Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T he journey to the heart of Clan MacDuff, where he resided, was just as long as Alistair had expected it to be. Between the unpredictable weather and the slow pace, they were forced to keep with four horses to look after, their pace was confined to one that was perhaps a quarter of the speed he could make alone, and that was without counting stops to relieve themselves or eat something. Under normal circumstances, Alistair would have chafed at the delay.
However, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be making a journey and trying to get to know his betrothed at the same time. When he considered it in that light, he was almost grateful for the slow speeds at which they traveled.
After that first night, things changed. He no longer considered binding Niamh during their travels, though they still shared a horse. She, in turn, seemed to have come to the conclusion that it was better not to fight so much. At the very least, she was no longer trying to run away every time they stopped, nor did she constantly snarl and snap at him.
It wasn’t perfect. She was still furious with the deception he and her father had attempted to trick her with. She didn’t trust him, and it showed in the way she watched him while they rode. When she spoke to him, she used as few words as possible, and her tone was cool and distant. At least, that was true during the days.
The nights, however, were a different story. Whether they claimed one room or two, they always found themselves meeting at some point. He would wake, uncertain, thinking he had heard her cry out, and go to make sure her sleep was untroubled. Or she would come creeping into his room, seeking warmth and companionship in the dark.
Often as not, they wound up sharing quarters, with one of them on the floor in the others’ room. However, neither one of them were willing to speak of it, and so they didn’t. Whoever had crossed the threshold would leave without a word, to dress and prepare for the journey, then they would eat, have the horses saddled, and leave.
He couldn’t deny he was curious. Curious about why she feared marriage. Curious why she had such violent nightmares. However, he knew that he couldn’t ask. Not when even the thought of talking about his own past made his stomach churn like he’d drunk a draught of sour beer.
She didn’t ask any questions of him either, and he found himself relieved about that. He had no desire to lie to her any more than he had.
Instead, the days passed in mostly silence, broken by the occasional short sentence or two, and the nights in unspoken comfort in each other’s presence. By the time they reached the river ford that would allow them to cross into the Highlands, a sort of unspoken truce existed between them, one that he was loathe to break.
At the river, Alistair took the horses across first. The river was running slightly fast from the autumn rains, and it was safer to cross on foot than risk something spooking the horses midway across. Alistair’s larger frame and greater strength made it easier for him to control the animals as they made their way across ford.
He led the last of the horses to land, then turned to find Niamh already halfway across, picking her way lightly across the steppingstones. The stones were within easy stepping distance for him, but for her, they required comically large steps, more akin to small hops. “Best be care-”
Her right foot slipped, and Niamh plunged into the water with a splash. She came up spluttering, and Alistair almost choked on his laughter. “-ful, lass.”
“Lout. ‘Tisnae funny.” She scowled at him, and at the smile he was making very little effort to hide.
“I ken why ye think so, lass, but I hope ye’ll forgive me fer finding humor in it just the same.”
She huffed at him. “Mayhap, if ye’ll help me out of the water.”
Still smiling, he stepped across to the rock closest to her and offered her his hand, ready to pull her out. He was utterly unprepared for her to grab his hand and yank him forward and down, to topple them both into the autumn-chilled water once more.
He came up gasping, soaked from boots to the ends of his hair, to find Niamh laughing at him. “See how ye like it.” She splashed him again, water drenching his face anew.
The sight of her smile, bright and open as it had been on the day of the festival, shocked the anger from his bones before it even had a chance to fully form. Her auburn hair blazed like banked coals, the sun catching the gleam of water along it like shimmering crystal, and her eyes glowed with delight at having tricked him. She looked glorious, and he could no more have remained angry at her than he could have commanded the sun to stand still in the sky.
“If that’s the way ye wish tae play it…” He smirked as he undid his belt and tossed it to the riverbank. Niamh laughed and darted back, even as he crouched and flung a wall of water at her. She yelped as it hit her.
“Brute!” Splash.
“Wench!” Whoosh.
“That’s nae fair! Yer hands are bigger than mine!” Niamh pouted at him, and Alistair grinned back.
“’Tis nae me fault ye’re so small.”
“Small! I’ll show ye small!” This time, she used both arms to fling the water at him. The effort overbalanced her and sent her toppling toward the water. Alistair leaped forward to catch her in his arms.
Both of them froze. Alistair stared down at Niamh, his stomach tightening in a rush of heat at the warmth of her body so close to him. He could feel the cloth of her sleeves clinging to her shoulders and arms and see the way her dress clung to and highlighted every curve of her shapely figure.
Against the drenched fabric, her breasts were clearly defined, and cold had tightened her nipples. Alistair felt his mouth go dry at the sight, wondering what it would be like to take them in his hands, or in his mouth. Against his will, his gaze traveled down to the juncture of her thighs, before he forced himself to look up. His groin was tight, heat pooling low as he pulled her closer to him. “Niamh…”
One moment, they were playing in the water. The next, she stumbled, and Alistair was there to catch her. Niamh looked up as he steadied her, and her breath caught in her throat.
She hadn’t been so close to him since the day he’d ‘accidentally’ kissed her – the day of the festival. But this close, there was no denying Alistair was a handsome man, dark hair and green eyes coupled with a strong jaw and firm mouth.
His wet clothing clearly showed the width of his shoulders, the trim lines of his waist, and the defined muscles of his stomach. His sleeves clung to well-muscled arms, and his trews were likewise flush against his legs, revealing well-muscled thighs and calves.
She dragged her gaze back to his face, blushing as she realized she had been studying him, and where her eyes had almost wandered. The heat of his gaze was only slightly less than the heat of his body as he stared at her, and it was more than the cold that made her shiver in his arms as he murmured her name.
“Niamh…” It could be recognition or prayer or plea, she didn’t know which. All she knew was that the sound of his rough, velvet voice uttering her name in that hoarse tone ignited warmth within her, and made her knees feel weak. Her limbs tingled, and she wanted, with a sudden fierceness that surprised her, to lean up and kiss that mouth, to see if it was as firm as it looked and as soft as she remembered.
She leaned up, and he bent down, his large frame folding around her. The warmth that filled her cheeks seemed to be filling her belly as well as she moved closer to him.
His face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheeks, wafting through her wet hair. So close…
One of the horses whickered impatiently, and suddenly, the spell was broken. Niamh jerked back as if he’d set her hand afire. “He sounds upset.”
“Och, he doesnae like crossing streams, though I dinnae ken why. He wants tae be praised fer crossing without fuss.” Alistair’s voice was slightly rough, and she thought she could see regret in his eyes.
She swallowed hard and gripped her resolve and the banked embers of her anger with both hands. “Best ye see tae him then.”
“Aye.” With one last searching look at her, he turned and waded to the bank. Niamh followed him, now acutely aware of the chill in the air and her wet clothing.
Alistair fished a treat from a saddle bag and gave it to the horse, then found a spare length of cloth and handed it to her. “Best ye dry off and change. Ye’ll catch cold in those wet garments.”
“And what o’ ye?” She eyed his dripping attire. “Ye’re nae better off.”
“And I’ll be changin’ too, on the other side o’ the horse.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless ye’d rather I stayed close tae ye?”
Niamh flushed again. “Nay, thank ye. I can manage on me own. She hurried to grab a dry set of garments from her own bags, then darted around a tree to change.
Once she was dried and redressed, she felt much warmer, and much calmer. She was, however, surprised to realize that she’d felt no desire to run away, despite having the opportunity. She bit her lip, then stepped from the trees.
Alistair was already dressed and had set out a dry cloak for her as well. Niamh took it. “This doesnae change matters between us, ye ken.”
“How dae ye mean?” Alistair turned to face her.
“I havenae forgiven ye fer trickin’ me. And I dinnae want tae be married tae ye. I dinnae like ye much, either.”
Something sparked in his eyes, but he dipped his head. “’Tis fair. And ye’re right. This doesnae change anything.”
Niamh nodded, then turned to mount her horse. Within minutes, they were traveling once more.
She couldn’t shake the feeling, as they left the stream and the brief moment of joy behind, that perhaps the day might change more than she wished it to.