Page 18 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

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.”

CHAPTER TEN

From the way Niamh stiffened, Alistair knew he’d asked the wrong question. Her face went tight, and her eyes darkened as she looked away from him. “That’s nae any o’ yer business.”

Alistair met her gaze. “I could say it is, because I’m tae be yer groom, but the reason I asked wasnae fer that. I asked because I’m nae great fan o’ marriage meself, and I wouldnae have agreed tae yer faither’s bargain had I nae been required tae by me clan.”

He could see the interest in her eyes, the way the surprise caused by his admission softened the edges of her anger. For a few moments, it seemed she would remain stubbornly silent. Then she looked at him. “Why dae ye hate marriage?”

Her eyes strayed to the ring he still wore at his throat, and Alistair’s gut clenched painfully. He wasn’t ready to talk about that. Not about his past, or his first love. He certainly didn’t want to tell her about the curse he’d been put under after his betrothed had been killed by the McTavish Clan.

He forced his expression to remain calm as he replied. “Och, I asked ye first. Ye tell me yer tale, and mayhap I’ll tell ye mine.”

Niamh jerked back as if he’d slapped her. All the curiosity and softness vanished from her gaze, and her back stiffened. “Ye’ve nay right tae be askin’ such questions, if ye dinnae intend tae answer them yerself.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize, but she glared at him. “I’m still hungry.”

“As ye like.” He picked up her bowl and began to feed her again. She finished the stew and the rest of the bread, then shook her head. “I’ve had enough. I want tae sleep now.”

“Very well.” Alistair finished his own meal, then took the tray to the door to leave for the innkeeper’s staff.

A few minutes had the coals glowing cherry red and filling the room with warmth. Alistair pulled free a spare cloak to use as a blanket, then chose the softest of the packs he’d brought in to serve as a pillow. He’d just sat down to remove his boots when Niamh cleared her throat. He looked up. “Aye?”

“Are ye nae going tae untie me so I can sleep?” She held up her bound hands.

“Nay chance.” Alistair removed his boots, then crouched to help her take her shoes off, wary of a kick to the face as he did so. Then he stood. “That’s all I’m o’ a mind tae dae fer ye in that regard, unless ye need help removing yer belt or sash.”

“Ye cannae be serious! Ye wouldnae really leave me tae try and sleep with me hands tied, would ye?”

Alistair removed his shirt, then looked over at her. “Aye, I would.” He offered her a faint smile. “Ye’re a fair spirited lass with a lot o’ anger in ye, Niamh Cameron, and I’m of nay mind tae be murdered in me sleep by ye. At least with yer hands tied, there’s a chance I’ll wake up afore ye can finish me off.”

“Ye think I’d try tae murder ye in yer sleep?” She frowned at him.

“Aye, if you could manage it.”

For a moment, he thought she would rail at him, and rage at his words. Instead, a small, pleased smile graced her features, her first since that morning. “I suppose ye’ve learned some things about me, then. Ye certainly ken me better than me own faither might.”

He couldn’t fault her for the edge of bitterness in her words, and he wished he could tell her he regretted how things had transpired between them. But he didn’t regret it, not when her anger might keep her safe, and she was too angry to believe him even if he had been sincere in such sentiments.

Instead, he moved to the candle on the table. “Dae ye need aught else?” Niamh shook her head, weariness already dragging her eyelids down. Alistair blew out the candle, shut the window, and retired to his makeshift bed.

Despite his weariness, sleep was a long time in coming, as his thoughts chased themselves around his mind. Thoughts and questions, and one above all others – why was Niamh so afraid of marriage?

The thunder rumbled overhead, a snarling counterpart to the pain that tore through her as her body shuddered through contraction after contraction. She wailed in pain, begged for help. She called for her father, for a servant, for the midwife, but no one came. There was nothing, only the darkness and the pain and the howling rage of the storm outside.

The babe within her fought to be free, but she had no idea how to manage. No notion of what to do, and she could not even sit up. Her throat burned with her screams as she cried out again and again.

A cracking sound shook the barren room she lay in, the very stones around her dancing as if entranced. The noise was deafening, louder even than her screams. To her horror, she saw a crack form and race across the ceiling above her.

The roof was giving way. It hadn’t been repaired properly, if at all. The cracks widened and branched with each crash of thunder. She tried to move, her screams for help growing loud and frantic enough to tear her throat with their urgency. But no one came and she could not move.

Another deafening crack, and the ceiling gave way and fell toward her. Her last feeling, before she was buried under wood and stone was the tearing pain that might have been the birth of the babe.