Page 58 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

The events of the night before still weighed too heavily on his mind for him to experience anything more than a restless, fleeting sleep, broken by dreams of the past, and his fears for the future. He’d lost track of how many times he’d woken with sweat pouring down his face, a memory of Constance’s death playing in his mind. And how many times he’d dreamed that it had been Niamh instead.

Alistair moved toward the outer room to stoke the fire. The washtub was long gone, of course, but the feelings evoked during the bath the night before remained, and they filled his thoughts now.

The feeling of Niamh washing his hair and tending to his back and shoulders had been comforting in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The last time he’d felt so gently and tenderly cared for had been when he had been a very small child. Back when his mother had been the one to wash his hair and aid him in bathing.

He had hoped that he and Niamh might one day have an amiable relationship with each other, even if he knew the curse meant they could never have a loving one. Last night, however, had proved that he might be mistaken - that they could have a loving relationship, though it might take the form of kindness and gentleness more than the heat of passion bards so often described.

That tenderness, that feeling of being loved and protected had been what had allowed him to speak, to tell Niamh as much as he had about Fergus MacTavish. He still hadn’t been able to tell her the full truth about what had happened to Constance, but he suspected she had some suspicions. After all, he’d told her at their first meeting that the ring she now wore had once belonged to a woman he loved. A woman who was no longer around.

And Niamh might join her, if she insists on stayin’. ‘Tis sweet o’ her, and brave, tae say she’ll nae run from the danger, but it means she’s in peril every moment she stays with me, and she’s nae even safe behind these walls.

That was what terrified him, that MacTavish had so easily slipped through his defenses with that poisoned sweet. And again, slipping sellswords disguised as bandits through his patrols to strike at her again. Perhaps Niamh could say she wasn’t frightened, but Alistair knew down to his bones that he was terrified of what might befall her.

He was terrified of losing her, and equally worried by the depth of his concern. He had no idea what depth of feeling, or what sort of love and strength of emotion might serve to activate the curse. He only knew that, if it was awakened, it was their doom - his, and likely hers as well.

The worst of it was, he wasn’t sure that even that knowledge could stop the growth of his feelings for the fiery young woman he’d claimed as his bride.

He was still thinking about the matter when Niamh emerged from the bedroom, already fully dressed. “Ye woke early.”

“Aye.” He wasn’t about to trouble her with his thoughts, however. “Just thinking where a likely spot might be tae harvest wood fer the fires and stones fer the rings.”

“Ye dinnae have cleared bonfire rings already? We always had one or two kept free o’ growth near Cameron Castle.”

Alistair snorted. “And so do we, but winter storms and the like are hard on the stones. I never kent a Samhain yet where some o’ the boundary stones didnae need tae be replaced. An, o’ course, there’s always an enterprising farmer or two who tak’s the stones from the rings to guard his fields and forgets tae put them back after the harvest.”

Niamh blinked. “Is that what happens tae them? Faither never did tell me.”

She smiled, and the expression was like a knife to Alistair’s heart. So sweet, and yet… he couldn’t allow himself to be drawn in by her beauty or that gentle warmth.

He turned away with a grunt. “Best eat yer breakfast. We’ve much tae dae taeday, and ‘tis tradition fer women tae choose the wood the men bring home, so they can share the luck o’ the Samhain fires.”

His voice was harsher than he meant it to be, but he made no effort to make it kinder. Gentleness would only encourage both of them to venture closer to lines that were better left uncrossed. Knowing that, however, didn’t stop the pang of guilt that hit him when he saw her unhappy expression.

The conversation after that faltered and died away, and they ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. Afterward, the two of them joined a small party of men and women going into the woods to gather the bonfire material. Alistair stopped Niamh when she would have saddled a horse for herself. “Ye’ll be ridin’ with me. We’ll want the spare horses f er the wood, and I dinnae want ye more than an arm’s length from me. There’s nae telling what might happen otherwise.”

“I’m perfectly fine ridin’ on me own.” Niamh scowled at him.

“Aye. And I still say ye’ll be ridin’ with me or stayin’ here with the colf who arenae going out fer the bonfire wood.” Alistair folded his arms and gave her the sternest look he was capable of managing. “So, what will it be?”

Niamh huffed. “All right.”

She was vexed with him, he knew. However, if there was danger about, or any chance of more sellswords out there, he had no desire to see her attacked by them. Better she be frustrated by his overprotectiveness - as she saw it - than be hurt or killed due to negligence.

The ride toward the wooded area they’d selected for collecting the wood for bonfires was a tense one. Niamh was visibly fuming in his arms as they rode, and by the time they’d reached the woods and dismounted, she had a look in her eyes that reminded him of their first days together, a look that hinted that she intended to make life as difficult as she could for him.

Sure enough, as soon as he suggested that she choose some likely trees to bring down, she turned to a large fallen log tangled in the undergrowth. “Och, why kill a tree, when ye’ve got a lovely piece o’ deadwood right here.”

She had a point, but when he readied the axe to split it into smaller pieces for transport, Niamh frowned at him. “Ye need large logs for the bonfires, or ye’ll have nae time fer the dancin’ or prayers, ye’ll be so busy tending tae them. Surely ‘twould be better tae tak’ it back like this.”

Alistair scowled at her. The log was a heavy one. It would need to be hitched to at least two horses, otherwise they would risk overburdening the animals. On the other hand, it could form the base for a sturdy pallet to drag more wood away at once. “All right.”

Alistair set the axe to one side, then reached down to grasp the log. As he’d expected, it was heavily tangled in the undergrowth around it. It was also large - too wide for his hands to wrap fully around it, and a good three feet long.

Most men would have needed help to pull such a heavy piece of wood free. Alistair suspected that was what Niamh was hoping, that he’d need help to lift it, and she’d be able to use that against him later. He wasn’t quite sure how she intended to use a need for assistance against him, but it was his best guess for why she’d insisted on that log, and requested it remain unbroken.

Alistair felt a grim smile tug one corner of his mouth. His lady was a devious one, but fortunately, in this case, she’d underestimated him.

He bent and got his arms wrapped securely around the log. Then, with a grunt of effort, he straightened his back and legs in one movement.