Page 99 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

So much had happened. It was hard to stop his imagination from going into overdrive. Heat burned in Niven’s cheeks as strong nausea overwhelmed him.

Unsure what to do next, Niven wavered uncertainly. Then, Fingal came over and touched his arm gently.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, “He’s gone…”

“Open up, open up!”

Niven’s men thundered on the entrance to the Macaulay castle. They had run the last half mile or so from the scene of the battle.

Although one or two stragglers from the MacLean side had pursued them, they had largely abandoned their cause and run away.

Now it was only the Macaulay men who were pounding on the wooden trapdoor entrance. But even though they had deposed the MacLean laird, Niven was not complacent.

“Come on, hurry up,” he called, banging on the wooden trap again. Swiftly he turned to Fingal. “Just because MacLean’s dead, doesnae mean that they can’t still regroup… an’ then there are the other lairds out there!”

Behind him on the staircase, Fingal pushed himself up. Niven could hear him puffing and instantly feared for him. Regardless, his brother propelled forwards, trying to open the door with his bare fists.

“It’s nae good,” murmured Niven. He pointed, indicating the stuck flap which they could no longer get opened into the castle. “It’s bolted from the outside…!

Then, there came a jangling of keys, and heavy footsteps sounded overhead. Behind the trapdoor, Niven and his men braced themselves, still unsure of what they would find. Swiftly, the trap opened, and Niven tensed, pointing his sgian dubh towards the opening.

Then, he grinned.

“Niven!”

The booming voice of his uncle could be heard from across the dusty room. With some difficulty, Niven helped Fingal mount the staircase and climb out into the Macaulay castle.

“Niven,” Rory called to him. Now Niven could see, he stood squinting into the half-light of the shut-up room they were standing in. His heart gave a start. By now, relief was flooding through him like rain.

But looking about, Niven noticed something amiss. Half of the paintings in the room had been slashed, some knocked out by stray cutlasses or blades.

In concern, he reached around for his uncle. “Are ye alright?”

Niven fell into Rory’s arms, cemented by Fingal, who brought himself right into the middle of them.

The abandoned bedchamber might have been closed to public use, but glancing about, Niven could see that it had had some visitors.

“It’s fine,” said Rory, a dismissive wave of the hand brushing aside his concerns, “Nae fash, we’ve held more raucous feasts…”

He made light of his words, but as they emerged from out of the cellar room and into the wider hallway, there was no disguising the trail of destruction in their wake.

Helping Fingal up gingerly, Niven walked alongside his uncle.

“What happened here?” he asked Rory, although he thought he already knew.

“All ye need to ken is that thanks to ye, we managed to hold them at bay…” said Rory grimly.

Now for the first time, Niven saw just how beat he was. Emerging from the castle, they pushed on, checking the defenses on the gate.

“It’s alright,” said the tall commander, who had been standing behind them, “My men have seen them off.”

A very tired feeling came over Niven, and he was not alone. By the look of him, Fingal was fit to drop.

Making sure his brother was seated safely on the steps, Niven glanced around.

“Is he alright?” Rory asked, then looked at Niven, “Are ye alright?”

Niven simply waved him away. “Later,” he said. Rory eyed Fingal anxiously.