Page 56 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

She bit her lip and shook her head, obviously not understanding what was happening.

He didn't either.

"Come back soon," she said, her gaze imploring him.

"I will." How could he walk away from her? He wanted another kiss, a much longer one. But he couldn't, else he would be here all day. The more kisses he stole, the harder it would be to leave. "I promise," he said.

She nodded.

"Have a care."

"You, too." She squeezed his hand, looking worried. He lifted her hand and kissed the back.

Disturbed and befuddled, he forced himself to walk out to the bailey where Gavin and Torr awaited him.

"Did you speak to her father?" Torr asked, low.

Brodie was still reeling from his unexpected, near obsessive reaction to her. His own thoughts and feelings mystified him right now. What the hell had just happened to him?

Brodie shook his head. "I must think on it. I refuse to make a rash decision."

Once Brodie returned to Farspag, he did nothing but think. In fact, he could hardly sleep. He wished he could talk to her now, kiss her, and far more. If he didn't act quickly, some other chief or laird would wed her, for she was stunning.

Six nights of contemplating, imagining, stewing, and yearning was all he could tolerate. He must see her again and ask her father for her hand.

A few years earlier, when Brodie's father had been alive, he'd shown Brodie two golden rings passed down through their family. Different grandmothers had worn them over the centuries. One had a beautiful sapphire setting which reminded Brodie of Elsea's darkened blue eyes after he'd kissed her. He would give it to her as a betrothal ring.

He took a party of ten MacCain clansmen with him. He didn't wish to notify Gavin or Torr. They were probably busy. Besides, they would tease him mercilessly, and he had to think clearly in making this important decision.

He hoped he wasn't too besotted to make a rational judgment on the matter.

And he hoped he didn't regret it.

***

THE THIN, REDHEAD WOMAN strode toward Elsea in the dim corridor. She reached for the dirk on her belt but found none. The knife sheaths on her forearms were empty, too. Blast it!

The hag's green eyes glinted in the wavering candlelight when she stopped three feet away. "I told you, daft lass, to return to your clan and leave this place!"

"You are the witch," Elsea said. "I ken the truth now."

"Och, indeed?" The witch smirked. "Well, the truth is I will kill Brodie MacCain if you do not vacate Farspag."

"Nay! Leave him be! What has he done to you?"

"That is none of your concern."

"You have threatened me, too. I deserve to ken why."

"You wish to know? Very well."

A violent battle scene crashed into Elsea's mind, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled on her hands and knees among the pine needles at the edge of the fighting. What a time to have no knives or swords. Gasping for breath, she crawled behind a rough barked tree trunk and peered out.

Sword in hand, Brodie slashed and thrust at enemies attacking him from all sides. He struck a killing blow.

A scream threatened to burst out, but she was too terrified to even breathe. Something forced her head to turn, to focus on a young, bearded man she didn't know who fought Gavin MacTavish.

His face bleeding, Gavin used his targe to knock the enemy's sword away, then cut his throat with the dirk. The man fell backward and lay yelling and jerking on the ground, bleeding.