Page 76 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Deva hid from Niven’s eyes. And the rest of them. But she forced herself to look at Rory. At least, if she could persuade him to go easy on Niven, then maybe something could be salvaged for one of them.

For the first time she looked at him, his usually sparkling blue eyes burned with rage. Instantly, Deva looked away.

“Nae.”

Deva turned to look. It was Niven’s voice. He had finally pushed himself forward and was standing right in front of the laird. “Nae, it wasnae just her fault. It was mine too,” said Niven.

He barely got time to finish, a hail of yelling bringing him down. Deva did not try to keep up with what was being said. In truth, she didn’t want to know.

The only thought she had was Niven. Inside her heart, something gave a little jolt. Maybe this would even be a good thing. Now at least it was out in the open.

“Nae, we cannae do business wi’ ye after this!” MacLean fumed. Deva didn’t really know what he meant, but behind him, the other nobles began to stir.

When Deva dared to look at them, it was to see both her father and Rory glaring at Niven hard. Behind them, the other nobles looked on, equally stunned. Everyone in that room hated them hard.

Everyone except Fingal. To begin with, Deva had not noticed him, sidling into the back of the room. But as the row intensified, he had become more noticeable.

He slithered behind the other lairds, a sneaky grin on his face. Deva blinked twice. She needed to double-check her eyes. He was smiling. He was enjoying this.

“But, MacLean, there is nae need for that,” Macaulay was saying. He was still enraged but more concerned with making things right. “We can come up wi’ another plan. There’s nae need to throw away this chance of peace for the Highlands…”

All eyes were pinned to MacLean. Deva watched her father, strutting like a rooster in a barnful of chickens. Headless chickens.

“Nae, Macaulay,” her father said slowly as he paced righteously about, from one length of the hall to the other.

Just the act of pacing was enough to put cold panic into Deva. This was what he did when he was scheming, and the outcome was seldom good.

Sure enough, there was a dark glimmer in his eyes. Yes, his violent temper had been put aside, but it was clear he was very much in charge of the situation. Then his eyes flashed to hers in triumph.

“Nae, I cannae go ahead with the union. This has proven that yer clan cannae be trusted…” he shot an accusatory glance towards Niven as he said this, “Nae. We will have to dismantle the old alliance an’ start all over…”

Behind him, the other lairds united. In an instant, Deva understood it all.

He was loving this too, just he was better at disguising it than Fingal. Deva’s heart ran cold. She wouldn’t be surprised if he set the whole thing up.

As she started to think about this, the more it made sense. Not five minutes ago, Niven had said her father was at the Macaulay lodge. Now, without warning, he was here. Deva shivered in realization. He had done it. He knew they would be here.

She had no proof, just the self-satisfied crackle in his eyes. And now, he eyed her like the final pawn in his game.

“Aye, but there’s nae enough of ye to rule the Highlands wi’out me,” warned Rory. He wasn’t giving in yet and pulled forward to address the others in the group.

Deva looked out to the half dozen or so clan leaders. Most of them she knew by sight. These were her father’s buddies from the lesser clans in the region.

Then she looked back to Rory. He was right. The nobles behind him were small fry. Her father would have a much tougher job convincing the others without the Macaulays on board.

Which was why Rory was giving it one desperate plea for unity. “Come on, MacLean,” he said beseechingly. “Ye cannae do this on yer own… Think about it…”

It was a heartfelt bid, and for a moment, there was silence in the room. But it was soon rebuffed.

“Nae,” said MacLean, darkly. Then he cocked his head to the other lairds and led them out.

Just as they were on their way out, MacLean gave one last look. He smirked at them, assuredly.

“Ye better get used to it being me who calls the shots now, Macaulay,” he said, “Nae fash, we’ll come up with our own plan for the Highlands, an’ let ye ken how ye fit in…”

* * *

One by one, the lairds followed their man, MacLean, through the heavy oak doors and down along the Macaulay corridors.