The Highlander's Tempting Touch - Bonus Prologue

1306, The Summer Highlands/Lowlands Gathering and Festival

The weather was warm, and the air was full of the shouts of merchants, performers, and clan folk from all over Scotland. Twelve-year-old Alistair MacDuff straightened his kilt for what seemed like the tenth time in a candle-mark, and tried to remain still and poised, the way the son and heir of a laird should look.

He understood his presence was an exception, that his father, like most of the other lairds, was here to talk about the tensions with the English, and the increasing number of fights that were occurring along the borders of the Highlands, Lowlands, and the proper ‘English’ lands. He knew he’d only been allowed to come because he was an heir, and because he was of age to begin his weapon’s training, and to learn how to interact with other lairds.

Ewan hadn’t been permitted to come. That made Alistair feel proud and made the stillness and the stiffness of trying to behave like an adult easier. Ewan wasn’t old enough, and he wasn’t the heir to the lairdship, like Alistair was. Ewan had been left behind with the servants and the steward.

“Alistair.” His father’s voice brought his thoughts back to the present, and he flushed with embarrassment, to have been caught woolgathering.

“Aye, Faither?” He raised his chin and tried to look responsible and adult-like. He tried to ignore the itch of sweat down his spine, and the call of the musicians in the festival, the smell of the roasting meat and sweet sugary treats and the laughter of the few younger children who had accompanied their parents – mostly the sons and daughters of entertainers or merchants.

His father smiled at him, an amused smile that made Alistair want to pout. The smile said his father had noticed his distraction, and thought it the whimsy of a child, rather than something to be stern about, as he would have if Alistair had been older. “Go on lad. We’ll be talkin’ dull matters like grain and roads for now. Go and see what there is tae see. Ye can come back and tell me all about it, as I’ll nae be getting tae see much o’ the festival this year.”

Alistair flushed, trapped between his desire to do just that, his wish to be obedient, and his determination not to be treated like a child. “Faither…”

“Go. Get something yer braither might like, and a treat fer yerself. And something fer me. A new knife would be fine. Me boot knife is near dull with age.”

He still felt he was being humored, but at least it sounded like a real task. Alistair took the money pouch his father gave him and tucked it into his shirt, then bowed with as much grace as he was able. “As ye wish, Faither. Me lairds.”

Then he was free to escape the stuffy tent where all the lairds had been meeting and talking about troops and horses and strategies. Free to fill his lungs with the fresh summer air, and his ears with laughter and music. Free to find something delicious to fill his belly as well, and some sweet berry juice to cool his dry throat.

Laughter caught his ears, and he turned to see a small girl darting through the crowd. She looked to be scarcely half his age, with red hair and a simple cotton dress. A cloth belt at her waist said she was from Cameron Clan, or born into it, at least.

Alistair watched her dart around the minstrel’s stand, stopping every now and then to listen to the piping of the man’s reed pipes. Then he shook his head and went to find the weapon merchants and smiths. He would get food and a gift for Ewan next, but his mission for his father had to come first. That was what it meant, to be a responsible adult. Father had taught him that.

It wasn’t easy to convince the man who sold knives to let him look at them. It was even harder to tell, with his young, inexperienced eyes, if the knife he eventually chose was a good blade, though it felt good in his hand, and the edge was keen enough to leave a thin line of red on his thumb. He was certain, when he finally left the stall, that he’d done a poorer job of haggling than he wanted to admit, even though he’d managed to convince the man to take a silver and five coppers off the price.

His father could have gotten five silvers and a copper, he was certain. But it was hard to be taken seriously when you were still a ‘stripling youth’, as the armsmaster at home called him.

At least he’d gotten the knife, and he could roam and enjoy the festival properly now.

He found a stall selling hot meat pies and bought two, along with a mug of some sort of chilled juice. He was busy chewing his way through the first one, when he heard a shout, and looked up just in time to nearly be knocked clean on his arse as a small figure darted around a booth from another aisle and slammed into him.

His drink splashed, but he managed to keep it and the meat pies from hitting the dirt. The knife, of course, was secured to his belt, and the remainder of the money he had was safe in his shirt. Even so, the indignity of being nearly knocked over was enough to make him flush. He glared at his assailant, the expression melting slightly as he realized it was the same little girl he’d seen before. Up close, he could see she had green eyes, green as grass, and a pert mouth.

He might not be angry, but he saw no reason to let her know that. “Ye should watch where ye’re goin’. Ye could have knocked me down. Or gotten hurt.”

He expected a bashful apology. Instead, the little girl made a harrumphing noise that he’d only heard from irritated matrons at home, folded her arms, and stuck her tongue out at him impudently. “Ye dinnae get tae tell me what tae dae!” Then, before he could gather his wits to respond, she was off again.

Alistair stared after her. The cheek o’ that… that… that brat!

He was tempted to follow after the girl, perhaps even trip her up to prove his point. Then he reminded himself that he was no longer a child to engage in such actions. He was growing up, and it was important not to let such childish displays upset him.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to his food and resolved to put the girl out of his mind. If she got kicked by a horse, or got her ears boxed by a merchant for being too sharp with him, it wasn’t Alistair’s problem.

Then he made his way to the stall selling toys, and felt his stomach tighten with frustration. The same little girl was there again, browsing the toys as he was. She spotted him, and her brow furrowed, before she ran off again. Alistair sighed and set about looking for a proper item for Ewan. He finally found a ball, and a simple wooden puzzle he thought his brother would like. He paid for them, a bit surer of his haggling skills this time, then went to explore the rest of the Festival.

Within a candle-mark, he was bemused and bewildered. The girl he’d noticed before seemed to be everywhere. He saw her at the field, attempting the games the older children played. He saw her at the story-teller’s stall, listening with rapt attention to the tale the bard wove, and found himself listening to her questions afterward with a small smile on his face. The bard had told a story of the Cauldron of Plenty, a tale Alistair had always found somewhat fanciful, and it sounded as if the girl was as uncertain as to the tale’s truth as he had been.

Then he saw her playing tag with other children her age, and chasing a small ball with single-minded determination that nearly sent her running into a passing farmer’s cart at one point.

After that, it was the clothing stall, where she haggled – unsuccessfully it seemed, but with great enthusiasm – for a dress that was several sizes too large for her. Later, he spotted her successfully bargaining for a bag of sweets from a different merchant.

Alistair tried to ignore her, but every time he spotted her, his eyes were drawn to her, as if she’d enspelled him.

She was so… unhindered. She spoke her mind, navigated the corridors around the Festival with an ease that he envied, and spoke to everyone in a forthright, forward fashion that should have earned her a clout on the ear in some cases. She played with children her own age, stopped to help a mother with a newborn bairn get some water, and chattered freely with everyone, from the merchants to the guards to the older children.

When one of the older boys tried to tease her, she didn’t cry, or back away in fear or uncertainty, like so many girls might have. Instead, she kicked his shins and stuck her chin out in defiance, leaving Alistair to muffle his laughter in his fist at the sight.

She was exasperating, and he was truly glad he had no duty to watch over her. She would have driven him mad in that case. Not even Ewan was so wild.

She was also intriguing. Alistair had been brought up to be a proper young man, and a proper heir to his father. He’d never seen anyone act so carelessly, or so freely, among others.

She was frustrating too, because Alistair knew quite well that if he’d spoken to the adults the way she did, he’d have taken a smack to his ear, and his father would have scolded him after. And yet, she seemed to get away with it almost effortlessly, as if she possessed some magic that allowed her to do and say whatever she wished.

It was a magic Alistair wished he had.

Finally, as dusk began to fall, he went back to the sweet sellers. He wanted to buy a last bag of treats, to take on the journey home. He might even save some for Ewan.

The little girl was there, nibbling on a honey biscuit. Alistair stopped in consternation, uncertain what to say or do.

She spotted him and marched right up to him. Alistair braced for kicked shins, or another sharp comment.

The little girl offered him the remainder of her honey cake, and a smile. “Hello. I’m Niamh. Who are ye?”

“Alistair.” He couldn’t seem to say anything else.

“Dae ye want a honey cake?”

“Aye. But… I can buy me own.” He fumbled for the proper coins and passed them to the amused sweet seller, then took the bag she offered in return. “But… thank ye.”

“I like tae share.” She continued to hold out the piece of honey cake. Feeling amused, Alistair accepted.

“Thank ye.” He ate it, then swallowed. “Are yer parents…”

“Niamh!” A shout echoed over the crowd, and the girl gave him an impish smile.

“’Tis me faither. I have tae go.” With a soft giggle, she reached up to pat his cheek with sticky fingers. “Will ye be here taemorrow?”

“Nae. Me faither and I have tae return home. But… but I…”

“Alistair.” His father’s voice carried over the diminishing noise of the festival. He flushed and tried to rub the honey off his face.

“I have tae go.”

Niamh nodded, then turned and darted away. Just before she was lost in the crowd, however, she turned and gave him one more cheerful grin, and a wave. Then she was gone.

Alistair turned to make his way back to his father, still dazed.