Page 76 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

As the laird, he was part of the Samhain festivities that would be taking place that night. He had to be sober for that, or it would reflect poorly on his clan.

Then there was the matter of Fergus MacTavish, and whatever he was planning. A large portion of Alistair’s current frustration was that they’d no idea what it was. They’d found no more evidence of troops, and there’d been no more abduction or poisoning attempts, on him or Niamh. Nothing, save one discovery made two days prior, which had made his stomach turn.

Even thinking of it made his gut clench, and his hand tighten on the glass till it was in danger of shattering under his grip.

He’d been dozing beside Niamh, both of them basking in the afterglow of another round of lovemaking, when someone knocked on the door. He’d ignored it.

Then another knock, followed by Ewan’s voice. “Alistair, I ken yer there, an’ even if ye were asleep, ye’re nae now. Get out here, or I’m coming in, and I dinnae care what ye or yer lady thinks o’ me manners.”

Ewan would never have disregarded his privacy unless the matter was urgent. Alistair had snarled under his breath, then risen and slid from the bed, donned a kilt, and stalked to the door.

Ewan had been standing there with a guard carrying a small bundle. “What?”

“One o’ the patrol guards spotted something in the river, likely as nae washed down from further upstream. Ye’re nae going tae like this” The guard had pulled back the wrap at one end of the bundle, and Alistair had seen a small hand. Small and slender, a child’s. And a few strands of dark hair. “What is this?”

“As I said… we found her in the river. Dark-haired, thin, young.” Ewan’s expression had been grave.

“If it werenae so chilled, we wouldn’t have been able tae tell, but… as it stands… she matches the description o’ the child who gave Niamh the poisoned sweet.”

“She…” Alistair had stopped and taken a deep breath. “Accident?”

“Nae unless accidents come with rope marks on wrists and throat, and stab wounds.” Ewan had shaken his head. “Trust me when I say ye dinnae want tae ken more, and if I didnae think ye and yer lady needed tae be warned, I’d nae have brought it tae ye. It was…”

He had shuddered. “’Twould be bad if it were a man grown, an enemy soldier on the field. But on a child…”

A sound had made him turn, to see Niamh’s pale face. She’d followed him, and her eyes were huge. It was clear she’d heard, if not everything, a lot. He had just enough time to see the blood drain from her cheeks before she vanished back into the bedchamber. Her disappearance was followed almost immediately by the sound of retching as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

Alistair had turned back to his brother. “Keep me informed and give the wee bairn a proper burial. Give her a name, a simple one, and put her tae rest.” Ewan had nodded and left, with the guard carrying his horrible burden, and Alistair had gone to comfort his wife.

Seeing the child had been bad enough, but Niamh had been strange since then. They had still made love every night, but the rest of the time…

She was pale, and the smallest things seemed to make her uncomfortable, or ill. She’d refused any more breakfast than a stomach soothing tea and some porridge two mornings in a row. She slept but looked as if she got no rest. The smell of a sage candle the day before had caused her to hurry from the room until it was snuffed out, and at dinner, she’d said the smell of the roast was making her feel as if she might get sick. She seemed to have a permanent headache, and she was more listless than he recalled ever seeing her before.

Niamh swore it was probably just some simple ailment that would pass. Something she’d eaten, or perhaps she’d inhaled too many fumes from the cauldrons of the soap and candle-makers. Even so, he’d asked Catriona to check on her.

His cousin, far from being concerned, had said Niamh was probably right, and that the fatigue was most likely caused by unaccustomed exertion and soreness, like the ache that Niamh had come to request a tisane for a few days previous. They believed that seeing that child only made things worse for Niamh.

Catriona had provided Niamh with medicines and tonics, and they’d helped. Not all the time, but at least enough that Niamh was willing and able to eat small meals. And she was feeling well enough to attend the Samhain festivities, which were due to begin soon. The sky was already shading to dusk, and within a candle-mark, they would be lighting the Samhain bonfires to celebrate.

As laird, he would be expected to light the first of the bonfires, and he and Niamh would be required to lead the first of the traditional bonfire dances. That was likely to be an interesting experience, given the way she’d danced at their wedding feast.

Fergus MacTavish was out there. It was enough to make him want to cancel everything, or demand that everything be confined to the outer courtyard of the castle. But such demands were impractical. Worse, they would cause unrest within the clan, unrest he didn’t need when they were already dealing with so many other concerns.

Alistair closed his eyes a moment, gathered his control, then tossed back the last of the drink and set the glass to one side.

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. “Aye.”

The door opened to reveal Niamh standing outside, dressed in her Samhain finery. Alistair stared at her, his mouth dry.

She was radiant in her dress of green linen, accented with yellow and red and white. There were flowers embroidered on the hem and the bodice, understated but accenting the whole. Her auburn hair was braided back with ribbons of Samhain orange and black. “Ye look amazing.” He reached out to catch her, pull her closer to him. “Like one o’ the Fair Folk come tae bless us.”

Niamh blushed. “Dinnae say such things, or ye will invite trouble upon us.” She paused a moment. “We’ll be lightin’ the bonfires soon, Catriona told me, and I wanted tae give ye somethin, afore we went down tae begin the festivities.”

She offered him her hand, and he saw in it a wide armband of braided leather, woven in the colors of hearth, home, passion and hope. “Ye… ye made this fer me?”

“Aye. Tae wear as a token o’ me favor and me prayers fer ye.” She held his gaze. “Will ye accept it from me?”

“Aye. With joy and gratitude.” Alistair held out his left arm and watched as she knotted the band together around his bicep. “Thank ye, Niamh. ‘Tis beautiful.”