Page 67 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

She looked around, startled. A scurrying sound in the distance made her turn in fear.

“Relax,” said Niven. “It’s only a wee mouse,” he said, stroking her hair. He tried his hardest to settle her nerves but could see that she was quite jumpy.

“Listen, I ken it’s nae perfect, but the thing is, if we are to meet, then I cannae think o’ anywhere else to be…” said Niven, sighing.

He brought his arm around her, sitting them down on the hard stone floor. Cold radiated from inside the thick slabs. Together, they cuddled up, trying to get comfortable, but it wasn’t very easy.

After a moment or two of silence, Deva looked at Niven with sadness. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing his arms softly. “I suppose I’m just a wee bit gloomy,” she looked up to the low ceilings and the damp walls of the tunnel. “Like here…”

She smiled or tried to, the corners of her eyes giving away her weariness. Instinctively, Niven felt her melancholy.

“Aye,” he said, drawing her close. But now, they were not in the heights of desire. Instead, a simple wish for warmth drew him in. Tenderly, they held together without speaking for another minute.

Inside, Niven felt his heart grow cold. It was nothing to do with Deva. She was the only reason he was down here. But now that they were there, it was all so stark.

Niven glanced at her, wondering if she was thinking the same. Everything in his head was telling him that this was doomed, that they could never be together.

But when he looked at her, there was no way he could bring himself to say it.

“Oh Niven,” began Deva, looking up from their embrace. “I wish we could be together, outside, going for walks, holding hands, like normal folk…” she said wistfully.

Deva’s eyes were alive with passion, but when she spoke, her voice was solemn. Niven watched anxiously. A twist in his stomach warned him that this was it. She was leaving him, but it did not come.

Instead, Deva buried her head in his chest and held him tight.

“Me too,” said Niven. It was all he longed for, to chase her through the wintery woodlands, to walk with her through the green shoots of spring. To feel her love in the natural, open world. But even thinking such things brought him pain, it just reminded him of what could not be.

“But if this tunnel is the only way we can be together,” said Deva, unsurely, looking around the damp surroundings. “Then I suppose then that will have to be it… maybe, we can bring some drapes down here, make it cozy,” she suggested, with a little smile.

“Maybe something will turn up?” Deva said, trying to sound hopeful. Niven just nodded, and a lump in his throat stopped him from speaking.

He smiled wistfully, bringing his arm around her. Despite her brave words, he knew that she was not satisfied. And neither was he. The whole thing was so painfully obvious.

Nothing would turn up. In a few short weeks, Deva would be married to his uncle. Then it would be even harder for them to be together.

And what was he going to do about it?

They had no plans, no chance, and no hope.

No matter which way he looked at it, they were doomed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“So come on, spit it out, what was it ye couldnae tell me before?”

MacLean looked furiously toward Fingal as they walked around the Macaulay castle. So far, Fingal had given him the full tour, including the turrets. Yet all this time, the rustle of servants in the background had stopped him from what he wanted to say.

“We havenae got all day, lad, they’re expecting us at the table, afore nightfall,” said MacLean, pointedly. It was still broad daylight, but he drummed his fingers on his sgian dubh impatiently.

“I, I, ken, sir,” said Fingal, glancing about nervously, in case someone was listening, before beginning.

“It’s about the wedding, sir,” said Fingal, his green eyes glinting in the half-light. The room they were in was poorly lit, and he was struggling to see. At least in this dusty backroom, Fingal hoped no-one would overhear them.

“What, what about the wedding,” said MacLean, his dark eyes deepening fiercely. There was something in his nature that Fingal didn’t completely trust. For a moment or two, he stood debating with himself about whether to tell the laird what he had discovered.

“Well, it’s about the wedding, or rather, the marriage…” he began. MacLean stared hotly at him. Instead of building up to it, Fingal just blurted it out. “Well, I’m nae sure there’s going to be one… Deva’s in love wi’ someone else…an’ it’s serious…”

His words hung in the air and, for a moment, completely silenced MacLean. Before he could say anything more, Fingal quickly cut in, “She’s having an affair wi’ Niven, my brother…”