Page 3 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

“There they go,” Allyth’s voice cut her out of her thoughts, and for a few minutes, the pair watched as the brigands carried on into the empty canyon beneath them.

Deva waited as they disappeared into the distance, fervently hoping the young man was finally free of them.

For several minutes, Deva stared into the abyss, but the view of the clearing and the valley beyond were obscured by the side of the hills, cutting into their path.

Reluctantly, Deva let him go.

So much for her fancy notions. As if she was even free to give herself in marriage. Or do anything without the say-so of her father. Anything she might want came a poor second to whatever the mighty laird of the MacLeans had decreed.

She was to be bought and sold like a chattel. Or, in this case, won as a trophy for flinging lumps of clay into the air.

Deva bristled at her fate but dampened herself down, determined to make the best of it. It was not to be, and there was nothing she could do about it. At least it looked as if the young man had gotten away.

He had gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Most likely, she would never see him again.

There was nothing else to say.

Chapter Two

“Sachairi?”

Niven called out, his voice ringing across the treetops in the glen. All around, an aura of silence met him. Even the birds had stopped singing, and now, there was a deafening quiet in the copse.

Bringing his bold face toward the copse, Niven looked to the horizon.

Nothing.

“Sachairi? Padraig?” he called again but was met with resounding silence.

Worried, Niven looked around. Squinting into the pale sun, he gazed futilely in search of his missing crew.

No-one.

And if that weren’t enough, he was also utterly, totally, and completely lost.

With a sigh, Niven tugged at a map, whilst inside his head, his uncle berated him. How could ye be such a walloper, son?

He had a point. How could he have veered so hopelessly off course? Losing his two companions was just the icing on the cake.

Hopelessly, Niven scanned the parchment in his hands. All he could see were trees, no mention of the valley or the thin strip of land he was on. Then again, the map was at least ten years old, and by the looks of it, things had changed.

Reluctantly, Niven concluded that he was alone and should press on ahead, hoping to catch up with the errant crew. Planning to give them a good drubbing when he finally found them, he looked around again.

Niven sighed. Maybe he didn’t mind so much. In fact, a little time alone would not be so bad. It was just unfortunate it was in such uncharted terrain.

Finally, the space and the silence gave him a chance to concentrate on all that had built up in his head since setting off that morning.

Sorcha. Just the sound of her name was enough to sharpen the spike in his heart. When he’d heard about the tournament, it’d sounded like a great way to impress her. Some jousting, and then, Highland games. He was certain to be a winner.

And yet, when he told her, all she did was laugh.

What, ye, toss a caber? Are ye sure, sonny, ye might do yerself a mischief!

Niven bristled at the memory. But it had been the kick he had needed, and from that moment onwards, he had made up his mind to do it.

And if he won, well, it wouldn’t exactly hurt, would it? And she had been the prime reason he had been so keen to do it. Of course, he had wanted to help Uncle Rory as well.

For years, he had wanted to unify the surrounding clans, and now, with the MacLean laird proposing his daughter as a prize, it seemed as if Rory’s ambition would be realized.