Page 12 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

I wonder, Laird Alistair MacDuff, if ye truly mean those words, and how ye’ll react when I give ye exactly that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Alistair was almost ready to either tear his hair out, find some poor soul to pummel in Laird Cameron’s practice yard, or drink an entire bottle of distilled spirits. He’d known that Niamh was angry about his attempt to deceive her. He knew he’d handled the situation involving her friend Grace badly. But by all the powers in existence, he’d not known she’d take it so poorly.

Every step taken since she’d left the room to ‘pack her things’ had been a battle. First, she couldn’t find her travel packs. Then she thought they needed mending. Then she wanted to take a full trunk, and a cart or carriage, rather than riding horses. Then she didn’t know what clothing to take. Thrice he’d caught her attempting to sneak out to the village on some excuse. And so, it went.

It didn’t matter that they both knew her father would send the remainder of her personal belongings with servants or messengers. Nor did it seem to matter to Niamh that, as her betrothed and her future husband, Alistair was both able and willing to provide for her needs in everything from clothing to supplies for needlework, art, reading, writing, or any other diversions she cared to name.

She was determined to consider, discuss, and argue about every decision that had to be made, and every personal possession she owned.

Alistair had hoped, when he made his pronouncement, that they’d be on the road just after the noon meal. By the time food was served in the Great Hall, he had come to the realization that, given her way, Niamh would delay them until the noon meal a fortnight away, if not longer.

He attempted to enlist the aid of Laird Cameron, but Niamh steadfastly refused to speak to her father. She barely acknowledged his presence at all, and then only when they were in public. The rest of the time, she ignored the Cameron laird.

When he caught her pulling out and going through her summer dresses – though the season was long past – for the second time, Alistair decided enough was enough.

“Ye dinnae need tae worry about summer attire. This late in the year, ‘twill be winter clothing ye need. Ye should pack that.”

Niamh glared at him. “Ye cannae ken what I need. Besides, I often layer me summer dresses in the winter, so that I may add or remove layers as the temperature warrants. There is a great deal of difference between the courtyard in a winter wind and one’s own room with a roaring fire in the hearth. I should hate tae be ill-prepared.”

Alistair gritted his teeth. “I’m sure we can make ye comfortable, lass. And I’ve told ye afore, nae only will yer faither ensure any belongings ye leave behind are sent tae ye, but I’ve clan-folk who can provide fer whatever ye need.”

“But I have favorites among me dresses of any season, and it would be a shame to leave any of them behind.” She calmly turned away and began sorting through the clothing.

Alistair scowled for a moment before he turned to a nearby servant. “See her winter clothing is packed, from her formal clothing tae her night-things. Add tae that her cloaks, underthings, accessories and shoes, indoor and outdoor, then two o’ the summer-weight dresses she wears most often. All o’ it tae be packed in chests or bags that can be carried by horse.”

Niamh stared at him, eyes flashing and teeth bared in anger. “Ye bastard! Ye cannae order me servants about in me own home!”

“Call yer faither then, if ye think he’ll countermand me. As a laird in me own right, I outrank ye until we’re wed.” With the ruse no longer necessary, Alistair saw no reason not to be blunt. “I said I wished tae begin the journey, and I meant it. I’ve responsibilities tae return tae.”

“And yet, it didnae concern ye when ye were planning tae woo me without tellin’ me the truth.” She spat the words.

“Matters have changed.” He turned to the servant. “Dae as I command. Yer mistress is now me betrothed, and I wish tae be on me way.” He considered a moment. “If yer loyalty tae yer mistress stays yer hand, then find someone who serves her faither tae dae the job instead.”

Niamh hissed at him, but the servant lass had more sense than to argue with a laird. She dipped her head and left, to be replaced a few minutes later by two older servants with stern expressions, who nodded curtly and began to pack as he had commanded.

“Ye’re a brute, a lout, and an utter bastard.”

“I’ll nae deny the first and second, but ye’ll find me birth legitimate enough, and me parents properly wed when I was conceived, lass.” His own irritation sparked at her words, but he reminded himself that Niamh had a right to be angry.

The next fight was over her writing and sewing supplies. Niamh was insistent on taking everything, including extra ink and parchment. Alistair saw no reason to do so, especially when inkwells were so difficult to transport. There were plenty of supplies at MacDuff Castle, and it was an easy matter to have more provided as needed.

Niamh didn’t need to take an entire pack of writing supplies. Nor did she need another full pack of needles, thread and fabric. She could pack enough of both for the journey into one small satchel and set aside anything else she wanted for her father to send to her later.

By the time that had been resolved, Alistair’s patience was starting to wear dangerously thin once again, and it was nearing mid-afternoon. They would only have a few candle-marks of light to ride, and if they weren’t packed and mounted within the mark, then there’d be no point in starting out before morning.

To that end, he went to the kitchens while Niamh was occupied in her room, and had the cook pack some travel rations, a bottle of wine, a jug of mead, two skins of drinking water, and the names of Niamh’s favorite foods for his own cooks to make once they arrived. By the time Niamh arrived, ready to start the battle on that front, he was already prepared.

He caught her arm as soon as she ventured into the kitchen. “I’ve already had the cooks make us up some portions fer the journey, both in food and drink.”

Niamh scowled. “Ye cannae ken what I’d like.”

Alistair smirked at her as he guided her away from the kitchen, toward the stables. “I ken. ‘Tis why I had the cooks choose some o’ yer favorites that would travel well. Aye, and she’s had the steward write me out copies o’ yer favored recipes.”

“And what if I wanted something else? I’m fair partial tae stew, or honey cakes.”

“Then hope a tavern on the road has it, or ye can ask me cooks tae make them fer ye when we arrive – which we’ll nae be doin’ any time soon with the way yer behavin’.”