with a few white battle scars, proclaimed he was a powerful warrior—more fearsome than any of her brothers. With a concerned frown, he glanced down at Elsea's blood-covered palm, then up into her eyes. "Come, lass. You've had a horrible head injury." He offered his hand. What was his name? Who was he? He observed her as if he knew her and as if... looking into her eyes pained him.

He cocked his head sideways. "Are you well?"

She didn't know. Nay, she was not well. She shook her head slightly, so as not to cause herself more discomfort. How had she gotten here... wherever here was? Firelight glimmered over the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, the stone walls, and the gritty dirt floor. The wood smoke did nothing to conceal the dank, musty scent. Why on earth was she in a cave?

"My clansmen arrived with a birlinn," he said.

Dare she trust him?

"I'll take you to Farspag, where the physician can help you. Do you remember Finnian?"

She shook her head. The name sounded familiar, but she could not visualize his face. Regardless, a physician could be good or bad, depending on how ancient his methods were. Would he bleed her?

"When will you be back, Brodie, my love?" the woman asked.

"I have nay inkling," he growled, showing he cared naught about her. Why were they here together?

"May I come with you?" the woman asked with forced sweetness.

"Nay, I'll return for you later, Margaret."

"Very well." She gave a demure smile that did not reach her eyes. "I'll patiently await your return, my sweet."

Was Margaret in love with this man she'd called Brodie? Or only using him? Could he see her deception?

"Come, lass. Can you walk?" He motioned to Elsea.

She nodded.

Brodie took her hand—the one without blood on it—in his warm one and drew it around his bare arm above the elbow. Her fingers pressed against the base of his hard, bulging biceps muscle. His hot skin almost burned her, but maybe that was because her own hands were so icy. He led her toward the cave's exit and into the soft dawn light.