Page 24 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Then he paused for a moment. “And where’s McCleary?” he asked with a scowl.

It was a good question.

Deva looked across to the thick lump charged with “protecting” her, now at least several yards away. He didn’t look as if he could protect his own porridge. He had fallen asleep once already. Deva bet two pins she could get past him if she put her mind to it.

But unfortunately, there was no reason to. It was still a week before she could see Niven again. That’s if she wasn’t already married.

“Coming, Faither,” said Deva, glancing miserably at the heavy skies.

The near-constant rain had rendered the ground boggy and difficult to cross. And the flowing gown she had on didn’t help much, either. With every step, it trailed into the mud beneath.

Deva tutted crossly for Allyth, who was supposed to be helping. But she was nowhere to be seen. It wouldn’t do to keep the officials waiting, so hitching up her skirts, Deva raced over to the nobles’ stand.

By the time she got there, her father was almost vermilion.

“At last,” he hissed, trying to keep his ill-humor under wraps, at least whilst the others were looking. He pulled her roughly over to his side. “Now just ye crack yer face an’ smile, lass, welcome the competitors…here.”

Deva watched the riders stream into the field, drawing rapturous applause from the crowd.

“The knight of McKeith and… of Dunfirth,” the announcer shouted to the crowd.

Clapping and smiling, Deva duly greeted each one of the men in the line, almost without noticing them. It would not be them she would be marrying, but their much older masters. Deva drifted off, wondering if Niven had got back to the Macaulay lands safely. Then, her father’s voice brought her up sharp.

“… And now from the Macaulay clan…” cried the compere. Of course, it couldn’t be anything to do with Niven, but the name made her look up anyway.

“Pleased to meet ye, sir,” Deva said, glancing at a slight lad in oversized armor as he grappled with his helmet, “An’ ye are?”

The young man tried to speak, but she could not hear his answer. It took some time before he managed to take off the helmet. And when he did, his cheeks were flushed, and his red hair stood on end.

Then, the slight lad smiled uncertainly.

“Fingal Macaulay… heir to the laird of Macaulay.”

* * *

“Come on, miss, ye cannae say this is dull…” Allyth chided her softly as Deva pouted.

Two hours had passed—two hours too many.

“How long does this thing go on for, again?” Deva asked, stifling a yawn. Beside her, Allyth could barely comprehend her dismay.

“But it’s the most exciting thing to have happened to Scotland this year!” said Allyth, her eyes widening in excitement.

“Och, it isnae,” said Deva, swiftly. But a quick glance to the crowd told her that a lot of people thought it was.

“Although, it might be a wee bit better than the lump throwing contest I thought it was going to be,” she conceded.

“Oh, that’s another day noo,” said Allyth, without taking her eyes off the two horsemen, thrusting sticks at each other, “Ye have nae missed it.”

“Braw,” said Deva, snarkily, “I cannae wait!” But despite herself, she was being drawn into the final stage of the contest.

“Who is this, again?” Deva asked as the last two competitors in the tournament faced each other in the field above.

“It’s the final,” hissed Allyth, as if she were simple, “Haven’t ye been watching?”

Deva pulled a face and then pouted. “So, tell me.”

“It’s between the Dunfirth clan, an’ the Macaulays…” said Allyth, as the pair prepared to meet each other head-to-head in front of them. “Yellow an’ blue is Macaulay,” she whispered.