Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
S amhain
Alistair scowled at the fireplace in his office, sipping at the glass of whiskey he’d poured himself earlier. He’d have downed the entire thing and thrown the glass into the fire, then gone on to finish the bottle. Other matters however, restrained him.
As the laird, he was part of the Samhain festivities that would be taking place that night. He had to be sober for that, or it would reflect poorly on his clan.
Then there was the matter of Fergus MacTavish, and whatever he was planning. A large portion of Alistair’s current frustration was that they’d no idea what it was. They’d found no more evidence of troops, and there’d been no more abduction or poisoning attempts, on him or Niamh. Nothing, save one discovery made two days prior, which had made his stomach turn.
Even thinking of it made his gut clench, and his hand tighten on the glass till it was in danger of shattering under his grip.
He’d been dozing beside Niamh, both of them basking in the afterglow of another round of lovemaking, when someone knocked on the door. He’d ignored it.
Then another knock, followed by Ewan’s voice. “Alistair, I ken yer there, an’ even if ye were asleep, ye’re nae now. Get out here, or I’m coming in, and I dinnae care what ye or yer lady thinks o’ me manners.”
Ewan would never have disregarded his privacy unless the matter was urgent. Alistair had snarled under his breath, then risen and slid from the bed, donned a kilt, and stalked to the door.
Ewan had been standing there with a guard carrying a small bundle. “What?”
“One o’ the patrol guards spotted something in the river, likely as nae washed down from further upstream. Ye’re nae going tae like this” The guard had pulled back the wrap at one end of the bundle, and Alistair had seen a small hand. Small and slender, a child’s. And a few strands of dark hair. “What is this?”
“As I said… we found her in the river. Dark-haired, thin, young.” Ewan’s expression had been grave.
“If it werenae so chilled, we wouldn’t have been able tae tell, but… as it stands… she matches the description o’ the child who gave Niamh the poisoned sweet.”
“She…” Alistair had stopped and taken a deep breath. “Accident?”
“Nae unless accidents come with rope marks on wrists and throat, and stab wounds.” Ewan had shaken his head. “Trust me when I say ye dinnae want tae ken more, and if I didnae think ye and yer lady needed tae be warned, I’d nae have brought it tae ye. It was…”
He had shuddered. “’Twould be bad if it were a man grown, an enemy soldier on the field. But on a child…”
A sound had made him turn, to see Niamh’s pale face. She’d followed him, and her eyes were huge. It was clear she’d heard, if not everything, a lot. He had just enough time to see the blood drain from her cheeks before she vanished back into the bedchamber. Her disappearance was followed almost immediately by the sound of retching as she emptied the contents of her stomach.
Alistair had turned back to his brother. “Keep me informed and give the wee bairn a proper burial. Give her a name, a simple one, and put her tae rest.” Ewan had nodded and left, with the guard carrying his horrible burden, and Alistair had gone to comfort his wife.
Seeing the child had been bad enough, but Niamh had been strange since then. They had still made love every night, but the rest of the time…
She was pale, and the smallest things seemed to make her uncomfortable, or ill. She’d refused any more breakfast than a stomach soothing tea and some porridge two mornings in a row. She slept but looked as if she got no rest. The smell of a sage candle the day before had caused her to hurry from the room until it was snuffed out, and at dinner, she’d said the smell of the roast was making her feel as if she might get sick. She seemed to have a permanent headache, and she was more listless than he recalled ever seeing her before.
Niamh swore it was probably just some simple ailment that would pass. Something she’d eaten, or perhaps she’d inhaled too many fumes from the cauldrons of the soap and candle-makers. Even so, he’d asked Catriona to check on her.
His cousin, far from being concerned, had said Niamh was probably right, and that the fatigue was most likely caused by unaccustomed exertion and soreness, like the ache that Niamh had come to request a tisane for a few days previous. They believed that seeing that child only made things worse for Niamh.
Catriona had provided Niamh with medicines and tonics, and they’d helped. Not all the time, but at least enough that Niamh was willing and able to eat small meals. And she was feeling well enough to attend the Samhain festivities, which were due to begin soon. The sky was already shading to dusk, and within a candle-mark, they would be lighting the Samhain bonfires to celebrate.
As laird, he would be expected to light the first of the bonfires, and he and Niamh would be required to lead the first of the traditional bonfire dances. That was likely to be an interesting experience, given the way she’d danced at their wedding feast.
Fergus MacTavish was out there. It was enough to make him want to cancel everything, or demand that everything be confined to the outer courtyard of the castle. But such demands were impractical. Worse, they would cause unrest within the clan, unrest he didn’t need when they were already dealing with so many other concerns.
Alistair closed his eyes a moment, gathered his control, then tossed back the last of the drink and set the glass to one side.
A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. “Aye.”
The door opened to reveal Niamh standing outside, dressed in her Samhain finery. Alistair stared at her, his mouth dry.
She was radiant in her dress of green linen, accented with yellow and red and white. There were flowers embroidered on the hem and the bodice, understated but accenting the whole. Her auburn hair was braided back with ribbons of Samhain orange and black. “Ye look amazing.” He reached out to catch her, pull her closer to him. “Like one o’ the Fair Folk come tae bless us.”
Niamh blushed. “Dinnae say such things, or ye will invite trouble upon us.” She paused a moment. “We’ll be lightin’ the bonfires soon, Catriona told me, and I wanted tae give ye somethin, afore we went down tae begin the festivities.”
She offered him her hand, and he saw in it a wide armband of braided leather, woven in the colors of hearth, home, passion and hope. “Ye… ye made this fer me?”
“Aye. Tae wear as a token o’ me favor and me prayers fer ye.” She held his gaze. “Will ye accept it from me?”
“Aye. With joy and gratitude.” Alistair held out his left arm and watched as she knotted the band together around his bicep. “Thank ye, Niamh. ‘Tis beautiful.”
She colored again. “’Tis nae, but I wanted tae give ye something.”
“Ye already have.” He bent to kiss her on the forehead, then on the lips. “I am honored tae bear yer favor taenight.”
They stood for a moment, then Alistair straightened his kilt and sash - no easy feat when his body ached for her to remain close to him - and offered her his arm. “We dinnae want tae be late.”
Niamh shook her head. “Nay. We dinnae.” She smiled and took his arm, and together the two of them made their way downstairs, out the doors, past the heavy gates standing open to allow the clan folk to pass through, and down to the riverside, where three large bonfires were set up, waiting to be lit.
A hush fell on the gathered clan, all of them waiting as the sun edged toward the horizon, toward the twilight that would signal the start of Samhain night. When the sun was halfway down, Ewan lit a torch and passed it to Alistair.
As the last sliver of the sun began to sink behind the trees, Alistair lit the bonfire. The wood went up in a great whoosh of flame, helped along by the oils and herbs that made up parts of it. Ewan took a new torch, as did Catriona, and the other two fires were lit with similar ceremony.
As the flames danced, the pipers began the traditional song. Alistair drew Niamh into his arms and swung her into the opening steps of the first Samhain night’s dance.
He expected her to be uncertain, perhaps stumbling. He expected to find her stepping on his toes. However, Niamh kept pace with him as if she’d grown up knowing the song, her steps smooth and light and perfectly timed, each one exactly as it should be. Alistair felt his heart swell a little more with admiration. She must have practiced a great deal to learn the steps of the dance so well.
They circled the bonfire together, in time to the wild, mournful music of bagpipes and drums, and harps. Alistair swept Niamh into a spin, her skirts flaring out around her. Firelight framed her face and lit her auburn hair with a radiance all its own, as if the flames themselves had blessed her.
Other couples joined in, but Alistair paid them no heed. The dance was theirs alone, and all that mattered to him was the music and the feel of Niamh in his arms, dancing together as if they’d been made for this moment.
Perhaps we have.
By the time the music ended, they were both flushed and panting, cheeks shining with perspiration and aching with the smile they shared. Alistair spun Niamh through a final few steps, then lifted her up and kissed her soundly. All around them the clan folk cheered, and Samhain started in earnest.
Niamh laughed as he set her down. “There now. I trust I didnae embarrass ye this time.”
Alistair shook his head. “Nay. Ye were perfect.” He studied her face. “Would ye like some cider now?”
“I…” Niamh faltered, then nodded. “I would, and then… I ken ye might be worried, but I’d like a moment or two o’ privacy. Tae send the letters tae me maither.”
Alistair wanted to object, but he held his tongue. Not only did he understand the importance of the ritual for her - having read bits of the letter she’d written over her shoulder - but every Highlander knew that communications with the other side were sacred, and not to be intruded upon. Some were comfortable sending their wishes to the wind in front of others, but many were not.
Besides, it would give him a moment to send his own wish to his father, and to Constance, a silent prayer that they would bless his happiness with Niamh.
The cider was cold and sweet and crisp and had likely been sitting in the well for some time. Both of them drank deeply, then returned the cups, in exchange for small offering tokens to give to the flames to ask for blessings through the winter. It was another of the laird’s duties to offer the First Offering, and he did so willingly, his free hand curled in Niamh’s as they both offered up wheat gleanings and apple peels to the flames.
Once that was done, Niamh stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Dinnae fret, husband. I’ll nae be gone long, and then we can enjoy the evening meal taegether, and mayhap another dance.”
Alistair nodded. He watched as she stepped through the throng of assembled clansmen and clanswomen, until she almost melted into the dancing shadows of the more distant fire.
Spirits, Fair Folk and Powers that be… keep her safe and healthy, I pray ye.
Niamh was careful to stay close to the revels, even as she searched out the privacy of the far side of the bonfire to perform her yearly ritual. She had seen the child Ewan had brought to Alistair and had no desire to tempt fate. When she was certain she had enough privacy not to be overheard, though she was still close enough that the clanfolk would hear her cry out if something happened, she stopped and drew forth her letters.
Her father’s letter, she cast in first. It was his after all, and he would be saying his own prayers in regard to its contents, at the Samhain bonfire a fortnight away.
She started to toss her own letter after it, but something stayed her hand. A sense that words needed to be spoken, not merely written and burned.
“Maither… I hope ye’re listening. ‘Tis been a strange time, o’ late, as I’m sure ye ken. Faither sent me tae marry Laird MacDuff, and I thought I would hate it. But I’ve found kinfolk here, like the healer Catriona, who is me cousin, and her husband and son. I’ve found friends as well. And… there’s Alistair.”
She took a deep breath. “Och Maither, I never kent how ye could leave yer clan and yer kin behind tae wed Faither, nor how ye braved the dangers o’ havin’ me, tae give him happiness. But Alistair… he’s kind and gentle and warm. He offers me respect, and he cares fer me so… Maither, I…’
She swallowed hard. “Maither, I ken he intended it tae be a marriage o’ convenience, tae secure aid, and I thought I could feel the same. But I cannae. I cannae at all. Fer all I never intended it tae happen, I think… I think I have fallen in love with Alistair.”
A moment later, she shook her head. “Nay. I ken I’ve fallen in love with him. With his passion, with his principles, his strengths and all his weaknesses, flaws and all. If he died taemorrow, I wouldnae ever wish tae be wed again. Rather, I’d be a widow until the end o’ me days, I love him so. At first, I couldnae imagine a life with him. Now I cannae… I dinnae wish tae… imagine a life without him.”
She wet her lips. “Is this how ye felt when ye wed Faither? If so, then I understand everything now.” She took her letter again. “I hope ye can hear me, Maither, and that ye’ll give me and Alistair yer blessing, wherever ye are.”
With that, she tossed the second letter into the fire. It was a more eloquent version of the words she’d spoken, but just as heartfelt. She watched it burn, then turned to rejoin her husband.
“’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.