Page 48 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

He hadn’t meant to hit Ewan. He also knew that, if he stayed long enough for his brother to pick himself up off the floor, there’d be more blows exchanged, if not weapons drawn. There was no point talking to Ewan when his younger brother was in such a mood.

For that matter, Alistair found himself disinclined to talk to anyone either. He didn’t know why Ewan had decided to press the matter. He didn’t care either. He was tired of dancing around everyone’s expectations.

“Finish checking the weapons. I dinnae want tae see ye until the task is completed, unless ‘tis fer meals or Council meetings.”

“Tha’s nae…”

“That’s an order, from Laird MacDuff tae his second-in-command. Ye’ll follow it, unless ye want me tae find someone else tae fill yer place.” It was a threat he hated to make, but Ewan was beyond reason, and he’d clearly been prepared to overstep the bounds that even the laird’s younger brother might cross.

Ewan glared at him, but after a moment, his eyes dropped. Alistair took it as a sign of agreement, and left the armory before one or both of them could do something else foolish.

He’d have to make it up to Ewan later - after his brother had cooled his head enough to realize how badly he’d been about to err - but that wasn’t his only problem.

How many others had seen what Ewan had seen, there in the courtyard? How many others might guess his feelings for Niamh were beginning to blossom into something more than mere ‘convenience’?

And even more concerning - what was he supposed to do about it?

Picking the herbs had been an interesting task in its own right, but Niamh found that actually using them was even more so. She, together with several other women of the castle, worked to rub the blend of fennel, wild garlic, salt, sorrel and sage into the slabs of raw meat after it had been butchered. From there, the cook supervised several young men in taking each finished piece to the smoking hut, where wood gathered by teams of men was waiting to be lit.

The task itself became tedious after a while, but with the company of the clan women it was much more enjoyable. Once they got over their surprise at seeing the Lady of the clan in such menial tasks, the women were quick to welcome her into the group and introduce themselves.

Niamh’s work partner was an older woman named Moira, a cheerful woman who appeared to be roughly her father’s age, with gray-streaked brown hair braided down her back and smile lines crinkling the corners of her mouth and eyes.

Catriona was working with another woman of about Moira’s age, by the name of Shannon. The last two women were somewhere in the middle in terms of ages and introduced themselves as Eileen and Rose.

All four of them proved quite willing to tell stories, once they’d got used to her presence. Shannon, in particular, seemed to have no problem telling stories that might embarrass her laird.

“Och, dinnae fret yer head about bein’ perfect lass. Laird Alistair may be stern, a good warrior and a good laird, but he’s nay paragon. Why, I remember the first year he was old enough tae have proper spirits, instead o’ mead and beer…” Shannon grinned, and the rest of the women smiled in a shared fond memory.

“What happened?”

“He drank half a bottle - didnae ken how tae pace himself, the young fool that he was. Then, when it was time fer the gatherin’ by the river tae build the Samhain bonfires, he was so drunk and blusterin’ so tae hide it from his faither, that he fell straight intae the water.” Shannon snickered. “Ye can imagine, the water sobered him right up, chilled as it was!”

“Aye. I remember it.” Rose grinned. “He was shiverin’ like tae freeze, but his face was red as this meat, and I thought steam would come from his ears fer sheer embarrassment!”

“Aye. And his faither too busy tryin’ tae decide whether he needed tae give his son a lecture or tae laugh, so that in the end he just had tae walk off and tak’ his place and try tae pretend he wasnae wet through and ready tae sink intae the ground.”

The women laughed, and Niamh did as well, remembering the day she and Alistair had fallen into the wide stream, and the way he’d indulged her desire for mischief. It appeared to be a habit of Laird MacDuff’s.

“Do ye remember the year Ewan convinced all the lads in the castle tae go guising as Laird MacDuff? ‘Twas a sight tae see, all the serving lads dressed in their kilts and shirts and caps, tryin’ as hard as they could tae look like ‘proper lairds’.”

Niamh could imagine it. “How did Alistair tak’ it?”

“Och, ‘twas years and years ago, and he was serving at his faither’s side, so o’ course he was right there playing along with them.” Shannon smiled. “His laird father was sore bemused, but he had each o’ them given a honey cake and a copper farthing, his sons included.”

Eileen nodded. “I remember when Laird Alistair was learnin’ tae carve his first neep lanterns on his own. I was only a wee young lass at the time, but…”

“But he cut his hand, and ‘twas hard tae say what tae react tae first - the blood on the lantern, or the look on his face when the juice o’ the onion got intae the cut. His eyes were waterin’ so, but he refused tae cry. But there was nae gettin’ the color out o’ the onion, and it made for a fair peculiar sight that Samhain.” Moira finished the story with a soft, nostalgic smile.

Niamh could well imagine the scene - a young Alistair, his hand bleeding, his jaw clenched and his cheeks red, eyes watering as he fought back a whimper of pain. Onion juice in an open wound was no laughing matter, and it must have stung fiercely.

Catriona was next to speak, wiping her hands as she and Shannon finished one slab of meat. “Mind ye, our laird is nae the only one tae get intae mischief in Samhain season - or any other. I recall, me first year herb-gatherin’, ‘twas one young lass who tripped right intae a bed o’ nettles…”

Niamh winced. “That must have hurt…”

“Och, it certainly did, and her pride most o’ all, I think. But ‘twas how I got me first lesson in poultice making, for the old healer was with us, and she showed me how tae find the plants and a little mud tae soothe the stinging.”

The stories branched from there, each woman sharing their memories of Samhains of the past. Then the talk turned to guising costumes of previous years, and from there to the dresses they planned to make for the coming Samhain Night.