Page 68 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Niamh woke in a pensive mood. Alistair’s words lingered in her mind, as did Sorcha’s, tangled with her own thoughts and feelings, her desires and uncertainties until she could no longer sort them out in her head.

Alistair was as thoughtful as she, and as kind as he had been last night, he made no effort to demand answers from her when he realized her state of mind. The two of them shared a quiet morning meal, then Alistair left to tend to the business of being a laird, and Niamh was left alone with her thoughts.

Carefully, she considered what was troubling her. The lack of a letter from her father was one looming point of distress. However, Alistair had been right that it would take even the swiftest messenger several days to traverse the distance between her father’s castle and Alistair’s. Even in the best of weather, it could not be accomplished in under a seven-day, not unless the messenger was heedless of his horse and himself.

So there was still time before Samhain. The letter might arrive any moment. There was no point in mourning, or stewing in regret, until Samhain night arrived without a letter. And even if that happened, she could send her own letter to the fires. She’d been working on it for several days, writing down her thoughts and feelings in a heartfelt confession to her mother’s spirit.

The other greatest point of distress was her own increasing desire for intimacy with Alistair, coupled with her fear of the consequences. She wanted to be a proper wife to him, and yet, the idea of a child… of the rigors of childbirth… it still made fear churn in her gut.

She recalled what Sorcha had said to her. Speak to Catriona and Moira. Catriona would be the easiest to speak to. She was a healer after all. She’d probably heard many women express similar fears, and there was no telling how many babes she’d helped into the world, including her own.

That was the place to start in finding peace within her own mind. Determined to make the effort before her resolve faltered, Niamh gathered her cloak and shoes, then left her room.

She was fortunate enough to find Catriona alone in the healer’s cottage. Her cousin smiled as she entered. “Niamh. Didnae think I’d see ye until we gathered this afternoon fer work on the Samhain dresses.”

“I… if I’m interrupting yer work…” Niamh paused, feeling suddenly embarrassed as she recalled that Catriona had her own duties and family to see to. As much as she wanted to seek the healer’s counsel, she didn’t want to be too much of a burden on Catriona’s time. The other woman had already sacrificed much of it for her.

“Ye’re nae. But if ye’re concerned, ye can assist me with these while we discuss whatever it is that troubles ye.”

That was something she could do. Niamh’s knowledge of herbs and the like was nowhere as great as Catriona’s, but she had learned the basics of herb lore, and making simples and basic tonics for her father’s clan. She stepped further into the cottage and shed her cloak. “What do ye need?”

“Bundling herbs tae dry them. I use colored ribbons tae identify them more easily.” Catriona pointed her to a pile of colored ribbons. “Help me sort these and bind them tae hang in the rafters.”

Niamh set to work, finding the task soothing in the concentration and focus required. After a few moments, Catriona spoke. “Dae ye wish tae tell me what brings ye tae me, with such a troubled look on yer face this morn?”

“Aye. I…” It was hard to frame the words. She wasn’t sure how to explain without sounding childish or cowardly, at least to her own ears. Finally, she decided a roundabout approach was best. “When ye realized ye were with child… were ye frightened?”

“Nervous, mayhap.” Catriona gave her a sidelong look. “I think every woman is a bundle o’ nerves when she discovers she’s carryin’ a bairn, be it her first or her tenth,” She studied Niamh. “Dae ye think ye are…?”

“Nay. ‘Tis nae the case. ‘Tis only…” Niamh swallowed. “Afore ye kent ye were with child… were ye ever afeared?”

“Och, I was affeared o’ many things. Including the thought that I’d never be able tae bear a child fer me beloved. Why dae ye ask?”

“I was wondering… were ye afraid… o’ the birth?”

“Nae particularly… nae until the first contractions hit, and I kent it was truly time. That was nigh terrifying. But I was in good hands throughout, and I kent that I would be all right. ‘Twas still nae easy, but ‘twas worth it in the end.”

Hearing that Catriona, of all people, had been frightened, however briefly, was enough to help Niamh say the words she’d barely confessed to anyone, save Alistair. “I’m terrified.”

“O’ what?”

“Bearing a child. Bein’ with child and bringin’ one intae the world.” Niamh forced the words out in a rush. “Me maither… she died in childbirth. Mine. And I… ever since I kent that… I’ve been… just the thought…” She stopped, swallowing hard against the familiar sensation of nausea and terror that came with thinking of it.

Catriona set down her herbs and moved to wrap Niamh in an embrace, her expression full of compassion. “Och, lass… have ye been struggling with this since the wedding?”

Niamh nodded, her cheeks flushing. “Aye. Ever since I was a child. I didnae even want tae be wed, because I kent that any man I married would expect me tae bear him children, especially if I married a laird or an heir, as I was expected tae dae. And I couldnae… there are nae many men who’d care how I felt…”

“Alistair’s one o’ the ones who would. Or if he’s nae, tell me, and I’ll be putting herbs in his mead tae make him incapable o’ considering the matter fer the next fortnight.” Catriona’s vehemence brought a reluctant smile to Niamh’s face.

“He’s been kind about it. He kent I was afraid… I had nightmares during our journey.”

“Ye’re afraid enough tae have nightmares?” Catriona’s voice was quiet and gentle. “Bad ones?”

“I’ll wake screaming, often as nae.” Niamh confessed.

“What sort o’ nightmares?” Catriona guided her to sit on one of the cots in the cottage. “Can ye tell me?”

“They’re… nae all the same, but similar. I’m alone, heavy with child, tryin’ tae give birth. There’s… some sort o’ commotion or a storm or something… awful noise and light, drownin’ out any effort I make tae call for help. Then… pain and blood and darkness… ‘tis usually when I wake.”