Page 4 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

If Niven won, Rory would be marrying into the second strongest clan in the region and potentially create an unstoppable force in the Highlands.

And Niven had his own reasons for taking part. If he would win, then maybe Sorcha would give him a second look; maybe even take his hand in marriage. It was about time someone did. He was twenty-eight, after all.

By the time his uncle was twenty-eight, he had been married twice already, and now at the ripe old age of fifty, seemed set to do so again. Inwardly, Niven had begun to despair that he would ever make a match.

Pushing his wavy brown hair from his eyes, Niven sighed. He was grateful to Rory for taking him and his brother in after his parents died. But playing second fiddle to such a dynamic character was difficult.

It seemed that every woman who came within a mile of the wily old goat ended up head-over-heels in love with him, leaving little room for Niven’s prospects. This tournament had been his first real chance of proving himself, but that wasn’t going to happen if he never got there.

Putting down the tatty map, Niven was just about to give up and go with his instincts when something stopped him.

Lost in thought, he had not heard them approach. The footsteps crept through the undergrowth, advancing with stealth until it was too late to run.

The first thing that Niven knew about it was a hand grabbing at him and a jab of cold against his chin.

Then, looking down, he saw.

A knife.

* * *

She wanted to grab his hand and warn him that he was being followed. From across the valley, Deva watched in horror.

The men could be seen cutting in through the wooded glade, across the ridge to the copse where he was.

“Nae again,” she cursed, her heart quickening. She should have realized they wouldn’t have given up so easily.

Abruptly, she turned to Allyth. “I kent we should have stopped and helped, afore,” she scolded, but it was herself she was angry with.

Seeing Allyth’s pale face cloud over, Deva felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn’t take it out on her. Leaving had been her decision, not her maid’s.

Now all she could do was watch as the men dismounted and pushed their way across the glen, leaning on their bellies through the long grass.

Snakes.

Deva felt her stomach turn. She tried to warn him, but, just like before, he could not hear. Her heart beating in triple time, she glimpsed through cupped hands, the ambush.

“Nae,” she cried futilely. She turned to Allyth.

“Come, to the horses,” she snapped, and this time she was in no mood to argue. Seeing the look in her mistress’s eyes, Allyth nodded and followed.

Together, they mounted the pair of Highland ponies, waiting by the roadside. With a brief pat of the mare’s head, Deva leaped up, and soon they were charging crazily over the muddy glen.

“Come on, lassie,” urged Deva, as her poor horse struggled to keep up.

Usually, she was more accustomed to sedate walks over less capricious terrain. In truth, the poor thing was getting on in age and really should have been put out to pasture years ago. But Deva was fond of her, having ridden her since childhood, and had pleaded to keep her against all odds.

“Ye can do it, Titania,” she murmured as they rounded the glade and came out to the lake in the center of the woods.

Then, she stopped. Without warning, she was almost upon them, and the two brigands were standing just in front.

But they hadn’t seen her at all. In fact, they only had eyes for the lad, alone on his horse.

Edging closer, the larger brigand came up to the horse rider, a sly grin on his face. In his hands, he held a knife to the lad’s throat.

Abruptly, he dragged him to the ground, sending the lad’s black stallion scurrying into the trees. Now, he had him in a headlock, with the knife glittering in his face.

“Ye’ve got two choices, lad. Say aye, an’ we only take all yer jewels, an’ yer coin …” grinned the mercenary.