Page 56 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

He whirled around with a snarl, his other fist already raised to his shoulder before he recognized the voice that had called his name. The red haze faltered, and the world seemed to tumble back into place with a feeling like ice water had been dumped over his head.

Ewan stood holding him tightly, his eyes wide and his expression stricken. “Stop, braither. That’s enough.”

Alistair shuddered. “Ewan…” His voice was raw and wrecked. Was I screaming?

A low whimper caught his attention, and Alistair turned to look at the sellsword. He flinched at the sight before him.

The man had been beaten to a bloody ruin. Worse, Alistair knew by the aching in his fists and the blood splattered across him that he’d been the one to do it. Certainly, there was plenty of damage from the interrogation proceedings, but the bruised, split wounds that rendered the man’s face unrecognizable and turned his torso black and blue and swollen - those were Alistair’s doing.

“’Tis enough. We have the name.” Ewan gripped his shoulder tight, voice low and urgent as if he feared Alistair was going to launch another attack on the man, or on Ewan himself. “Go on. Clean yerself up, spend some time remindin’ yerself that yer lass is well, safe and unharmed.”

“Nae unharmed… her ankle…”

“Ye ken as well as I that ‘tis naething compared tae the things yer thinkin’ o’. Go. She’s waitin’ fer ye, and ye need her more than ye need tae be here.”

Alistair blinked, but in the wake of his outburst, he could feel weariness flooding in, and his hands were beginning to shake with reaction. He felt sick at his loss of control, no matter how justified. “We need tae…”

“Dinnae fret. I’ll tak’ care o’ matters here. A knife tae the heart and a proper burial, as promised. An’ I’ll go tae the women fer a Samhain charm fer ye, if ‘twill ease yer burden. One more prayer willnae trouble anyone.”

For one very brief moment, he was tempted to argue that he was the laird and it was his responsibility to handle such matters. Then his common sense caught up with him, as did his weariness. Ewan was right. They had the information they needed, and his brother could handle cleaning up the mess.

He needed to see Niamh, to know she was all right, and reaffirm that the nightmare was not happening again - that she was alive and safe.

All at once, he needed her like he needed air to breathe. “Ye’re right.” He heaved out a sigh from the bottom of his soul and nodded to Ewan. “I’ll leave this in yer hands.”

Ewan offered him a tight, grim little smile, more like a knife slash than an expression of any kind of amusement or happiness and turned away. Alistair saw him draw his dagger and hurried from the room.

He’d seen men die. Killed men as well. But what he’d done - beating a man who had already surrendered and could not fight back - felt unclean. It didn’t seem right for him to take the man’s final breath from him as well.

The first servant - one of the young men in training to serve the laird - gasped when he saw him. Alistair winced, knowing he must look terrible, like one of Morrigan’s warriors come to life and roaming the halls. “Tell the maids tae have a bath brought up tae me quarters.”

The boy gulped, bowed, and darted away. Alistair grimaced at his red-drenched hands and made his way toward a little used staircase where he’d be unlikely to encounter anyone.

He needed to see Niamh, for his own peace of mind, but he shuddered to think of how she would respond when she saw him.

Niamh wasn’t sure which was worse - waiting for information or the faint screams she thought she sometimes heard echoing through the stone. More than once, she considered leaving to seek out answers, but there were guards at the door, and she knew they most likely had orders not to let her leave, or to accompany her wherever she might try to go.

And there were the screams - the implications of which chilled her to her bones.

Not to mention her ankle, which was well cared for, but still uncomfortable to stand on or walk on for very long.

Desperate as she was to learn what was happening, she almost jumped out of her skin when a quartet of servants arrived with a large bathing tub. “I didnae order a bath.”

“’Tis for Laird MacDuff.” The young serving boy in the lead bowed to her. “He’ll be here soon, and he commanded us tae have a bath made ready fer him.”

Niamh’s heart leaped. It was all she could do to wait patiently while the bath was filled and the servants laid out the towels and soap that Alistair seemed to favor.

Alistair arrived moments after the last of the servants left - almost as if he’d been waiting for them to leave. Niamh hurried to his side as fast as her aching ankle would allow. “Alistair? What did he say? Were they brigands, or…”

Niamh swallowed hard. She wanted to believe the men had been bandits, but… someone had tried to kill her on her wedding night. Alistair hadn’t said anything more on the matter, but after that night, and what she’d heard about his previous lover, she feared for her life.

Alistair was silent. Niamh reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Alistair, please. Tell me. What is goin’ on? Those men… the poison at the wedding feast… what is it ye’re nae tellin’ me?”

Alistair blinked, and she realized he’d been so lost in thought he might as well have not noticed her presence. Then he looked down and shuddered. “I need a bath. Then… mayhap we’ll talk.”

It was only then that Niamh noticed the red stains across his face, his hair, and his clothing. His hands were also crimson, and the smell of iron and smoke hung about him.

She’d been so focused on seeking answers, she hadn’t noticed. Now that she did, Niamh could feel her stomach churning slightly. And yet…