Page 94 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Niven watched in anguish as his brother was dragged backward by the laughing thugs.

“Put him down,” yelled Niven, futilely. But he knew it was no good; action was needed. However, MacLean’s men held all the cards.

“Nae can do,” said MacLean, with an unhinged grin. From the back of the tunnel, a steady trickle of men emerged, making Niven’s stomach twist in knots.

“Listen, there must be something ye want,” said Niven. He was just firing desperately for anything that might buy some time.

In surprise, Fingal looked at him. “Nae!” he said in disbelief. Niven saw his brother’s wide-opened face and hoped he would understand. If Fingal believed he was trying to bribe MacLean, then it might convince MacLean that he was serious.

“Nae, Niven, ye cannae,” he cried, as Niven tried to shut his voice out from his head and concentrate.

MacLean’s eyes glinted at him darkly. The avaricious sparkle told him that he had got him.

“Well, now ye come to mention it, there are one or two things I want from ye,” snarled MacLean. He turned the blade into Niven’s cheek, leaving a fresh scratch on it.

Then he pursed up his lips and hissed into his ear. “Ye’ll be lucky to get free with yer scrawny neck attached lad, let alone anything else!”

MacLean cast an eye over Niven, making plain his threat. Niven felt a bead of sweat trickle down his head, streaking into his wounded cheek. It stung painfully.

“Well, it’s me ye’ve got a grudge wi’,” said Niven, wildly, “Nae my uncle, an’ nae my brother, so come on, let’s have it out!”

He didn’t dare to move, but Niven’s glowering eyes made clear his fury. Without breaking from his pose, Niven continued to stare straight ahead.

MacLean stepped a pace back. He looked like he was thinking. It was all Niven needed.

“H’m,” said MacLean, his eyes clouding momentarily. Niven watched the greed dance inside them. “I daresay there’s something ye can give me to make up for stealing my daughter!”

MacLean was about to bring his face back up towards him, but Niven didn’t give him a chance. In a heartbeat, he had kicked him as hard he could do, straight into his shin bone. MacLean went down like a felled tree.

“Aargh,” MacLean groaned, falling to the stone floor with a horrible crash. Behind him, his goons gawped, too astonished to react. Taking advantage of their slow wits. Niven reached for the laird’s sword.

It had clattered to the floor beneath his feet – almost straight into his lap. Grinning, Niven grasped it with both hands. Inside, he felt a surge of rage burn him.

“So, come on then,” he said to MacLean. His eyes went quickly to Fingal, still caught in the grip of the two guards.

But their grip was light, and in their surprise, even Fingal managed to fight free of them. Now the pair of them were free – but not for long. Behind them, the specter of soldiers, filing in down the narrow tunnel corridors loomed large.

Desperately, Fingal looked to Niven. “What now?” he hissed. Niven looked up as if he had seen something in the structure of the tunnel.

“It’s coming down!” he yelled at top volume.

Sure enough, a couple of the guards nearest to them started looking over. Even Fingal looked concerned. With a quick wink to him, Niven got him onside.

“Run,” he urged whilst they were distracted. Just enough of the men were looking the other way to make it possible.

Even though they were massively outnumbered, Niven and Fingal sped through the narrow tunnel- heading as fast as they could towards the Macaulay castle.

“Come on,” hissed Niven, again, as they ran. He hadn’t even dared look back.

Niven didn’t have a plan. He was just desperately hoping something would turn up. Dragging Fingal on his shoulder, he went as fast as they both could manage.

“Alright?” said Niven, more in hope than anything else. It was plain to see that Fingal was not in good shape, but there was no question of them slowing down now.

“Aye,” winced Fingal, putting a brave face on it. But Niven saw that his wound had begun to bleed through the bandage.

Realizing that he had to get him to safety, Niven took his arm and supported his brother, as best as he could, whilst still running.

“Och, Niven, what are we going to do?” asked Fingal, plainly terrified.