The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Chapter 42

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

A listair sent one of the guards ahead at a gallop, once Sorcha had disappeared. He was still shaken, and pleasantly surprised, by how things had happened with the witch, but his feelings - kept tightly leashed for the sake of his reputation as well as his wife’s emotional state - would have to be addressed later. There were other matters, far more important ones, to be dealt with.

By the time he rode through the castle gates, most of the Council was assembled, along with Catriona. Alistair wasted no time swinging out of the saddle, and helping Niamh dismount, before he passed her into his cousin’s capable hands. “Make sure she’s well.”

“I will. Have ye any concerns? Were ye injured, Niamh?” Catriona’s eyes slid over her, clearly noting the marks from her bindings, and her evident pallor. “Are ye ill?”

“I… nay more than I was. But I think…” She swallowed hard. “I think…” Her hand went to her belly.

Alistair wasn’t certain if there was any meaning behind the gesture, but Catriona clearly was. Her expression softened, and she immediately wrapped an arm around Niamh’s shoulders. “Och, I see. Come inside, me lady, and we’ll get ye all sorted out.”

Then they were gone, with only a pause as Catriona called for an elder laundry maid to follow them.

By that time, the rest of the council had arrived, and Deermont was bristling at the front of the crowd like an angry boar. “What is going on, laddie? First ye disappear from Samhain - and in the middle o’ the festival! Then we hear o’ ye ridin’ off with a troop o’ our best fighters, as well as yer own second in command. And now… this!”

He waved a hand at the courtyard, and at the door through which the women had retreated. “What are ye playin’ at, Laird MacDuff?”

“I play at naething. Fergus MacTavish kidnapped Lady MacDuff from the Samhain rites. I went tae retrieve her.” Alistair leveled a glare at the man, and for once, Deermont had the sense to shut up. “As a result, me lady is safe and sound, and Clan MacTavish is without a laird. And nay heir tae claim the succession.”

“What? Ye cannae…” Alistair silenced Deermont with a growl.

“A leaderless clan on the borders, me laird… ye ken there will likely be raiders and refugees both in droves afore a moon has passed, especially with winter closing in.” That was another member of the Council, but one whom Alistair couldn’t see in the crowd around the courtyard.

“Aye. But I’ve nae intention tae see the clan left leaderless. MacTavish was a brute, but his people dinnae deserve tae languish fer his faults.” Alistair was fairly certain that Fergus MacTavish had been a large part of his clan-folk’s grief in any case, but a leaderless clan was generally an unhappy one. “However, as I killed him in a fair fight, and fer a good reason, ‘tis me place tae set a leader over the clan until such time as the claim is acknowledged outright, or another places a better claim tae the lairdship.”

He doubted the second would happen. Fergus was the sort to brook no rivals, within his clan or without.

“And who will ye be sending?”

“The best man for the job. The warrior and leader who was instrumental tae keeping me safe and helping me save Lady MacDuff. The man without which we might have failed or perished at Fergus MacTavish’s hands.”

He stepped back and set a hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “As soon as he’s had a chance tae rest and gather what he needs, me braither Ewan will be granted the title o’ Heir Apparent and Overseer o’ the MacTavish lands. If the claim holds, then by next summer, he will be the new Laird MacTavish, and the clan will become a cadet branch o’ our own.”

“Alistair…” Ewan’s voice was a mere breath, his eyes wide. “Ye cannae…”

“I can. And unless ye’ve some protest tae make against it, then I will.” Alistair clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Ye were raised a laird’s son, as I was, and ye’ve all the skills ye need. I ken ‘tis been difficult fer ye, growing up in me shadow, and I want ye tae have this chance tae find yer own way.”

“But… I… I’ve always been loyal tae ye…”

“And I’ve nae doubt ‘twill continue, even if ye equal me in rank next Samhain. Besides, if ye wish, ye can think o’ it in this manner - ye’ll secure the border in safety fer as long as we both live. In doin’ so, ye’ll protect me and our clan as well or better than ever ye could as me second-in-command. Ye may even, if ye find a lass ye like and bear children o’ yer own, ensure that the MacTavish and MacDuff clans are allied as kin fer generations tae come.”

Ewan stared at him. Then at the assembled Council who were, for the most part, nodding in approval. Then at the smiling faces of the warriors, all of whom deeply respected him as a leader - something Alistair knew quite well.

He might lose his best men to this decision - he would certainly lose the best friend and advisor he’d ever had at his side - but Ewan would have a chance to grow into his true abilities. And a chance to grow out of the insecurities that had haunted him all his life.

Ewan was loyal, and loving, but he deserved to move outside the shadows of his brother and his father. This was the perfect opportunity.

“If me laird commands…”

“I dae.” Alistair jerked his head at the doors to the castle. “Walk with me, and we’ll speak in private about what sort o’ plans would suit ye best. Winter is nae far off, and ‘twould be best if ye were settled intae yer new role by then.”

The two of them entered the castle and walked side-by-side to the study. Only when they were inside with the door closed, did Ewan speak. “Alistair… I…”

“Hush. Ye agreed, so I’ll hear nae more about it.” Alistair shook his head, then moved to pour them both a glass of whiskey. “Ye deserve this, braither.”

“I… I never…”

“Ye never expected tae be a laird, unless I died tragically without an heir. And ye’re too loyal and good-natured tae wish that. Even so, I’ve seen the shadows ye carry, the weight o’ bein a second son, never acknowledged fer yer talents. And I want tae change that.”

Alistair sipped his drink. “I’ve wondered, ye ken, what I could dae fer ye. Naething I ever thought o’ seemed tae be enough. But ye’ve supported me through thick and thin, and these past weeks ye’ve put up with me acting like a proper brute.”

When he looked, he could see the shadow of the bruise he had placed on his brother’s face, not so long ago. “I’ve treated ye poorly, and if ye cannae accept it as anything else, accept this as me apology, fer all I’ve put ye through.”

“There’s nay need o’ that.” Ewan shook his head. “Ye’re me braither. And I kent… even when I was angry, I kent it ‘twas nae me ye were lashing out at. I kent ye were frustrated by the Council, by Fergus MacTavish, and by the whole demand o’ marriage.”

“Even so, it wasnae right, how I handled it. I should have tak’n me anger tae the training dummies.” Alistair shook his head as Ewan started to protest. “If we were only braithers, perhaps I might think differently, but I am yer laird as well, and a laird shouldnae treat the men who serve him as I’ve treated ye. Ye deserve better, and I want ye tae have it.”

Ewan closed his mouth, then tipped his head in consideration. “’Twill be a difficult winter.”

“Most likely. There’s nay telling what state MacTavish left his clan in.”

“Nae a good state, if he was wastin’ his time tryin tae topple ye.” Ewan snorted. “’Twill be a fair mess, and I’ll be havin’ tae knock some heads taegether, I wager.”

“Likely as nae.” Alistair nodded. “But ye’ve practice enough with that.”

Ewan considered further. “Ye ken…even if I become Laird… ‘twill change naething. If ye need something from me, ye’ve but tae ask.”

“I ken. But now, I can offer ye the same.” A small quirk twitched the corner of Alistair’s mouth. “Within the bounds o’ what me lady will allow, I suppose.”

“Aye. Though she seems tae be a more generous sort than I initially took her tae be.” Ewan noted.

“She is. But women change, especially when there’s a bairn on the way, or in the home.”

He waited. Seconds later, Ewan’s eyes widened. “She’s… ye didnae tell the Council?”

“’Tis nae confirmed, and new at that. I only ken because Sorcha told me, when I went tae ask her fer aid. She sent spells tae help us on our way and stay MacTavish’s hand, fer the sake o’ Niamh and her bairn, she said.”

For a moment, Ewan stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Then his brother seized the glass from his hand, set it on the desk, and grabbed Alistair’s arm. “Go.”

Alistair stumbled toward the door, bemused. “What?”

“Go be with yer wife. Ye both nearly died, and ye deserve the time taegether. I have plans tae make, and I want tae get used tae using a laird’s study that’s arranged properly, afore I have tae deal with whatever unholy terror Fergus MacTavish left behind.” Ewan gave him one last smirk, then shoved him out the door and shut it behind him. Alistair stared at the heavy oak panel for a moment, then smiled and turned away to find his wife.

Ewan generally did give him good advice, after all. And his brother did need tae start learning about being a laird.

A bath did wonders for Niamh’s mood, as did Catriona’s gentle ministrations. Soon, she was clean, wrapped in a warm robe, and her wounds were salved, as well as bandaged where needed. She was warm, comfortable, and at ease, relaxed by the care she’d received and the cup of mulled cider Catriona had coaxed her to drink. When combined with the tisane the healer had given her, it caused no nausea at all, a fact for which Niamh was profoundly grateful.

Niamh laid a hand on her stomach. There was no outward sign yet, but Catriona had confirmed through her healer’s arts that Niamh was most likely in the early days of child-bearing.

On the small side table by the fire, tucked into a shadowed corner, stood the potion Sorcha had given her. Niamh had been tempted to drink it as soon as she was able, but something stayed her hand.

When ye are in a place o’ joy and hope. Those were the instructions the witch had given her. She felt contented, perhaps even happy, but she wasn’t sure that was enough, and she’d no desire to get it wrong. Such a mistake might negate the usefulness of the potion.

The door clicked, and she hurried into the front room as Alistair entered. “Alistair…”

She had no more time to speak before he swept her into his arms. “I love ye, Niamh MacDuff. I was so afraid tae tell ye, afraid tae activate the curse. But I love ye, and I have fer some time.”

Her heart clenched, in joy rather than in heartache or fear. “And I love ye, Alistair MacDuff. I have fer some time. Since the first time I thought I wanted tae be a proper lady fer ye, even if I couldnae be a maither.”

“And now ye can be.” His hand rested over her stomach. “Ye will be. And our child will grow up in love and joy, with all he or she could ever need tae be happy.”

“Aye.” Niamh smiled at her husband, dazed by the knowledge.

She was loved, and in love with her husband. She carried a child, and it was no longer anything to fear or to worry over. Her child would live, and so would she, and she and Alistair would raise the bairn so it never knew a single moment of the sorrow they had suffered.

Hope and joy. She could not imagine feeling any more of either than she did right at this very moment.

Niamh stepped back from Alistair’s arms, then led him into the bedroom by the hand. The armband she’d made for him was still about his bicep, and the colors gleamed dully in the light.

Hope and joy. Home and hearth and passion. She’d whispered wishes for all of it, and now, it felt as if her wishes were all coming true.

She held Alistair’s gaze as she reached out and took the potion in hand. Then, as he watched her, she broke the seal, lifted it to her lips, and drank it down.