Page 88 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

He didn’t know why, but something didn’t add up. He had known that MacLean had a meeting with him earlier on, here. And even though that was hours ago now, he still had the sense that someone was nearby.

The whole lodge had the look of a place that had been abandoned quickly. And as he glanced about, Niven began to notice things out of place.

A painting slashed, a vase overturned, a table knocked sideways. Heart panting fast, Niven continued through the lodge. It was small but not without nooks and crannies—plenty of space for someone to be lying in wait.

Inside, Niven’s fear notched up. It wasn’t what he saw that unnerved him. It was what he didn’t.

People.

The hunting lodge had the look of a raucous party that had been interrupted – and Niven had certainly been to a few feasts there himself.

But it would never have been left in such a state. The servants would have cleaned up. Mindful of this, Niven pressed his sgian dubh into the air. From somewhere in the room, he heard a scurrying sound.

His heart almost stopping dead, Niven stood firm. “Who is it?” he demanded. A chill swept through the room, rippling from the window place. Then, from the corner, a tiny trickle of light filtered in, widening in the door. Niven tensed, leaping forwards in a single move.

He lunged at the sound before being nearly catapulted. Suddenly, he had lost his footing. Without warning, he was on the floor, face down on the thick rug.

Niven didn’t waste a minute scrambling around for his sword. He was halfway to his feet when something slithered around his ankles.

Something warm. A cat.

Niven looked around and almost died of fright. He had been expecting a human foe. But in front of him blinked the round, orange eyes of a tawny cat.

“Och,” he said, his heart pounding quickly. Shooing the cat away, Niven jumped to his feet.

He had almost satisfied himself that the lodge was empty and decided to leave. He still wasn’t happy about the state he had found it in, but he had looked in what felt like every chest, jabbing each bed with his pointed sword; all were empty.

Whatever else had happened here, there wasn’t anyone left. Satisfied but not happy, Niven was about to pack away his sword when he suddenly came face to face with a man.

Sachairi.

* * *

The knave’s pallor made him jump.

And then nearly pushed him back down into the ground. Sachairi collapsed on top of his like a log.

“Ugh,” Niven threw him back, across the darkened room. He went down like a stone. Staggering to his feet, Niven gradually came to his senses.

“Sachairi?” he called to the lad, but before he was even close, Niven already knew it.

Sachairi lay outstretched, his body at a strange angle across the floor. From the corner of his mouth, a small trickle of blood crept out.

He was dead.

Thump. Niven’s heart erupted.

Of course, he had expected this, but it didn’t stop the cascade of panic building him.

Softly, Niven murmured, casting his eye frenetically around the room. Now he looked again; it was obvious.

Half the furnishings had gone. Plates, bowls lay smashed and crunched underfoot. The best candlesticks were broken or gone.

He should have known it. Cursing himself, Niven brought out his sword, but it was too late. Whatever else there was to see here, it wasn’t anyone living.

As far as he could tell, they were quite alone, just him and the fallen servant in the center of the room. For a minute, Niven’s heart panged badly for the poor lad.

Then, grabbing a cape, he lay it over the man, covering him up as best he could.