Page 90 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

“Hello?” the sound of Niven’s own voice ran around the tunnel, echoing back at him strangely.

He strained his ears briefly, thinking it was the others. But the total silence made it clear enough. He was on his own. At least, for now.

Worried, Niven trudged on. His numbed feet ached in his threadbare ghillies. But it didn’t matter because he still had the hope in his heart to spur him on.

But with every mile, Niven became less sure. Because Niven suddenly didn’t know anything by now. From the looks of it, someone had passed through this tunnel and recently, but who, he did not know.

Now he was only a couple of miles from the entrance. With a dwindling candle and an eerie chill in the air, Niven tried to keep his spirits up by singing snatches of old fighting songs. But as he sang, the air of a popular love ballad crept in.

Without knowing it, the words had planted in his head, and under his breath, he was humming. “Sweet maid so fair… hold me gently… with red locks of hair…”

He was so lost in the song that he almost stopped noticing where he put his feet. With the light in front of him falling, he should have taken more care. But singing loudly, he lost all caution and, without any warning, came up against something hard.

And fleshy.

A body.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Brother,” Fingal’s eyes opened, and his clumsy tongue clacked into life.

But it was no good. His mouth was as dry as summer heath, unable to sound the word he wanted to, Fingal lay back and groaned.

“Brother!” Niven’s voice came, again, but this time louder.

However, it did not reach his ears. Fingal lay back on a black tide of sleep and drifted ever further off.

This did not calm Niven one bit. He had already gasped at the sight of Fingal laying there, his pale skin almost translucent in the eerie tunnel light.

Groggily, Fingal felt himself being propped up, dragged maybe, somewhere where he could be lifted up.

“Niven?” Fingal murmured as hazily his drowsy eyes met the light.

In front of him, his brother was peering, face-first into his own. It was so unexpected that the shock gave Fingal the jolt he needed to come to.

“Niven?” he articulated this time a little clearer. Woozily, Fingal straightened himself up and tried to raise his head. In that instant, the room span crazily, and a wave of nausea overwhelmed him.

“Nae, nae, get down,” his brother’s hand guided him gently back down again and rested his head on something soft.

“What, where am I?” murmured Fingal. He was still getting to grips with his vision. So far, nothing was very clear. “It’s so dark… och, Niven, am I blinded?”

Panic hit his heart, making him crumple up inside. Within a second, Fingal felt Niven’s reassuring touch on his shoulder. Patting him gently, Niven chuckled.

“Nae,” he said, but then seemed to stop, “I mean, I dinnae think so… my candle’s almost burned out…”

Although he could not see, Fingal tried desperately to sit up enough to reach his knapsack. But it was a struggle against the fog in his brain. Faltering, Niven tried to stop Fingal as his dazed eyes scanned crazily for something in his bag.

“Dinnae,” began Niven, trying to get him to lay back down. Fingal’s head swam as he tried to imagine where he was. If this was his bedchamber, then he didn’t remember it being so dark. Or so confined.

“Here,” said Fingal, blindly shoving the candle into Niven’s hand, “Use this…”

Swiftly Niven lit the candle, and soon the narrow tunnels were illuminated in shadows of gray.

“Fingal, dinnae try an’ get up,” his brother tried to say. But it was too late; Fingal was already raising his head and looking around. Once again, the world came crashing, but Fingal was determined to pull himself through it.

Then – “Aargh!”

A sharp pain ran through him. In a heartbeat, Fingal was on the floor, rolling around and groaning.