Page 41 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Waking up beside a pretty lass in his bed wasn’t a new sensation for Alistair. Waking up with an aching arousal that he had to take care of himself was somewhat more unusual.

The hard part was retrieving the sheet to smear blood on it, without waking Niamh. Fortunately for him, she slept soundly. Even better, he had no difficulty finding the place where her release had spilled on the sheets. He smeared some blood on the sheet, then set it close to the fire to dry. The rest of the blood he disposed of with a quick, furtive trip to the midden.

Niamh was just stirring when he returned, and a maid was laying out breakfast on the table beside the fire. Alistair barely managed to contain his smirk as red bloomed over Niamh’s cheeks. “Good morning, wife.”

There was a flurry of movement under the coverlet, then Niamh emerged, grabbed a warm over-robe, and joined him at breakfast, still blushing. “Good morning.”

Her glance went to the sheet, and her color deepened. “Why is that here? The servants will talk.”

“Aye. They’ll talk, but in this case, ‘tis better they dae. Word spreadin’ among the maid means ‘tis less likely that anyone will guess at a deception.” Alistair sighed. He didn’t like lying to his people, but he liked the idea of forcing an unwilling woman even less.

Breakfast passed quietly, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts and plans for the day. Once he’d finished eating, Alistair rose to his feet. “I need tae get tae the Council meeting. Ye should tak’ the time tae rest from our journey, but if ye feel up tae doin’ so, feel free tae wander and get tae ken the castle, and some o’ the folk who live here. If ye need aid, ask one o’ the servants, or find Catriona. I’m sure she’ll be more than willing tae help ye.”

Niamh nodded. Alistair stood awkwardly for a moment, then collected the sheet and left the room, feeling oddly unsettled by the whole morning.

The Council chamber was full, despite the fact that it was barely past breakfast. Alistair scowled at the expectant faces. They put him in mind of carrion crows, waiting for men to pass away on the battlefield so they could enjoy what was left.

Alistair tossed the sheet onto the table, making sure the reddish stain was visible. “As ye can see, the marriage has been consummated. I hope that settles yer concerns?”

“Nae so much as a child would, but ye couldnae ken if the lass is with child yet.” Connor smiled at him. “I kent ye’d dae yer duty by the clan, lad. Congratulations on yer marriage, and may it be a fruitful one.”

“A toast tae the Laird and Lady, and the hope o’ many more tae come!” Evan Dearmont rose from the table and went to a side cabinet to produce cups, and a bottle of whiskey.

“A toast!” The rest of the council surged to their feet as well. Moments later, Alistair found himself enveloped in a sea of congratulatory handshakes and shoulder clasps. Drinks were poured and passed around, and toasts to his health, Niamh’s health, and the health of heirs to come were drunk.

Alistair sat stoically through the celebration, trying not to show his distaste for it, or his unease. He felt like a traitor, lying to the Council this way, but what else could he do? His conscience wouldn’t let him force Niamh into something she was so terrified of, and this was the only way they would leave him alone.

At least he’d managed to give Niamh some pleasure, perhaps enough that she wouldn’t be as frightened of further moments of intimacy. In time, perhaps she would reach the point where pleasure outweighed fear.

Alistair escaped the chamber as soon as he was able. He needed time to think, and time to plan. Fergus MacTavish had made a bold move, trying to poison his bride in the middle of the wedding feast. It demanded a response, but without more information, he couldn’t be sure what was the correct one. Without proof of wrongdoing, any response he made could be taken as overly aggressive action, even with the feud between them. The border wars had made the Highland clans, as a whole, far less tolerant of bloodshed without good reason – the warriors were needed for fighting the English, not fighting amongst themselves.

“Ye’ve a face like a thundercloud this morn, braither. What disturbs ye so?” It took every bit of his control for Alistair not to jump like a startled foal. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized Ewan was following him.

He recovered his composure as the two of them emerged from the castle proper, into the courtyard, and started across to the stables. “There’s plenty tae occupy me mind, as ye well ken. MacTavish, among other things.”

“Aye. MacTavish is a problem, and one that needs solving sooner or later, but I’d wager good silver that’s nae what made yer expression so sour in Council this morn.”

Alistair considered his brother’s words as they saddled their horses. He was tempted to brush Ewan’s words aside, and pretend he had no notion of what the other man was talking about. However, he knew Ewan would keep asking questions. He was one of the few people in the castle who wouldn’t be deterred by a show of temper.

Finally, he sighed and resigned himself to telling his brother part of the truth. “I dinnae like the situation with Niamh. I dinnae like the fact that she’s in danger, just fer marryin’ me. I tried nae tae think o’ it, but poison at the weddin’ feast put an end tae that.”

“Aye. ‘Tis worrisome. But nae everything on yer mind.”