Page 20 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

“Poison? Stabbed? Nothing? Nae! Sir, ye’ve been hurt - wounded in battle!” Sachairi’s already widened eyes extended even further until Niven felt sure that they would pop. But at the concern in his voice, he felt a stab of guilt. “We should take ye back to the Macaulay keep, an’ get the laird’s physician to take a look at ye…”

“Nae, nae noo, I mean, nae fash,” said Niven, trying to get off the subject of his wound and onto other things.

Sachairi looked unconvinced, but seeing Niven’s face, he did not press the issue. A huge gust of wind rocked them, almost blowing Niven down off his horse. The horse, an excitable black stallion, did not react well and bucked violently.

Seeing him struggling to get back into the saddle, his servant came to assist him. Eventually, Niven mounted the black stallion safely.

“Thank ye,” he said, finally, as the black stallion began to quieten. But inside, all he could think was damn.

The last thing he needed was anyone fussing. Attempting to turn the conversation, Niven looked around the glen. From behind, he could hear horses approaching but couldn’t yet see anything.

“Just my luck to have a horse that doesnae like the wind!” quipped Niven, trying to distract Sachairi.

It was to no avail. The lad was eyeing him with concern.

“Sir, ye were hurt, I dinnae think maybe that we should continue onto the MacLean keep at all,” said the lad, a little hesitantly. He cast his eyes away from Niven when he stopped to look.

“Fannybaws,” said Niven instinctively before thinking the better of it. He caught the young lad’s fraught face. “Sorry, I mean, come on, we’re nearly there already!”

Giving the horse a nudge, Niven leaned into the wind, ready to go. “Come on, Sach, it’ll nae do to keep the laird of MacLean waiting!”

He was about to gallop away when the thundering hooves from behind engulfed him. Glancing behind, Niven stopped fast.

“Padraig, Dughall, Alaistair.” He leaped down from the horse and rushed to meet the rest of his men, who crowded him enthusiastically.

Dughall, his uncle’s chief counselor, sped towards him.

“Master Niven, we have been all over!” he declared, barely suppressed worry showing in his sallow cheeks, “What on earth has happened?” Dughall’s long gray hair flayed in the wind, cutting into his face and interrupting his speech. Instead, he glared at Sachairi as if he were somehow responsible for his disappearing master.

Before Niven could say anything, Sachairi leaped in.

“He was taken prisoner, sir!” he blurted, “But he bravely fought them off!”

Inwardly, Niven rolled his eyes. This was all he needed. He might be a hero, but now his uncle’s main man was on his case, and Dughall was not the type to back down.

“Sir, we are so relieved to have ye back!” cried Dughall, stepping over with concern to examine him, “But is it true, are ye hurt?”

The men behind him gave a cheer, and Niven felt humbled by their support. “Nae, I mean, aye, I mean, I am fine now… it’s complicated,” he said. All he could really think about was getting back on his horse and leaving for the MacLean keep.

“He fought them off, singlehanded,” Sachairi carried on as Niven sighed inwardly.

Then, seeing the look of concern on the men’s face, he relented, resigning himself to explaining the whole thing again. Having got to the end of the tale, Niven took the reins of his horse once more, biting back his impatience to get started.

“Easy noo, Odin,” he said, patting the horse soothingly. But inside, he felt every bit as desperate to be off as his jumpy stallion was.

He might sound confident, but deep down, he was anything but. What really were his chances of success in the contest? Would he even get there in time? Was his uncle angry at him for being late?

And that was not all which worried him. A tournament like this would be hard. But still, he could not let down the laird. Or his men, who had celebrated his return jubilantly.

They had searched for a week, looking for him. He owed them big time to get this right.

But it was not just the tournament that was heavy on Niven’s mind. No matter how important it was, he couldn’t help himself wondering about the lass who had nursed him.

Allyth.

Was she somewhere down there, on the horizon, waiting in the crowded field?

Although Niven knew it was unlikely he would see her, he couldn’t help hoping that he did. Cracking the whip to go, Niven suddenly made a resolution.