Page 83 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

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“Nae,” Deva said as the boat pulled into view. By now, it was getting dark, a cold, clear sky warning of glacial temperatures to come.

He had got her down as far as the river before she pulled up on her horse and came to a stop. They had ridden for what felt like hours through the sheet rain and snow until they had arrived at the boarding point for the boat.

The river ran past the Macaulay lodge and continued on, across the Highlands, running south. If they were quick, she could be on her way to safety before the end of the night.

The laird’s plans had been meticulous. He had laid out a list of safe places and stops along the way.

But even getting her to the river was tough. Niven had had to work hard persuading Deva to come out of the bedroom. He had felt bad, keeping her in the dark, especially during such a long ride, but he knew she would never have agreed to it otherwise.

All the same, Deva wasn’t daft. She knew something was up.

“Nae, I’m nae going anywhere wi’ out ye,” she said, by the time she had realized what was happening. Her striking blue eyes jetted out from within her determined face.

Niven ached to touch her. He wanted nothing more than to get into a boat with her and sail off. But he could not.

“I cannae,” he said simply.

This was not the answer that Deva was after. Dissatisfied, she drew her lips into a line and pretended not to look at him. Her long hair raged around her head, spilling out into the cold winter skies.

Niven looked into the sky above and shivered. Would there ever be a time it wasn’t snowing? The nip that he had felt in his fingers had spread up into his whole body, and already, he felt frozen.

“Ye cannae, an’ ye will,” she scolded, through a clouded face, “Ye promised the laird, remember?”

Her reminder sent a chill through his bones. Rory. The man he’d already betrayed. But this was why he could not leave him to fight the upcoming battles on his own.

Deva shivered beneath her bonny cape but refused to give an inch. She sat bolt upright on her silvery mare and glared right at him.

“Deva, I, I, owe him,” he said gently, “I need to help…”

Then, lifting a blanket from his haversack, he came to drape it over her cold shoulders. “There,” he said, resting the warm tartan over her thin-looking shawl. The breeze coming off the river was pure ice. And the nearer they got to the boat waiting, the colder it got.

It was freezing; really not the best time for a spot of sailing. But there was nothing that could be done.

“An’ besides, it’s just for a short while,” he said, tucking the blanket securely over her shoulders and bringing his arm to rest on her. She would need this more than him.

But on top of the horse, Deva pouted. “I kent ye were keeping something from me…” she said, her eyes refusing to look at him head-on.

Niven felt a little guilt. “Och, it was only for yer own good,” he said, trying to comfort her.

He made to grab her hand, but she pulled away. However, she did eventually dismount from her horse.

Reluctantly, Deva came over towards him, her eyes reaching his, beseechingly.

“Niven,” she said softly. They were close enough not to be overheard by the others. In front of them, a pair of servants tended the boats, waiting for them to board.

So far, no-one else knew about his plans to return to the castle. Niven hoped it would stay like that.

“Niven, why on earth nae, yer uncle expects ye to come wi’ me,” she reasoned, “I expect ye to come wi’ me!”

It was hard to resist the rolling of Deva’s eyes as she said this, at once acerbic and melancholy, together.

A prickling feeling overtook him, making him urgently need to caress her hips, curving gently in her arasaid. Then he looked ahead.

There seemed to be some trouble with the boat, which allowed them a little time. Without even thinking, he took Deva’s hand and led her to a sheltered copse.

“Here,” he said, bringing her to the protection of the trees. Looking around, he eyed the tall scots pines forlornly.