Page 59 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

The log tore free of the undergrowth, and Alistair went staggering backwards. He might have fallen on his arse, but he’d expected the result and was already resetting his stance and his balance. He got his feet under him, then swung the log onto his shoulders to make carrying it less awkward. “I’ll just tak’ this tae where we’ve left the horses.”

The log was heavy across his shoulders as he carried it out to the clearing where the horses were tethered, but the look of admiration and the blush of desire that crossed her face made the effort more than worth it, so far as Alistair was concerned.

So were the looks she continued to give him for the rest of the log gathering expedition.

Watching Alistair carry the wood they collected for the bonfires was… mesmerizing, to say the least. The flow of his muscles, the way sweat gleamed on his skin and slid down his temples to dampen his shirt and make it cling to his lean frame - Niamh couldn’t recall when she’d ever wanted to touch anything more.

And that terrified her. She could guess now, after their wedding night, that what she felt was desire. But there were so many mysteries surrounding Alistair.

What had happened to his first betrothed? She’d been killed - at least, that was Niamh’s best guess. She could even guess that it had involved Fergus MacTavish. But what exactly had happened?

And what was the curse she’d heard whispered about? What was the purpose of it? Who had cast it?

She thought she knew the answer to the last question. The witch - whoever she was. But that only brought new questions.

Who was the witch? Why had she cursed Alistair? What might convince her to undo the curse?

So many questions - when piled on top of her own fears of child-bearing, they seemed an insurmountable wall. And yet, Niamh wasn’t inclined to give up on finding the answers.

She hesitated to ask Alistair. It was clear the wounds ran deep, and she had no desire to cause him further pain with her questions.

She was equally hesitant to ask any of the clan folk she knew. Those who might feel comfortable speaking on the subject were unlikely to know the full story, whereas those who were likely to know the most - like Catriona and Ewan - were as unlikely to wish to share the information as Alistair himself.

However, one thought did occur to her again as they rode back to the castle. There was one person who might be willing to answer her questions. The witch herself.

The trick would be finding her. But that was something she might be able to convince Catriona to help her with.

She waited until Alistair had summoned a bath to rid himself of the sweat and grime of collecting the logs, then excused herself to seek out Catriona. Her cousin was working in the healer’s cottage, preparing herbs, tonics and tisanes for winter when Niamh approached. “Och, is the woodcutting team back already?”

“Aye. ‘Twas a good load, according tae Alistair. The wood has plenty o’ time tae dry out, and the bonfires will burn long and hot.”

“Good fortune if ‘tis so.” Catriona nodded. “But what did ye seek me out fer, cousin? I can see ye’ve something on yer mind.” She tilted her head. “’Tis nae problems with Alistair, is it?”

“Nae as such. And nae what ye might be thinkin’.” Niamh bit her lip. “’Tis only… he seems wary o’ something, something more than the attacks we’ve weathered. And I… I’ve heard whispers o’ some sort o’ curse?”

From the way her cousin winced and looked away, it was clear the curse was real. “Where did ye hear that?”

“It doesnae matter. Only that I have. And that I ken that it has somethin’ tae dae with a witch. I was wonderin’ if ye could tell me aught about her.”

Catriona grimaced. “’Tis nae wise tae speak o’ the fae-touched without their permission, and such the witch o’ MacDuff clan surely is.”

“I understand, but…” Niamh paused. “But I want tae understand why she cursed me husband. And I dinnae ken if ‘tis possible but mayhap I can convince her tae lift it, even if she willnae fer anyone else.”

“I dinnae think ye’ll succeed in that regard. She’s a fair stubborn woman.”

“Even so, I would like tae try. I ken I need tae be careful tae avoid giving offense, but I dae wish tae speak with her. Will ye tell me what ye ken?”

Catriona sighed, her eyes on the herbs she was working with. For several moments, it seemed as if she wouldn’t speak at all. Then she took a deep breath. “’Tis a fair enough wish, I suppose. And kenning what I dae o’ ye, ye’re likely tae try tae find the truth on yer own, with or without me help, and I’d rather nae send ye intae such a tangle unarmed.”

“Thank ye.”

Catriona shook her head. “Dinnae thank me, fer I’ve nae idea how she’ll react tae ye. But, if ye’re truly determined tae seek answers from the witch - her name is Sorcha, an’ she lives in a cottage tae the west, where the rising hills meet the woods. There’s a path, but ‘tis nae well maintained, and fair steep, so be cautious as ye walk. And walk ye must, fer a horse could never make it tae her door.”

Niamh nodded. “Dae ye think I am in danger from her?”

“I cannae say, though I think ye’d ken already, were she against ye. She’s nae the sort tae keep silent when she’s displeased, as ye can tell from the curse she cast.” Catriona stopped a moment, then turned and took Niamh’s hands in her own. “I would counsel ye against seeking her out, but if ye go, go in the day, and go with caution and courtesy. Sorcha can be… unpredictable, but she’s nae cruel, that I’ve ever heard, so long as ye’re polite in turn.”

“I understand.” And Niamh did. It was unwise to anger anyone gifted with the powers of magic, whether they had gained them through study, a blessing of the Fair Folk, or an inborn gift. Such folk knew and understood more than most mortals, and to cross a witch or warlock was to court disaster.