The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Chapter 41

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

T he long ride back to MacDuff Castle seemed like a dream to Niamh. She was exhausted from the ordeal of her kidnapping, and dealing with Fergus MacTavish, and she was content to ride in Alistair’s arms, against his shoulder, dozing when she could.

They stopped at times, to rest and eat and drink. Niamh took what Alistair gave her, and submitted to his fussing over the marks left by the ropes, the shackle, and Fergus’s rough hands. She had no energy to pay much heed to any of it.

She had survived. Better still, she had protected her child. And she was certain, now, that she carried Alistair’s child. The knowledge was humbling, frightening, and wonderful all at once.

Alistair, for his part, seemed content to watch over her, occasionally speaking to her in his low, soothing voice. The feel of his arms around her, his broad back against her shoulders, was comforting, even amusing, when she recalled that he’d held her the same way during their first journey to MacDuff Castle. The same grip, but there was so much difference it felt like another lifetime, like they were two completely different people. And yet, it had scarcely been more than a moon since she’d met him at the Harvest Equinox Festival. Only a little over two and a half fortnights had passed.

And so much had changed. And would continue to change, as the babe within her grew. The idea both terrified and amazed her, to the point she was content to simply settle into his strong arms and allow herself to drift.

“What in the name o’ creation is she doin’ here?” The words startled her out of her pleasant haze, partly because of the vehemence in them. She blinked her eyes open and looked up.

She hadn’t realized it, but they were almost home. MacDuff Keep loomed close, less than a candle-mark away.

For a moment, she thought they’d encountered members of the clan who resented her, like Guineveve. Then she realized the words had come from a man riding close behind her, and that his attention was focused on a woman who stood in the middle of their path. A woman dressed in purple and black, her long, raven-colored hair swirling about her. “Sorcha?”

“Aye.” Alistair’s voice was low, subdued. “I arranged tae meet her on the way back tae the castle.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I asked her tae aid me in savin’ ye, and promised tae pay the price she requested after ye were safe.”

“Price? What price?” Something cold tightened in Niamh’s belly. “What are ye…?”

“What I must.” Alistair gestured for his brother to come closer. “Stay with Niamh. I’ve a promise tae keep.”

“What promise, braither?”

Alistair hesitated, then swung down off his horse. Only when he was on the ground did he look up and address them both. “I’ve been avoidin’ the curse she placed long enough.”

“Alistair… ye cannae!” Ewan started to lunge out of the saddle, but Alistair stilled him with a firm look.

“Dinnae argue. I kent what I agreed tae when I made the promise. Besides…” His eyes flickered to Niamh, soft with regret and love. “I’m tired o’ living with a curse, o’ bein afraid tae give a woman me heart when she deserves it all. If I cannae love her freely, then I’ll see tae her safety and set her free tae love another.”

Before she could protest, before she could leap from the saddle to follow him, he turned and walked toward the witch. “I’m ready tae fulfill our agreement.”

“I ken.” Sorcha nodded, and withdrew a strange, dark-hued blade from her skirt. “If truly ye be a man o’ yer word, tak’ this blade and drive it home.”

Alistair took the dagger with no hesitation. Then he looked at her. “And ye’ll… ye’ll be kind tae Niamh? And Ewan?”

“I will give them what they need from me, and what they ask, as I can. And I will stir nay trouble against them.” Sorcha dipped her head, her words ringing in a promise of her own.

Alistair took a deep breath. The he raised the dagger, the blade parallel to his arm, and drove it toward his chest.

Niamh cried out in grief and fear. Ewan stiffened, a wordless sound wringing from his throat, and all the warriors surged forward as one, ready to take their vengeance on the woman who had sent their laird to his death…

The dagger shattered into smoke and sparks, leaving the hilt in Alistair’s hand and his body unharmed. No tear marred his clothing, nor any blood. He blinked. “What is this?”

“A promise fulfilled and a curse broken.” Sorcha smiled softly at him. “In keeping yer promise, ye win me forgiveness, fer I ken now yer honor has ever been unmarred by the grief between us. And the dagger carried the weight o’ the curse on ye.”

“Ye said… the curse was that the woman I loved would be me doom.”

“Aye.” The smallest of smiles touched her face. “But ye forget there were two paths fer it. That ye should die fer it, or yer life as ye kent it would be forever changed and chained to her fate, through the love o’ her whom ye would give all tae protect.”

Sorcha took the hilt from him. “Ye have given yer life tae Niamh. And willingly given yerself, body and soul, tae that which ye feel fer her. The spell is fulfilled.”

Then she turned and strode to where Niamh still sat, breathless and stunned, upon the horse. “Forgive me, me dear, fer making ye fear. In token o’ me apology, and in congratulations fer that which ye already ken… a gift.”

She reached into a different part of her skirt and withdrew a shimmering potion, which she placed in Niamh’s hand. “Drink it all, in love and hope, and naething ye fear, fer yer health or any other’s, will come tae pass until a full year has come and gone.”

Ewan looked confused, but Niamh clutched the bottle to her chest.

Sorcha knew. Knew that she was with child - and the glint in her gaze made Niamh certain that it was the bairn so newly formed in her belly that the witch referred to and had prepared this potion for. Her words were couched as riddles, as was often the case among mystics, but Niamh understood them well enough.

If she drank the potion, at a time when she was full of joy and hope, then the magic of it would ensure that nothing happened to her or the babe. She would have a healthy child-bearing, and a healthy birth. Perhaps not an easy one, but healthy. And neither she nor the child would die. Not in the birthing, and not in the season that followed. She and her child would be safe from all ailments until at least the night of Samhain next year.

“Thank ye.” Her voice cracked and quavered. “Thank ye… so much.”

“Ye are welcome.” Sorcha regarded her. “Daughter o’ me kinfolk, and cousin o’ me blood… ye tak’ me sister’s place at Laird MacDuff’s side. I willnae ask fer more than I have, but if ye have the heart I think ye dae, mayhap ye willnae forget me.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to swear that she would never forget Sorcha, but she had no time to speak the words before the witch turned to Ewan. “Fare ye well, little lairdling. Yer journey is new-begun, and ye’ve much tae learn.”

“I have nay plans tae journey. I am content where I am.”

Another upward turn of Sorcha’s lips, and this time she was definitely amused. “I ken it well, but contentment is a fleeting thing in a man o’ yer character, and loyalty has many different paths.”

Then she turned and walked away, vanishing into the woods before anyone could find words to speak.

Alistair came back to them, still looking dazed. He looked up, then surged into the saddle and wrapped his arms around her. “I am sorry I couldnae tell ye the terms o’ the bargain. I didnae want ye tae blame yerself or try tae talk me out o’ it.”

“Ye wouldnae have listened.”

“Aye. I would have, if it was ye.” Another kiss to her temple, this one full of relief rather than regret. “Tae ye me love, I will always listen, even if I dinnae always agree.”

Me love. Those two simple words melted all the cold she felt, and Niamh relaxed into his arms, the precious potion still clutched firmly in her hand.

“Take me home, Alistair.”