Page 101 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Behind him, murmuring from the other lairds rippled around the gate. In the gradually emerging light, Niven was able to see a group of them, all the lairds and their various forces, lining up on the horizon beyond.

One by one, they all trickled in, through the gates of the keep and over the moat drawbridge. The heavily fortified Macaulay guards were keeping a watchful eye on the situation, but for now, Rory gave them leave to relax.

“Aye,” ventured a second man. He was a short, squat noble that Niven recognized, very vaguely from way back. “Ye say he was in league wi’ the English, but how do we ken that?”

The lairds all looked at each other as Niven glanced to Fingal. He expected him to say something, to break the silence that had built up around them. But when he looked into his brother’s eyes, he was uncertain.

“Fingal?” said Niven, hopefully. But Fingal did not speak. Instead, he pushed himself forward towards the stretcher, where MacLean was laid to rest.

From the back, a couple of gasps went up, but mostly the crowd stopped and paused to watch him.

“Fingal, what are ye…?” began Niven, as Fingal, still limping badly, pulled himself over the deceased laird’s body. Then, he reached into his small knapsack, strapped to MacLean’s person.

From inside it, he pulled out a parchment. “Here!” said Fingal, triumphant. He unfurled it carefully. Then, he brought it out so that Rory, Niven, and as many of the other lairds could see it as possible.

“It’s here, all the detail, about their plans to carve the Highlands up, between them… offering the largest part to the Sassenachs!” Fingal said hoarsely as he rubbed his side.

Niven looked at him, concerned. Right then, he was more worried about Fingal’s wound than anything that MacLean might have done. However, the moment was not now. Casting a watchful eye on his brother, Niven addressed the men.

“Gentlemen,” said Niven, with a nod to Rory. His uncle had been standing, amazed throughout this revelation, and now came slowly up to him.

“Gentlemen, Uncle,” said Niven, raising his voice, “I hope that in the eve of all this, it will still be possible for us to come together, as the true alliance of the Highlands…”

His voice trailed away, A terrible hoarseness came over Niven, and he struggled to make a sound. By the time a servant had reached him with a dram, it was too late – a loud hullabaloo had taken the crowd.

Now, the men were ebullient and restless. For a moment, Niven feared for the worst, thinking they had lost control of the crowd. Quickly, he shared a worried glance with his men.

Rory tried to restore calm, but over the fighting crowds, only one voice could be heard. Everyone turned around, and then, for the first time, Niven saw who it was.

“I, for one, will be swearing allegiance to my new laird… Rory Macaulay…” they said, “So, what about ye?”

Everyone around the gates turned around, and then, for the first time, Niven saw who had just arrived.

Deva.

* * *

Deva’s heart ripped through her chest cavity, beating like a trapped bird. She had seen the crowds approaching as she drew close.

Then, she had caught the end of Niven’s speech about the unity in the clans. And although the battle was won, it was clear the other lairds were far from convinced. Seeing the look on their faces, Deva surged ahead, determined to put this right.

Exhausted, she had journeyed through the wild Highland night on an uncertain horse. They had reached their hiding place via boat but had had to return by horse. This had taken longer and potentially given their enemy the advantage.

Enemy.

Deva’s heart beat yet harder again as she was forced to think of her own clan in such terms. Immediately, she felt shame.

But as she approached, Niven’s words had stirred her deeply. For the first time, it occurred to her that she held the power to unite the people in front of her.

“My laird,” she began, curtseying before Rory. Despite the intensity of the situation, she was heartened to see his blue eyes twinkling in the graying light of dawn.

All the same, she nervously approached, filing past Niven and eyeing him anxiously. As she came close, her heart gave a big whoosh! Just going near him made her fizz up inside.

All this time, she had ridden, blasting through the arctic countryside, with a very displeased Allyth by her side. She had discovered her, running out in the middle of the night, and followed.

Unable to stop her, Deva rode like fury, from the inn to the next clan. From there, she had been reunited with her horse. She had only just got her bearings when she had found them all, on the castle steps, dazed and confused.

“Deva,” murmured Niven. His eyes sparkled with unreleased desire. And something else; sorrow.