Page 28 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Niven felt his heart surge. “What was it like, then? Because I dinnae ken,” he said, biting back the acid in his throat.

Deva looked anxiously to where her father was standing, at the other side of the podium, out of earshot. Then she turned her blue eyes upon him. “Real,” she said, unflinching.

Now Niven was locked into her beam and wasn’t going anywhere fast. Tears brimmed in the depths of her eyes.

“Niven, I nae meant to hurt ye,” she hissed, dabbing at her tears. She glanced at her father warily. It didn’t seem much like he was going to overhear them. “It was only because o’ him I lied…”

“Yer father?” Niven asked, puzzled. He turned to look at her.

“Aye, ye dinnae ken what he’s like,” she said, not deviating from his face, “There’s nae way I could have told ye who I was. If he found out what happened there, between us, he…”

The emotion in her voice was palpable. “…he would have killed ye. For sure. An’ maybe me as well, for good measure.”

His heart quickening, Niven was unsure what to think. Before he could speak, her hand was upon him. And now the chainmail was off, her hot touch washed through him like a tide.

Niven shivered.

There was but a sliver of cloth between her fingers and his naked skin. Just the thought of her touching him again made him hot and cold at the same time.

With a smile at the crowds, Deva pretended to make lighthearted conversation and rubbed his shoulders gaily. But when she spoke, she was not joking. Her blue eyes glowing, she pleaded with him.

“Niven, please… Everything we did, all the time we spent together… it was all real. I am the same lass ye spent a week with. How can I nae be?”

* * *

“Dance! Dance! Dance!”

An age seemed to have passed since Niven last spoke. Since then, he had retreated back into the podium, giving her a wide berth. Meanwhile, the crowd before them had not flinched from their chanting.

The demand came louder, the crowd adamant they should lead the dancing. And in the background, her father’s scowl. But the sound was only a backdrop to what was going on in Deva’s mind.

Although it was their voices pumping in her head, the only thing she heard was the banging of her heart, each beat sending an extra loud whoosh around her ears.

Outside it was cold, with the night coming down across the glen, but in her head, it was hot. Deva glanced around. The crowds were still milling, although now a gradual procession was heading back inside the keep. Deva eyed her father, red-faced and irritable, trying to put a lid on his temper.

It was obvious to her that he was not happy at all about her speaking so much to Niven. Unfortunately, the poor servant he was barking at probably didn’t realize this.

“Come on now, we have a welcome in our hall for all our invited guests,” he announced, to the crowd, in a none-too-subtle manner. If Deva hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might have grinned at the sight of him trying to direct the crowd back inside the MacLean keep.

Deva watched carefully. She wanted nothing more than not to be the center of attention. But, by the looks of them, the crowd wasn’t going anywhere.

At the front of the field, the stomping of feet made clear their demands.

“Dance! Dance!” the chorus came. They were not giving up. Then, the compere, a red-faced man who had just been yelled at by the laird, came back up to the podium. Without asking, he took Niven’s arm, raising it in the air. Then, he brought Deva over to face him.

Now face to face, it was impossible for the pair to ignore each other any longer. Although, by the look of him, Niven was prepared to give it a go. Even when Deva was just inches from him, his eyes diverted, looking across to the skies.

Every heartbeat was agony. The fracas of the crowd combining with the pressure in her head made Deva dizzy. For a moment, she thought she would fall. But then, something steadied her.

When she looked up, he had her hand. The red-faced compere had vanished, leaving Niven in his place.

Astonished, Deva watched as his eyes fastened upon her. But the second that she looked over, he turned, averting his gaze. All the same, his hand was still wrapped around hers, locking onto her tight.

“Are ye alright?”

It was the first thing he had said in ages. A wave of relief rushed through her as she lost herself in the texture of his touch. The crowd’s noise had not diminished, but the sense of his touch on her skin stilled her heart.

“I—I am fine,” she said, a little primly. But although her tone was clipped, her eyes beseeched him.