Page 79 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Alistair turned to the crowd of revelers. “Have the servants and a token force o’ guards remain for the rest o’ the celebration. ‘Twill dae nay good tae cause distress fer the clan now. Gather the rest o’ the men and come with me.”

Ewan blinked. Then he shook his head. “And go where? We dinnae ken where she’s been tak’n or by who.”

“It has tae be MacTavish. He’s the only one bold enough.” Alistair snarled out the words.

“Ye dinnae ken that, and if ye tak’ soldiers ontae his land without kenning, then ye’ll spark a bloodbath.” Ewan caught his shoulders. “Think Alistair, o’ how many times we’ve sought compensation fer the raids, only for him tae claim they were mere bandits. And fer all ye ken, it might be bandits, seizing an opportunity in the chaos of Samhain tae fill their coffers and larders. It might even be…” He stopped, but Alistair could guess what he was thinking.

“It might be her.” The MacBeth witch, who had never forgiven him for the death of her sister, and cursed him to be doomed by the next woman he loved. It would not be beyond Sorcha’s powers to command the Fair Folk or other powers to spirit Niamh away, particularly on this night.

Even if Sorcha had not taken Niamh, she had the powers to determine who had, and where she had been taken. Alistair clenched his jaw. “Find me a horse. I will ride tae see her.”

Ewan stumbled to a stop, alarm on his features. “Alistair… she hates ye.” He swallowed. “I’ll go. I’ll ask her…”

“Nae. I’ll go. There’s nae telling if she’s involved or nae, but she’d spit in both our eyes and curse us both if I sent ye.”

“She willnae answer ye, nor relent if she’s the one who stole yer bride. Nae without demanding a stiff price.”

Alistair nodded. “I ken.” His hand reached across to touch the braided leather Niamh had given him such a short time before. “It daesnae matter.”

“Alistair…”

“It daesnae matter. Unless ‘tis Niamh’s life or yers, or one o’ Catriona’s family, there’s nae price I wouldnae pay tae get Niamh back.”

“And if the price is yer life?” Ewan’s words were sharp and biting.

“Then Clan MacDuff will have ye as a laird, and I’ll ask ye tae care of me wife with the respect and honor she deserves.” Ewan started to protest again, but Alistiar shook his head. “There’s nay point in arguing with me.”

Ewan grimaced. Then, slowly, he nodded. “All right. I’ll tell the Elders and the Council, as well as the captains o’ the warriors, and we’ll be ready when ye return.”

Alistair slipped his rank torc into his pocket, then made his way toward the castle. Slipping inside unnoticed was easy, now that he wasn’t immediately recognizable as the laird, and with the shadows of the dancing bonfires to aid him. The knowledge made his stomach churn.

We made it too easy fer someone tae sneak in among the clan folk. I should have insisted we stay inside the walls.

Alistair shook his head. There was no time for regrets. He had to find out where Niamh was, and then he had to get her back.

Within half a candle-mark of discovering Niamh’s disappearance, he was on the westward road, riding for the witch’s cottage with all the speed he dared use. Within the same time, he tethered his horse at the base of the steep wooded hills where Sorcha made her home, and was scrambling up the inclined path, almost running in his haste to find answers.

He stumbled into the clearing, his chest heaving and sweat stinging in his eyes, to find Sorcha standing like a statue in the moonlight, her eyes sharp and brilliant as diamonds. And just as cold. She looked regal and terrifying in her purple and black dress. “A bold move, tae disturb me on this night o’ all nights, Laird MacDuff.”

“I ken it. And I’d nae disturb ye on this night or any other, was me need nae dire.” He gulped in air and forced himself to remain calm. “Me wife, Niamh, has been tak’n. I want tae get her back, afore she comes tae harm.”

“And ye think I have her?” Sorcha snorted. “I’ve nay need tae steal yer wife away. If I had wished tae tak’ her from ye, I would have done that when she came tae speak tae me over a seven-day ago.”

“I ken.” In truth, he’d never truly thought Sorcha would steal Niamh away. What purpose would it serve? She had no need to stoop to such measures, not when she had the curse she’d placed on him. “But ye have ways tae ken who has her and where.”

“Aye. I have. But why would I lend them tae yer needs?” Her voice was icy, and Alistair fought not to flinch.

“Nae mine. Niamh’s. She’s done naught tae harm or offend ye, so far as I ken. She doesnae deserve tae endure yer wrath.” He swallowed hard. “I ken ye hate me fer yer sister’s fate. If ye want me life as the price o’ saving Niamh’s, I’ll surrender it tae ye.”

Sapphire bright blue eyes, deep as the ocean, held his, as if peering into his soul. Alistair let her look. Whatever she saw, she would know he was sincere.

Sorcha sucked in a breath, then tilted her gaze up to the stars, contemplating something he had neither the gifts nor the training to understand. Then she held out her hand. “Give me the band about yer arm.”

He would rather have given her something else, but it was not his place to try and divine a witch’s secrets, or her methods. He removed it and handed it over.

Sorcha took a silver blade of a design he didn’t recognize, and delicately trimmed the ends of the ties. She held them in her hand, breathed on them, then cast them into the smaller bonfire that blazed nearby.

The flames roared higher, twisting into shapes he didn’t recognize or understand. He watched Sorcha instead, half afraid that watching the fire might be considered an effort to learn secrets that were not his to know.