Page 103 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Niven couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His heart began pounding in his throat. Something in the back of his neck began prickling.

“What – we’ve got it planned, Deva didnae want a big fuss, we’re going to do it later on…” Niven turned, bewildered, to find his brother, Fingal. He had appeared out of the blue and also could not stop beaming at him.

“Och, didnae want a big fuss!” teased Fingal. He shared a glance with his uncle.

“What do ye ken about lasses! Of course, she wants a big fuss!” Rory insisted, “An’ the way the two o’ ye were going about it, ye would have died o’ old age afore ye were wed!”

Niven opened his mouth to protest but then shut it again. He grinned.

“Och, I suppose,” said Niven, his body heating up all over. “But ye could have warned me a wee bit in advance!” he said.

Then, he looked down to see that both his uncle and brother were wearing the ceremonial plaid. Seeing Niven look unsure, Fingal came and placed a sash around him.

“Here,” he said, tucking the tartan onto him, “I reckon ye’ll do…”

“But” gaped Niven, his mind already pounding with all the ten million things he was sure he had to do, “But I’m nae ready!”

“Yer as ready as ye ever will be,” laughed Rory. Now the crowds in the room were gathering apace. Suddenly, the hall was swarming with nobles from different clans, all the way across the Highlands.

For the first time, Niven felt a twist of panic in his belly.

“Och, I’ll skelp ye!” he exclaimed, to Fingal, grinning closely in his face. He didn’t even get the chance to ask anything else because before he could speak, Rory tapped at the table head.

“Ladies an’ gentlemen,” he began. Now that Niven had a proper chance to look about, he kicked himself. He should have noticed that the garlands and the decorations were too fancy to be any simple clan meeting. Suddenly, he broke out into a grin.

“She’s coming!”

It was his brother’s voice, casting his head excitedly to the back of the hall. The door opening cast a breeze across the stifling hall. A ruffle of silk rattled through the room, letting in the first smells of spring.

Standing at the head of the hall, Niven felt a bead of perspiration slide down his spine. It trickled like ice, sending him into an unwelcome shiver.

Maybe his nerves showed because besides him, Rory, beaming from ear to ear, thumped him good-naturedly on the back. “Relax, son,” he said, “It’s better like this, all the good parts and none of the fear…!”

Niven wasn’t quite sure what he meant but smiled anyway. His eyes had pinged back to the other side of the hall. It was a long way down, and the thronging crowds in the way didn’t help.

“Yer eyes are on stalks!” Rory teased, watching Niven’s intense gaze.

“Och,” said Niven, embarrassed. Rory was right. He wasn’t meant to gawp. He was expected to wait patiently at the head of the room until Deva had made her entrance. Even he knew that much.

The trouble was he had been waiting here for what felt like forever. And even though he had only known about this wedding for a few minutes, it still felt like too long.

With his heart beating quickly, Niven readjusted his plaid and checked that his belt was in place.

Now his uncle’s insistence on the ceremonial plaid made sense. And even Niven’s hair, usually free-flowing and anarchic, had been wrestled into submission. Niven wasn’t sure he liked it, but his uncle assured him that it was right.

The last few months had flown by, with everything finally coming together in the clans. Since MacLean’s defeat, the clans had united as one, under the lairdship of the Macaulays.

It had been hard work, with Niven out every day reaching out to various nobles and ordinary folks who worked the land. In all the excitement, he had almost not found the time to arrange the one thing that was the most important.

His own wedding!

Grinning from ear to ear, Niven suddenly felt a throb of gratitude. He was glad his uncle had done this for him. Perhaps it had been the shove he had needed.

Not that he needed any pushing to marry her. He had wanted to since the day he had met her. Just they had not quite got around to setting a date.

“Here comes the bride,” murmured Fingal, from beside him. Niven had almost forgotten he was there with him.

Fingal smiled, his freckly grin extending well beyond his ears, as Deva appeared from the throng, a vision in blue.