Page 78 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

“’Twas a lovely confession, lass. A pity yer beloved will never get tae hear it.” The words were all the warning she had before hands seized her - one around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides, and one over her mouth so she couldn’t scream.

She tried to fight free. She kicked, bit, tossed her head… everything she could think of.

The hand slipped from her mouth, and she drew in a breath to call out.

The arm about her waist tightened, choking off her breath mid-inhalation. She gasped, and in that moment of delay, something hard and heavy impacted the back of her head. Stars exploded in her vision, her stomach lurched, and then the firelight vanished as the world went black.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Samhain Night was always confusing. Children, and sometimes adults, going guising. Clan folk dancing, drinking and offering up prayers by the light of the bonfires. There were always people coming and going, in such a whirlwind of activity that it was impossible for anyone to keep track of everyone. As laird, Alistair was often dragged into the midst of the revelry, and thus it took some time for him to realize that over a candle-mark had passed, and Niamh still had not returned to his side.

His first action was to make his way to the bonfire he’d seen her claim for her ritual. Perhaps she’d gotten caught up in her thoughts and her prayers, as sometimes happened. But when he circled the bonfire, there was no sign of her.

Unease prickled in his gut. He forced it down, then searched out Catriona, who was assisting in one of the children’s games near the food tables. “Have ye seen aught o’ Niamh?”

Catriona blinked at him, surprised. “I havenae. I thought she was accompanyin’ ye taenight.”

“She was, but she slipped away fer a private ritual o’ her own, and she hasnae come back.” Alistair swallowed hard.

Catriona’s expression mirrored his concern as she tipped her head in thought. “Perhaps taenight’s revelry was too stressful for her? She has been feelin’ a wee bit unwell o’ late? Mayhap somethin’ in the air upset her stomach, or gave her a headache?”

“Mayhap. I would have thought she’d come tae ye, or at least dae me the courtesy of lettin’ me ken she was planning tae leave.”

“If she thought ‘twas some temporary ailment, such as a bout o’ sickness, she might have expected tae come back, and thought she would return afore now.”

“Mayhap. But…” Alistair shook his head. Catriona’s explanation was a sensible one, a sound one. However, it did nothing to ease the growing sense of concern that was slowly tying knots in his guts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong.

He caught a passing maid, preparing to carry empty serving plates back to the kitchens. “Deliver those tae the cook, then go and see if Lady Niamh has gone tae our chambers, her private rooms, or the healer’s cottage. Then come back and tell me what ye’ve discovered.”

“Aye, me laird.” The maid hurried away, and Alistair exhaled hard, praying with every fiber of his being that she would come back and tell him that Niamh had just been wearied, or emotionally overwrought, and was resting.

The seconds passed with agonizing slowness. Catriona pressed a cup of cider into his hand and he drank it, but it did little to help the growing tension within him. Ewan appeared at his side a short time later. “Ye look as if ye expect someone tae set fire tae yer kilt. Is there something ye’ve heard that I’ve nae?”

“Nae aught I’ve heard. But Niamh went tae perform a ritual o’ her own, and she hasnae returned tae me.”

Ewan grimaced in sympathy. “Ye cannae think…”

“I dinnae ken what tae think. Fer all I ken, the smell o’ roasted meat made her feel ill again. Or the exertion o’ dancing overwhelmed her.” Alistair growled. “And that’s all I hope ‘tis.”

Ewan nodded and fell silent, accepting his own cup of cider from Catriona as the three of them waited.

The maid returned, and Alistair read the answer in her face even before she spoke. “Me laird, I looked fer the lady as ye asked, but I didnae see any sign o’ her anywhere.”

Alistair cursed, softly and as vehemently as he dared, on a night when curses were likely to be heard by the dead, and therefore often more potent. “Come with me.”

He and Ewan went to the bonfire where he’d last seen Niamh. The two of them circled around it, searching, until finally Ewan stooped and grabbed something from the ground. He held it out.

It was a black ribbon. A ribbon that Alistair had last seen braided through Niamh’s hair.

Heat washed over him, then cold, then rage. He felt the world waver, as it had before, and fought to keep hold of his senses.

A hand on his arm, and a dull pressure he didn’t remember feeling before. Alistair blinked to clear his hazed vision and focused his eyes on the source of the pressure. It was an armband of woven leather circling his bicep.

Niamh’s armband, which she’d given to him as a Samhain blessing gift. The sight of it made his heart ache, but it also steadied him.

“She’s been tak’n.” The words hurt to say, but they needed to be spoken.

“We’ll get her back.” Ewan nodded.