Page 64 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

“I need to…” began Niven, reaching for his cape. He was in a sudden hurry to be off. In truth, he had been hoping not to see his uncle at all. But it seemed he had been lying in wait, standing here by the door to the keep.

“Och, Niven, nae mind that,” said Rory, exasperated. Niven turned to look at his uncle, although when he did, he wished he had not. The laird fixed him with his most piercing beam – one that was hard to get away from – and held him in his grip.

“I need to speak to ye afore the upcoming wedding. Preparations are already in place for Deva’s father to come to the keep,” said Rory, his steady blue gaze holding Niven tight.

“What, already?” said Niven, alarmed. Even talking about the wedding made him feel guilty. And now the look on his uncle’s face told him that all was not well.

Just as he was about to question him further, Fingal arrived, on foot, from across the open entranceway.

“Good day, uncle…brother,” he said, raising his eyebrows a little as he saw Niven.

Niven tried his hardest not to roll his eyes. Great. Now he had Fingal to contend with. Niven’s hopes of sloping off into the background were fading fast.

“I havenae seen much o’ ye since ye came back from the dead,” he remarked, sardonically. “Anyone would think ye were avoiding us…”

Fingal smirked as his uncle came over, putting a conspiratorial arm over him.

“That’s what I said, too,” said the laird, giving a good-natured grin to Niven.

Niven felt himself heat up. It was true he had been trying to avoid Rory, and probably he had given Fingal short shrift too. The fact was, he didn’t really want to spend too much time in their company, in case he said something he wasn’t meant to.

“Och, I’m sorry, but,” began Niven, uncomfortably. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as they stood awkwardly in the entrance to the keep.

Niven wondered how he was going to fix this, but it seemed Rory had moved on. Now he set his beam upon Fingal.

“So many mysteries, Niven,” said Fingal, annoyingly. “I mean, we barely ken what happened to ye for that week, then ye disappeared on the hunt the other day. An’ this is the first time either o’ us have clapped eyes on ye, since then…”

Niven smarted. He needed to think quick. He had been hoping that his absence had not been noted that night, but it seemed like it might have been.

Trying not to look flustered, he laughed. “Och, I just saw how deep the snow was an’ quit early on. Then I came back to the keep…”

His eyes darted to Rory, who he hoped was on board with this. His uncle smiled, giving him no reason to think otherwise.

Just as Niven was trying to figure a way out of this mess, Fingal came forward.

“Anyway, uncle, I was told that the laird of MacLean is on his way, sir, an’ that ye wanted someone to show him around, so I thought, maybe I could do that…”

His voice trailed off, leaving his words hanging in the air. Niven could see the hope on his brother’s face. It was almost puppyish.

But Rory appeared to be having a hard time deciding something. His eyebrows were knitted together as if fighting a war with each other.

“Well, I was going to ask Niven, but,” he stopped himself. Then he smiled brightly at Fingal. “But maybe ye can do it, instead,” he said to Fingal, who looked appropriately pleased.

“Aye, sir,” he said with evident pride. Out of the corner of his eye, he gave Niven a little wink. “If Niven’s too busy to help ye on clan duty, I can certainly fill in!”

Niven groaned to himself. Of course, Fingal was loving this. He never did miss a chance to try and prove he was the more worthy heir. However, in this circumstance, Niven was more than happy. Showing the laird of MacLean around – an oafish man who had a reputation for shouting at flunkies – was not high on his list of priorities. If Fingal wanted to do it, then that suited him just fine.

Before Niven had a chance to speak, Rory span around. Beaming at Fingal, he patted him on the shoulder.

“Well, that’s decided then,” he said, with a smile. Then he called for a servant to bring the horses. “Ye can ride wi’ me to meet the laird. But Niven, we will see ye later on for the feast in the great hall. I do hope yer nae going to let me down…”

“I’ll be there, uncle,” said Niven, because what else could he possibly say?

“Good,” said the laird, making for the horses which were being brought over. Swiftly, he mounted his burly white stallion as his brother leaped atop of his own, friskier gelding.

There, the two of them cantered away, as, in the distance, Deva hovered into view. She stood there, blinking up at him through the darkness of the hall. Instantly, Niven whipped his head around. Almost immediately, his heart started pumping.

“Och, an’ ye too, ye wee minx,” said Rory, from atop of his horse. His smile beamed down to Deva. It seemed so innocent that Niven felt a stab of remorse.