Page 97 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

Relief ran through Niven’s heart.

It was Rory.

Chapter Thirty

“Uncle!”

Relief surged through Niven, drenching him in a cold sweat. His heart pounding, he smiled with joy, even if it was rather short-lived.

For a second, he had feared the worst. That it was MacLean’s men, somehow managed to catch up with him. And although they were close, they had not reached them yet.

Niven’s heart gave a pang. Thank God it was his uncle! But in the distance, Rory’s voice warned him all was not well.

“Ye need to go,” said Rory, gesturing to the pair of them. The problem was, he couldn’t hear him properly.

“What?” said Niven, straining to hear. He was wary of shouting into the echoing chambers.

“Hurry,” Rory hissed, “We need time to hold them!”

From the distant corridor, Niven caught the spark in his uncle’s blue eyes. Suddenly, he got his meaning.

Then, Rory indicated a section of the troops behind him. “Here,” he said, gesturing to one of the squadrons closest to him, “I’ll send ye some men!”

“It’s all I can do,” Rory mouthed, “Ye’ve gotta hold em, son…”

The party advanced down towards them. Fingal looked at them, wondering how long they would hold out against the MacLean’s forces.

And Niven could hear the sound of more footsteps – and this time, they were the MacLeans. Fingal’s green eyes scanned his crazily.

“Niven, whatever are we going to do?”

Niven closed his eyes. But he wasn’t thinking. Thinking was no good. He needed to feel.

It only took a minute for him to remember what he was fighting for. For Fingal, for Rory, and most of all, for Deva. Summoning every last drop of his resolve, Niven reached for his sgian dubh.

There was nothing else for it. With a nod to the squadron commander behind him, he gave the call.

“Charge!”

No sooner the words were out of his mouth than the Macaulay troops went crazy. With an ear-piercing yell, the small faction attacked the MacLean men.

“Get them!” yelled MacLean, but Niven was pleased to see that the self-satisfied smirk he had been wearing was well and truly eviscerated.

He looked alarmed, his wild, curly hair sticking upwards in the fray. Niven didn’t give him the chance to mount a fightback.

They had already gained an advantage. MacLean’s men already hadn’t seen the Macaulays approaching from around the corner in the tunnel.

Before MacLean could wriggle free, Niven charged at him with his sgian dubh.

“Now, young Macaulay,” pleaded MacLean, in a headlock on the ground, “Let’s nae be hasty …”

Niven had to hand it to the MacLean laird. He was still conniving even as he was literally getting his head staved in. But Niven had no intention of falling for it.

Unfortunately, Fingal did. From behind him, his brother emerged, pushing alongside Niven.

“Maybe we should listen,” said Fingal. Niven felt his heart blanch. He couldn’t understand if his brother was serious or not.

Fingal looked at him earnestly. “Niven, if we can sort this out wi’out bloodshed, Niven, then we should?”