Page 52 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Niamh’s eyes flicked to his hand, then back to him. She seemed aware, but she made no move to take his hand, or step toward him.

“Niamh? Lass?” He stepped closer, and she twitched backward.

The response hurt for a moment, then Alistair realized what the problem was. His hands were covered in blood, from the blade and spear, and his clothes were splattered as well. He must look like something out of a nightmare to her.

Ewan appeared at his side and handed him a water skin. “Clean yer hands, braither. Ye’re enough tae scare a banshee intae taking flight from ye in this state.” Alistair nodded and took the skin gratefully. “Ye want me tae tak’ the blackguard back on me horse?”

“Can ye? I’d give ye mine, but I dinnae ken if she’s hurt yet…”

“Och, let me sling me bird over yer horse’s haunch, and I can put him over the saddle like a load o’ brush.” There was grim amusement in Ewan’s tone. “’Twill dae his head and his stomach nae good, but I’m nae thinkin’ either o’ us much mind that.”

“I dinnae.” Alistair shook his head. “Nae at all.”

“Then I’ll be off, and I’ll find Catriona and let her ken ye’ll be comin’ back, with the lass in need o’ a calming tea, if naught else.” Ewan eyed the horses. “An’ I’ll tell the stable boys tae ready a cleanin’ trough fer the horses.”

“Aye. Thank ye.” Alistair nodded, then took a ragged cloth from one of the bandits and set to work cleaning the worst of the blood off his face and hands.

It was still all over his clothing, soaking through to the skin and streaking his hair and the back of his neck, but at least his hands looked less as if he’d been fighting, and more as if he’d accidentally dipped them in cherry juice by the time he finished.

Niamh was still staring at him wide-eyed, and she hadn’t moved. Alistair sighed and moved closer, stopping just out of reach. “Dae ye ken who I am?”

“Aye. Alistair.” She swallowed. “Me husband.”

“Aye. That’s me.” He extended a hand toward her. “Can ye tak’ me hand, now I’ve cleaned the blood off?”

Her gaze flicked to his hand, then to his face, then his hand again. Her face was still pale as fresh cream, and her breathing ragged. After a long moment, however, she did put her hand in his and allow him to pull her forward, past the twisted bodies of her assailants.

“Good. That’s good, lass.” Alistair kept his voice low and soothing. “Did they say anything tae ye? Or get a hand on ye?”

From the way she shuddered, they’d most certainly said something, but her clothing was undamaged, and when she spoke, it was with a quick shake of her head. “Nay. They didnae… there wasnae time.”

“All right. That’s good.” Alistair drew her closer to the horse. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“I need… me basket…” Niamh turned around, and Alistair saw the partially filled basket of herbs. “And the shears…”

“I have them.” Alistair collected both items and tied them to his saddle. “Now will ye come with me?”

Niamh took a step toward the horse, then stopped, arrested by the sight of the blood that liberally flecked the front legs. She stumbled backward, her face losing what little color it had. “Nay. I willnae ride. There’s… I dinnae want tae.” She shuddered.

Abruptly, he remembered what little she’d told him of her nightmares. Blood. She often saw blood. The circumstances were different, but then, he knew quite well how sometimes a random sight could bring back horrible memories.

On the other hand, it was at least half a candle-mark’s walk back to the castle, if not longer, and the light was fading fast. “The horse is the easiest way tae get home.”

Niamh shook her head. “Nay. I dinnae want… I’ll nae ride.” She turned and started to walk in the direction of MacDuff Castle. Or rather, she tried to.

Her first step, she stumbled, and Alistair heard her make a soft, pained sound. She tried again, and this time he could clearly see that she was favoring her left ankle.

Visions of broken bones or torn muscles flashed through his head. “Ye cannae walk all the way tae the castle with yer ankle injured.”

“I dinnae want tae ride, I told ye.”

“Ye’ll hurt yerself further.”

She might be pale as milk and shaking slightly from the shock, but Niamh still had spirit enough to argue with him. “And I’ll do worse if I try tae jump off the horse while ‘tis moving. An’ I will, if ye try tae force me tae ride.”

“Och, fer the love o’...” Alistair scowled at her, then tied the lead rein for the horse to his belt with a soft command to the horse, before striding forward to scoop her in his arms. “Fine. Ye dinnae have tae ride, but ye’ll nae be walkin’ either.”

“Alistair! Put me down!”