The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

N ight was falling, and Alistair had no interest in sleeping out-of-doors. He did so when duty demanded, but it was far from comfortable. Besides, he doubted Niamh had ever spent a single night asleep without a roof over her head. There was no sense in giving her more to rage at him about.

Added to that, Scottish autumn weather was far from predictable. They’d be in dire straits if a storm blew in during the night. It would get even worse if the lass got it into her head to be difficult or make another escape attempt after dark.

They rode into a small town with less than half a candle-mark to dusk, and Alistair made straight for the tavern. Normally, he would have gone inside, but with Niamh still glaring daggers at him at every opportunity, he thought it best to try another tactic. He raised his voice. “Och, stable boy. Are ye there?”

A small lad, eight to ten winters if he was any judge, came stumbling from the inn stables. “Aye me laird?”

“Me lady and I are seeking lodgings. Dae ye ken if the innkeeper has any rooms tae let? Or anyone in town, mayhap?”

The boy trotted off into the inn, only to return a few minutes later with a downcast expression. “There’s nay rooms available, laird. The inn is full with all the travelers fer the Autumn Festival.”

Alistair stifled a curse. Of course. Many clansmen from the more remote parts of the Highlands and the Lowlands alike would have gone to the festival to enjoy a rare treat, engage in the ceremonies to bless the harvest, and trade wares. “What o’ others in town?”

“I dinnae ken fer certain, me laird, but most give any hearth room they might have tae kinfolk durin’ festival.” The boy shuffled. “There’s another inn on the other side o’ the township, me laird, and mayhap ye’ll have better luck there.” He ducked his head.

Alistair grimaced. He’d expected that answer but hoped for a more favorable one. He gave the boy a copper coin, then set the horses walking. Niamh grumbled. “I hope yer nae expectin’ me tae sleep in the woods taenight. I’m scarce prepared fer such a trial.”

“I wouldnae dream o’ it, lass. We’ll keep riding until we find a place with a room fer the evening.”

As expected, she immediately protested. “Ye cannae expect me tae ride all night, either.”

“We’ll ride so long as we have tae. Although, worse comes tae worse, I suppose we can ask a farmer tae let us rest in his stables for the night.”

The inn at the other side of the village was full as well. Alistair groaned, and succumbed to being on the road for another candle-mark at least.

The next two villages were also full of visitors, with no room to stay. The moon was rising in the sky by the time they reached the next one. Alistair was weary, sore, and hungry. By the time he drew even with the door to the seventh tavern he’d tried, he was tired enough that he would almost have slept beneath a Fairie Mound, or on the bare ground, had that been an option. Even Niamh had fallen silent, seemingly worn out by the events of the day.

“Oi! Innkeeper!” Alistair waited impatiently until the man appeared. “Have ye any rooms tae let? Me lady and I need lodgings.”

The innkeeper looked as weary as he felt, but the gleam in his eyes was sharp and canny when he replied. “I’ve one remaining, me laird. A silver fer the night includes stablin’ fer yer beasts, a guard on yer belongings, and a meal, with a flagon o’ mead, beer or wine.”

Under normal circumstances, Alistair might have haggled. As it was, he was far too weary. “A silver then, and woe betide ye and the guard if there’s aught missing from me packs when dawn comes.”

“I stake me reputation on the honesty o’ me guards, laird. Ye’ll find naught tae complain about, and naught missing in the morn.” There was a faint edge of irritation in the innkeeper’s voice, despite his courteous manner.

Alistair sighed. “I believe ye. ‘Tis only that I’m wearied from a day on the road.” He passed the man a silver. “Me lady and I will be in shortly. Have the room ready fer us and dinner within the candle-mark, if ye will.”

“At once, me laird.” The man bowed and pointed him toward the stables. Alistair gave a soft sigh of relief and guided the horses in that direction.

Niamh was quiet and seemingly exhausted as he helped her dismount and gathered the necessary saddle bags from the luggage. Alistair didn’t trust the silence.

He was right to be wary. Niamh took one look at the room the innkeeper directed them to and exploded into rage. “Ye cannae be serious! There’s only one bed!”

“Aye. But ‘tis this or sleep on the ground, lass.”

“Dinnae call me lass like a child or a relative! I’ve never given ye permission tae call me aught but me name!”

Alistair snorted, too weary for games. “I’ll nae call ye Lady Cameron, and ye protest against me usin’ yer given name o’ Niamh as bein’ too familiar, so yer choices are lass or wench. Ye can have yer pick.”

She struck at him. “Ye’re impertinent! And I willnae stay in this room with ye!”

“Ye will, fer there’s nay other choice. I didnae spend a silver fer ye tae waste it by having both o’ us sleeping in the stables.”

“I dinnae wish tae sleep near ye at all!” Her eyes were snapping with renewed fire. “Ye have nay right tae demand a place in me bed!”

“As there’s naught but one bed, there’s little enough choice, unless one o’ us is sleeping on the floor.” Alistair retorted.

In truth, the bed was small enough he doubted it could hold both of them at the same time. There was also only one pillow, and the winter blankets had yet to be laid in. There was a small table to eat at and a brazier full of hot coals to ward off the chill, but the floor was made of bare planks, and he doubted there were blankets enough to share between them.

Niamh snarled at him. “Ye’d make me sleep on the floor?”

“I didnae say that.” Alistair scowled. “I said one o’ us would be sleepin’ on the floor if we dinnae share.”

“I’d rather share a bed with a rabid wolf than ye!” She struck at him again with her bound hands. The rope clipped his jaw, and Alistair’s temper flared.

He caught her by the upper arms and spun to shove her across the bed and against the wall. “I’ve had enough o’ yer ragin’ lass. If ye dinnae quit lashing out at me over every little thing, then I’ll nae be responsible fer me actions, and ye’ll nae like what comes o’ them.”

Alistair was serious. She knew that much from the firmness of his grip and the barely controlled ire in his eyes. The wise course of action was to bow her head and bide her time, but Niamh was far past caring about the wise course of action.

In the space of a day, she’d seen her best friend threatened, been tricked, discovered her father had betrayed her, and had been bound and all but dragged from her home. She was tired, sore, and hadn’t eaten since the noon meal, and very little then. She was furious, hurt and embarrassed, and she’d no intention of enduring any of it quietly. She didn’t care if she was acting in a manner better suited for a child a quarter her age.

She tried to kick Alistair, hoping to hit him where it hurt, but the angle was wrong and she had little leverage. She squirmed in his grip, trying to break free and hit him properly, but he was stronger than she was, and better positioned to retain his hold than she was to break it.

She twisted and fought until she was breathless and almost too weary to struggle any more. She was on the verge of giving up when a knock came at the door, along with the muffled voice of one of the inn’s serving lasses. “I’ve yer supper, me laird.”

Alistair shifted slightly. “Set it by the door, and I’ll collect it in a moment.”

Niamh took advantage of the moment to try and squirm free, only to be distracted as a loud gurgling sound erupted from her midsection. She froze, even as Alistair turned his head to look down at her.

To her mortification, the sound emerged again, a rumbling snarl from her gut, born of pure hunger. Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like ye’re hungry, lass.”

In a fit of pique, she twisted her head and sank her teeth into his forearm, biting down for all she was worth. She’d hoped to draw blood, but the thick cotton shirt blunted her teeth, and she wasn’t at a good angle to get a proper bite in.

Alistair’s other eyebrow rose, and amusement sparked in his eyes before he leaned closer to her. “Ye’ll have tae bite harder than that, lass, if ye want me tae react. I’m nae the sort tae flinch from a love bite or two.”

His voice deepened. “Although, if ‘tis me ye’re so hungry fer, dinner can wait. I’d be happy tae give ye a taste o’ the delights a real man can offer a bonny lass like yerself.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she released the bite to turn her head and spit in his face. “Ye’ll earn me permission and me desire when the bowels o’ hell are turned tae ice and the rest o’ the world tae ash.”

“If ye say so.” With a single fluid move, he rose, released her shoulders, and turned away. She tried to rise, and run for the door as he opened it, but her position was a difficult one to sit up from with her hands bound, and by the time she managed to sit upright, he’d picked up the tray and shut the door behind him.

The food was simple fare – a hearty stew and two thick slices of bread each, a small pat of butter, and a flagon of mead. It smelled delicious, and Niamh’s cheeks reddened as her stomach gave another rumble.

Alistair set one portion next to the brazier, then turned and offered her a spoonful of stew. Niamh scowled at him. “I can feed meself.”

“Aye, I’ve nae doubt o’ it, but ye’ll find it awkward with yer hands bound.”

Niamh curled her lip in a snarl. “Then untie me.”

“Nae a chance.” A small smirk tugged one corner of his mouth for a moment. “I wouldnae trust ye tae nae try and stab me with the serving knife.”

She couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed her mind, but she was too hungry to consider attacking him when there was food to eat instead. “I dinnae want a great lout like ye feedin’ me like I’m some sort o’ wee bairn.”

“Then ye can wait until I’m finished and ye’re hungry enough tae change yer mind.” Alistair shrugged and settled into the chair to pick up the second bowl.

“Ye cannae be serious. Are ye plannin’ tae starve me?” Niamh tried to lunge at him, but he evaded her and used the rope to push her back onto the bed.

“I didnae say I was, nae more than I said I’d make ye share a bed with me or sleep on the floor.” He shook his head. “I dinnae care if ‘tis floor or mattress I sleep on, so long as I can sleep. And ye can eat yer fill, so long as me decision is adhered tae.”

Her stomach growled again, and Niamh gave in. “Fine. But if yer goin’ tae be that way, then the least ye can dae is give me somethin’ afore ye start eating in front o’ me.”

“’Twas me intention, afore ye refused.” He picked up the first bowl and filled a spoon full of stew for her.

The stew was thick and hot, full of the flavor of harvest vegetables and venison. It was the perfect thing to end a long day with, and Niamh gave a soft sigh of appreciation before she could stop herself. Alistair chuckled, and she glared at him, but didn’t refuse the spoon when it was offered again.

Three bites of stew, some bread sopped in the broth, a drink of mead – honey mead, at that – to wash it down, and then more stew. Despite the mortifying nature of the situation, she had to admit that Alistair was gentle and careful about feeding her. The spoon was never overfilled to the point it spilled on her dress. He didn’t rush her, despite the fact that his own meal was being neglected. Neither did he withhold the next bite when she’d finished the previous one.

She ate until she was mostly sated, then shook her head. “I dinnae want more right now.”

“As ye will.” He set the bowl and the remaining slice of bread to one side, then picked up his own meal and began to eat with a fervor that proved he’d been as hungry as she. He ate steadily, one eye on her, until the bowl was three-quarters empty, then set the spoon down. “I’ve a question fer ye, Niamh Cameron.”

She clenched her jaw then, and when he showed no sign of relenting, begrudgingly responded. “I cannae stop ye from asking, but I willnae promise tae answer.”

“’Tis fair.” He swirled the mead in his tankard a moment, then sipped it. “I was only wonderin’ why ye seem tae hate the idea o’ marriage so much.”