Page 27 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Which was why Niven found his emotions so confusing. Inside, he was screaming betrayal. How could she have lied to him in this way? In fact, why had she lied to him?

Niven gazed at her, trying not to frown. Somehow, she looked different – and not just the clothes. Watching her, he saw the stiffness in her movements.

Her mouth smiled, but her eyes did not. She waved woodenly to the crowd, but he could see her heart was not in it. She pretended not to look, but when he turned away, he caught her eyes watching.

But just then, he had a bigger challenge. His fingers were struggling with the armor’s straps. Removing the cuisses was proving tricky, and the harder he tried, the more stuck it became. Tentatively, she came over to help him.

But Niven brushed her off, “I can manage,” he said curtly. But, to his frustration, it still did not open.

“Here,” she said, bringing her head over to his thigh. Niven tensed as he felt her soft hair around his legs.

His first instinct was to stop, to push her away. But he couldn’t do that. They were all looking. Irritated, Niven looked for one of his men to assist. But no-one came.

She leaned into him, her fragrant air rubbing against him. Niven prayed for it to stop. The frisson of her being that close was just too intense. Despite trying to blank her, he was forced to look.

His heart melted. Her long hair curled seductively around his calves. He couldn’t feel her silken touch on his skin, but he sure was imagining it.

It didn’t take long for her to free him, and Niven quickly set about unfastening the rest of his plates. All the same, he couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“Surprised?” he said, his voice twisting, “Or maybe ye didnae think ye’d e’er see me again?”

He kept his voice low, but she had heard, all right. He continued belting his plaid and dressing apace as he spoke. Niven’s eyes danced painfully into hers, their blue radiance stinging him hard. He knew he shouldn’t sound so bitter, but the hurt in his heart was too much.

“Niven, I, it…” Deva gabbled. She was still struggling to speak. And even the words she did say were taken by the never-ending din.

After what seemed like forever, Niven succeeded in taking off his plates of armor. Freed from his heavy chainmail, he became aware of something else happening now. In the background, fiddlers had started playing a lively tune that set the crowd a-tapping.

“I had no idea…” she said, her eyes reaching out to his. But Niven was wise to it and looked away.

“Hush noo,” MacLean said, struggling to retain his good temper. Eventually, the crowd died down. “Noo, let’s all toast the winner, an’ his prize…”

Then, MacLean’s face dropped, and beneath his breath, he scolded the servant standing nearest him. “Och, what do ye mean there’s nae whisky left, go an’ find some!”

At the mention of the word whisky, the crowd almost combusted. And as MacLean shouted at servants, Niven was left to make small talk.

“Niven,” she began. But he stopped her.

“Come then, Deva, are ye going to join me in a toast to yer marriage?”

Deva looked as if she had been slapped. “I… I…” she began. The look on her face was one of total shock. Somewhere inside, a tiny part of Niven wondered if he should feel sorry for her. But he couldn’t. The hurt was too raw. And the horrible clawing in his chest was not going away.

“Ye nae had the slightest intention o’ meeting me at the cottage again,” he said, his eyes wincing as he stared, “did ye?”

He brought his eyes to hers, this time staring them deep with hurt. Deva looked stunned.

But before she could reply, a couple of Niven’s men jostled them along, raising their hands in the air together.

“Let the victor lead the dancing,” shouted one of the men. Niven wasn’t sure, but it was probably Padraig, who seemed finally to have rejoined the group.

The slight, dark-haired lad glanced shyly towards Deva, who smiled glassily. Then Padraig looked unsurely towards the laird.

Niven felt his guts wrench. The last thing he felt like doing was dancing. Especially not with her! Motioning the servant aside, Niven tried to move, as fast as he could, from the prying eyes of the crowd. He didn’t care much for where he went, as long as it was away from her.

But the MacLean laird had other ideas, placing his hand on Niven’s shoulder and bringing him around to face the crowd. Then, there was confusion.

His head was inured with noise. He had to get out of here, but it seemed impossible.

Deva blinked unsurely at Niven. “O’ course, I wanted to meet ye again, how can ye say such a thing?” she said, “Ye must believe me. It wasnae what it looks like.”