Page 87 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

“I ken. But now, I can offer ye the same.” A small quirk twitched the corner of Alistair’s mouth. “Within the bounds o’ what me lady will allow, I suppose.”

“Aye. Though she seems tae be a more generous sort than I initially took her tae be.” Ewan noted.

“She is. But women change, especially when there’s a bairn on the way, or in the home.”

He waited. Seconds later, Ewan’s eyes widened. “She’s… ye didnae tell the Council?”

“’Tis nae confirmed, and new at that. I only ken because Sorcha told me, when I went tae ask her fer aid. She sent spells tae help us on our way and stay MacTavish’s hand, fer the sake o’ Niamh and her bairn, she said.”

For a moment, Ewan stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Then his brother seized the glass from his hand, set it on the desk, and grabbed Alistair’s arm. “Go.”

Alistair stumbled toward the door, bemused. “What?”

“Go be with yer wife. Ye both nearly died, and ye deserve the time taegether. I have plans tae make, and I want tae get used tae using a laird’s study that’s arranged properly, afore I have tae deal with whatever unholy terror Fergus MacTavish left behind.” Ewan gave him one last smirk, then shoved him out the door and shut it behind him. Alistair stared at the heavy oak panel for a moment, then smiled and turned away to find his wife.

Ewan generally did give him good advice, after all. And his brother did need tae start learning about being a laird.

A bath did wonders for Niamh’s mood, as did Catriona’s gentle ministrations. Soon, she was clean, wrapped in a warm robe, and her wounds were salved, as well as bandaged where needed. She was warm, comfortable, and at ease, relaxed by the care she’d received and the cup of mulled cider Catriona had coaxed her to drink. When combined with the tisane the healer had given her, it caused no nausea at all, a fact for which Niamh was profoundly grateful.

Niamh laid a hand on her stomach. There was no outward sign yet, but Catriona had confirmed through her healer’s arts that Niamh was most likely in the early days of child-bearing.

On the small side table by the fire, tucked into a shadowed corner, stood the potion Sorcha had given her. Niamh had been tempted to drink it as soon as she was able, but something stayed her hand.

When ye are in a place o’ joy and hope. Those were the instructions the witch had given her. She felt contented, perhaps even happy, but she wasn’t sure that was enough, and she’d no desire to get it wrong. Such a mistake might negate the usefulness of the potion.

The door clicked, and she hurried into the front room as Alistair entered. “Alistair…”

She had no more time to speak before he swept her into his arms. “I love ye, Niamh MacDuff. I was so afraid tae tell ye, afraid tae activate the curse. But I love ye, and I have fer some time.”

Her heart clenched, in joy rather than in heartache or fear. “And I love ye, Alistair MacDuff. I have fer some time. Since the first time I thought I wanted tae be a proper lady fer ye, even if I couldnae be a maither.”

“And now ye can be.” His hand rested over her stomach. “Ye will be. And our child will grow up in love and joy, with all he or she could ever need tae be happy.”

“Aye.” Niamh smiled at her husband, dazed by the knowledge.

She was loved, and in love with her husband. She carried a child, and it was no longer anything to fear or to worry over. Her child would live, and so would she, and she and Alistair would raise the bairn so it never knew a single moment of the sorrow they had suffered.

Hope and joy. She could not imagine feeling any more of either than she did right at this very moment.

Niamh stepped back from Alistair’s arms, then led him into the bedroom by the hand. The armband she’d made for him was still about his bicep, and the colors gleamed dully in the light.

Hope and joy. Home and hearth and passion. She’d whispered wishes for all of it, and now, it felt as if her wishes were all coming true.

She held Alistair’s gaze as she reached out and took the potion in hand. Then, as he watched her, she broke the seal, lifted it to her lips, and drank it down.

EPILOGUE

Alistair watched Niamh swallow the potion, his heart hammering with equal amounts of wonder and uncertainty. He knew what Sorcha had said. To drink the potion in hope and joy. That was what inspired the wonder.

The uncertainty lay in what the potion would do. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then Niamh gasped, eyes wide as she set the empty bottle to one side. Her face flushed, as if fevered. Alistair felt a spike of fear. “Niamh.”

Then her hand grasped his, and Niamh molded her body to his, eyes bright with the gleam of desire. “Alistair.”

She pulled him down into a kiss, fierce and strong, her tongue claiming his mouth in a way she’d never dared to attempt before. She tasted of sweet cider and an herbal tisane, and her body was warm and pliant against his.

Alistair felt his manhood stiffen, his erection growing tighter against his trews as his body responded Niamh’s obvious enthusiasm. With an effort, he managed to break the kiss to look her in the eye. “Niamh. Are ye sure…?”

“I almost lost ye, twice in two days. I dinnae want tae ever feel like I’m losin’ ye again. I want ye, Alistair. I want ye tae make love tae me until I cannae remember the feel o’ any other touch, or a moment o’ me time in that snake’s hands.”