Page 38 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Fingal fixed Niven with his hottest gaze.

“Ye are accusing me of something, brother!” he retorted, pulling hard on the reins to slow his capricious gelding down.

The horse whinnied in the road, throwing its head up as if to make its rider’s point. In no time at all, it had set off his own, equally tempestuous beast. Before he knew it, the pair of them were flailing dramatically on the road.

He should have known better than to run with him like this. Fingal’s horse was sired from the same stallion as his own and had the same firebrand temperament.

Niven slowed his horse down to a slow trot and shot his eyes across at Fingal.

“I see castrating the horny beastie didnae help it any,” he observed, as his brother battled the reins of his obstreperous horse.

Once again, Fingal glowered. “Dinnae change the subject, Niven,” he hissed, “Ye were starting on me for going into the contest!”

Niven checked around to make sure Deva was too far behind to listen, then turned. “Well, why did ye? Surely ye could have waited or paused the joust. It wasn’t even meant to be happening that soon.”

Even as he said it, Niven could hear he sounded ungrateful. But inside, it was so knotted up that it was hard for him to stop it. And besides, he was right.

But Fingal blasted him back with his hurt green eyes. “We didnae ken if ye were alive or daid!” he snapped. Now he had brought the ball back to Niven, who smarted uncomfortably.

“Aye, an’ thinking that I was daid, ye still decided to go into a game, taking my place!” he retorted. He knew that he sounded unreasonable, but his head was so steamed up it was impossible not to.

“Och, yer up to high doh now,” snipped Fingal, looking at him with a superior glance, “The fact was, naeone kent where ye were an’ whether ye were coming back…” He watched him again for a moment or two as their horses fell into step. Then he leaned in a little and said conspiratorially. “Or what it was that kept ye there for such an awful long time.”

From the little snide look, Niven could tell exactly what he meant. As if he suspected that there was more to Niven’s tale than he had said. And even if he didn’t – couldn’t – have known about the week with Deva, he certainly knew something.

“I was injured,” said Niven, bluntly. His eyes bored into Fingal, telling him to back off.

“Aye, so plenty o’ reason to do the joust for ye,” he said.

Niven suddenly found his patience ebb away. “Och, yer so stubborn!” he hissed, but under his breath, as Deva and the others were advancing.

The more he got his brother riled up, the more he would go sniffing for dirt. And it was clear that Fingal already suspected something about his week’s absence that wasn’t quite right.

“Anyway, thank ye for yer services, but they were nae needed,” he said, managing to smile through it.

“Well, the next time yer daid, I willnae bother!” retorted his brother, pulling the reins on his own horse and riding ahead.

Niven watched him go with an uneasy heart. Fingal’s words had got to him, but he couldn’t think about it now.

Instead, he faced into the wind and called to Deva.

“Come now, lass, if we ride a wee bit quicker, we can make it to our beds afore dawn!”

But as he took the reins to go, he couldn’t help another stolen glance to Deva. Just the thought of her bed, somewhere so near to his, was enough to make him sweat.

Chapter Twelve

That first night was the hardest. By the time it was through, Deva felt that a whole year had gone by.

It had taken hours to reach the Macaulay lands. And even further to pick their way through the boggy marshlands that led to the castle.

But what a castle it was! Deva couldn’t help being impressed. All her life, she had lived in a castle that she had thought was the largest in Scotland. Well, that was what her father had said. So, coming face to face with the Macaulay keep was a shock.

It really was big. As she stood waiting by the gate to be let in, Deva struggled to keep her feelings in check. If it hadn’t been for Allyth, she would have gasped out loud.

However, it wouldn’t do to look so uncouth. So, lifting her skirts as daintily as she could, Deva mounted the drawbridge to the Macaulay keep.

The others had gone ahead, and Deva was alone, with only Allyth in the dusky hallway.