Page 85 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

The dagger shattered into smoke and sparks, leaving the hilt in Alistair’s hand and his body unharmed. No tear marred his clothing, nor any blood. He blinked. “What is this?”

“A promise fulfilled and a curse broken.” Sorcha smiled softly at him. “In keeping yer promise, ye win me forgiveness, fer I ken now yer honor has ever been unmarred by the grief between us. And the dagger carried the weight o’ the curse on ye.”

“Ye said… the curse was that the woman I loved would be me doom.”

“Aye.” The smallest of smiles touched her face. “But ye forget there were two paths fer it. That ye should die fer it, or yer life as ye kent it would be forever changed and chained to her fate, through the love o’ her whom ye would give all tae protect.”

Sorcha took the hilt from him. “Ye have given yer life tae Niamh. And willingly given yerself, body and soul, tae that which ye feel fer her. The spell is fulfilled.”

Then she turned and strode to where Niamh still sat, breathless and stunned, upon the horse. “Forgive me, me dear, fer making ye fear. In token o’ me apology, and in congratulations fer that which ye already ken… a gift.”

She reached into a different part of her skirt and withdrew a shimmering potion, which she placed in Niamh’s hand. “Drink it all, in love and hope, and naething ye fear, fer yer health or any other’s, will come tae pass until a full year has come and gone.”

Ewan looked confused, but Niamh clutched the bottle to her chest.

Sorcha knew. Knew that she was with child - and the glint in her gaze made Niamh certain that it was the bairn so newly formed in her belly that the witch referred to and had prepared this potion for. Her words were couched as riddles, as was often the case among mystics, but Niamh understood them well enough.

If she drank the potion, at a time when she was full of joy and hope, then the magic of it would ensure that nothing happened to her or the babe. She would have a healthy child-bearing, and a healthy birth. Perhaps not an easy one, but healthy. And neither she nor the child would die. Not in the birthing, and not in the season that followed. She and her child would be safe from all ailments until at least the night of Samhain next year.

“Thank ye.” Her voice cracked and quavered. “Thank ye… so much.”

“Ye are welcome.” Sorcha regarded her. “Daughter o’ me kinfolk, and cousin o’ me blood… ye tak’ me sister’s place at Laird MacDuff’s side. I willnae ask fer more than I have, but if ye have the heart I think ye dae, mayhap ye willnae forget me.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to swear that she would never forget Sorcha, but she had no time to speak the words before the witch turned to Ewan. “Fare ye well, little lairdling. Yer journey is new-begun, and ye’ve much tae learn.”

“I have nay plans tae journey. I am content where I am.”

Another upward turn of Sorcha’s lips, and this time she was definitely amused. “I ken it well, but contentment is a fleeting thing in a man o’ yer character, and loyalty has many different paths.”

Then she turned and walked away, vanishing into the woods before anyone could find words to speak.

Alistair came back to them, still looking dazed. He looked up, then surged into the saddle and wrapped his arms around her. “I am sorry I couldnae tell ye the terms o’ the bargain. I didnae want ye tae blame yerself or try tae talk me out o’ it.”

“Ye wouldnae have listened.”

“Aye. I would have, if it was ye.” Another kiss to her temple, this one full of relief rather than regret. “Tae ye me love, I will always listen, even if I dinnae always agree.”

Me love. Those two simple words melted all the cold she felt, and Niamh relaxed into his arms, the precious potion still clutched firmly in her hand.

“Take me home, Alistair.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Alistair sent one of the guards ahead at a gallop, once Sorcha had disappeared. He was still shaken, and pleasantly surprised, by how things had happened with the witch, but his feelings - kept tightly leashed for the sake of his reputation as well as his wife’s emotional state - would have to be addressed later. There were other matters, far more important ones, to be dealt with.

By the time he rode through the castle gates, most of the Council was assembled, along with Catriona. Alistair wasted no time swinging out of the saddle, and helping Niamh dismount, before he passed her into his cousin’s capable hands. “Make sure she’s well.”

“I will. Have ye any concerns? Were ye injured, Niamh?” Catriona’s eyes slid over her, clearly noting the marks from her bindings, and her evident pallor. “Are ye ill?”

“I… nay more than I was. But I think…” She swallowed hard. “I think…” Her hand went to her belly.

Alistair wasn’t certain if there was any meaning behind the gesture, but Catriona clearly was. Her expression softened, and she immediately wrapped an arm around Niamh’s shoulders. “Och, I see. Come inside, me lady, and we’ll get ye all sorted out.”

Then they were gone, with only a pause as Catriona called for an elder laundry maid to follow them.

By that time, the rest of the council had arrived, and Deermont was bristling at the front of the crowd like an angry boar. “What is going on, laddie? First ye disappear from Samhain - and in the middle o’ the festival! Then we hear o’ ye ridin’ off with a troop o’ our best fighters, as well as yer own second in command. And now… this!”

He waved a hand at the courtyard, and at the door through which the women had retreated. “What are ye playin’ at, Laird MacDuff?”