Page 46 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

Niamh blinked. “Lady… Constance?”

“Laird MacDuff’s first betrothed. She was a true lady o’ the Highlands, with nae any o’ yer Lowland folly clouding her thoughts. She was a far better choice o’ wife than…”

“’Tis quite enough out o’ ye, Guineveve.” Catriona stepped between them at that moment. “Ye’ve nae reason tae be so rude tae the lady.”

“Healer Catriona… the lass is…”

“Our lady. And kin tae the clan, fer her maither was one o’ ours. ‘Tis true she’s yet unskilled in all she needs tae ken, but there’s nae shame in that, and even the Witch o’ the Woods wouldnae be so crass as tae make her feel unwanted, especially when she’s nae even had a seven-night tae get used tae our ways.” Catriona’s voice was sharp and firm.

“She’s…”

“A lostling returned, nae an outsider, and even if she were Lowland pure, she’s still our lady, tae be welcomed intae our clan and our lives. She’s also willin’ tae learn, instead o’ clingin’ tae what she kens, and courage such as that should be respected, nae derided.” Catriona took a step forward toward the woman. “I think ‘tis best ye depart fer the day Guineveve. We dinnae need yer sour words and spiteful behavior troublin’ our preparations fer Samhain.”

Guineveve looked as if she wanted to protest, but several of the other women stepped forward to lend their support to Catriona’s words. With a final huff and a poisonous glare, the woman took her basket and stalked away.

Catriona turned to Niamh. “I’m sorry ye had tae enure that unpleasantness. I didnae ken Guineveve was still so bitter about Constance’s passing.”

“I… I… who is Constance? Ye said… she said… Alistair’s former betrothed?”

“Aye. She was. Constance MacBeth, she was. A pretty lass, smart and friendly, but a wee bit shy with most. Most o’ us kent her long afore she agreed tae be the laird’s betrothed. But she was killed by the same man who tried tae kill ye at the feast. Apparently, some have held harder tae her memory than others.”

“I understand.” And she did. It was similar to how she and her father clung to the memory of her mother, Niamh supposed. And yet, even understanding didn’t stop the sharp, unexpected blade of jealousy that stabbed through her.

Constance MacBeth. A woman who’d held Alistair’s heart before she came along. The woman whose ring she wore. Pretty and smart and friendly, and apparently a ‘proper Highland lady’. So many things that Niamh knew she herself was not.

The woman who had been chosen by Alistair, rather than being a convenience for him. And, from the sound of Guineveve’s words and the way no one save Catriona had moved to defend her, far more acceptable to the clan-folk than Niamh was.

The thought… hurt, and more than she would have expected it to. She had more or less resigned herself to the marriage and resolved to be the best lady she could be. It stung like the touch of a nettle to realize that the clan she’d sworn to stand with might not want her to do so.

“Och, dinnae look so forlorn, lass. Ye should ken how clan-folk are with newcomers. They’ll warm up tae ye soon enough.” Catriona wrapped an arm around her shoulders and embraced her gently, but firmly. “’Tis as new tae us as ‘tis tae ye, but that daesnae mean ye’re unwelcome nor unwanted. Only that we’re all havin’ tae learn a new way o’ things.”

Niamh nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis… true. I was just surprised, I suppose. I didnae think about such things.”

“And why should ye? A new bride has enough tae be thinkin’ about, and a new Clan Lady even more so. Ye cannae consider everything, and ye shouldnae be expected tae. Any more than ye should be expected tae ken everything.” Catriona scoffed. “Ye could have lived in the Highlands all yer life and still nae ken everything about our clan’s traditions. And nae matter what spiteful folk like Guineveve might say, Constance didnae ken everything either.”

“She didnae?”

Catriona nodded sharply. “She didnae.” She handed Niamh an herb-trimming implement. “But enough o’ that. The daylight fades far too fast this time o’ year, and we’ve herbs tae seek out and harvest. Come with me, and I’ll show ye where the best places fer fennel, wild sage and wood sorrel are - and mayhap wild garlic and the last o’ the autumn chives, if we’ve any luck.”

The healer’s words were so cheerful and matter-of-fact that Niamh couldn’t help but smile as she followed Catriona out onto the moors.

She wasn’t a perfect Lady for Clan MacDuff yet, and perhaps she never would be. However, she was determined to learn the things she needed to know, starting with herb lore and Samhain traditions. And even if she was never the woman the clan might think she should be, she would still be the best lady and wife she could.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Preparations for Samhain were always interesting, as far as Alistair was concerned. Even the tedium of daily tasks he was required to attend to as the laird weren’t enough to keep him from being involved in the chaos that surrounded the approach of Samhain - a chaos only slightly less prevalent than the energy that surrounded Yuletide.

Children were preparing to go guising and carving their first neep lanterns, filling the air with the sharp smell of raw onions. The farthest corner of the courtyard, near the smithy, had been claimed by the laundry maids to make soaps for the coming year, and the scent of lye, mixed with herbs and flowers, was enough to make a man’s eyes water.

The day the maids got out their large tubs to begin the process of making soaps, scents and candles was, by both tradition and common sense, the day the warriors of the castle left for the Samhain hunting. Any man who could leave for the larger part of the day did so, and Alistair was no exception. Beyond the desire to escape the smell caused by preparing lye, he genuinely enjoyed hunting, and the preparation for a festival day was one of the few times he could indulge without feeling as if he was ignoring his other duties.

Some years, the hunting was poor, but Alistair was relieved when their party managed to take four deer, and a host of smaller animals. That much meat would fill the larders for most, if not all of winter - a blessing when the snows piled so deep that hunting became a nightmarish chore rather than a pleasure.

Dressing and butchering that much game was a tiresome process, but it meant plenty of blood for puddings and sausages, pelts and hides for clothing, fat for rendering, and meat for smoking. And with so much bounty in the hunt, it meant that less of their livestock needed to be butchered to fill the smoking hut.

The day after the hunt, the men went out again, this time to collect the logs that would be used for the smoking. Fragrant woods added flavor to the meat, and while it wasn’t necessary for the laird to attend to the wood collection, Alistair enjoyed the exercise of swinging the axe. He also enjoyed the raw scent of the heavy pine, the fragrant cedar, the earthy oak, and the wild cherry. The former two would be used more to add scent to the fires, or to other things, but he enjoyed them all the same.

At the cook’s request - and Catriona’s - they harvested some juniper as well. The berries would be used in seasonings and tisanes, the wood for the fires.