Page 10 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

9

Chapter Nine

Maeve's anticipation grew as she and Cailean sat in silence for a few moments following his declaration. It was clear that he was trying to work out exactly what he wanted to say, and after her training, she was tired and sore enough to be content with just waiting for him to be ready. Besides, the sights around her were more than worth sitting here for as long as it took. The glistening water sparkled in the new morning sun, and the little ducks that swam around made Maeve smile. In the distance, she could see the heather-clad hills that stretched up so high that they were close to mountains, and nearer, there was the farmland of the village, which boasted only a few scraggly sheep and a spindly cow. Even this sight was welcome, though it did make her more than aware of the stark reality in which her people were living.

"Nae fat sheep or cows here, eh?" she asked.

Cailean shook his head grimly. "Broken Windmill hasnae seen a good farm season in many a year," he explained. "If ye look at the crops, ye'll see that they're lackin' as well. We're borrowin' a lot from these people, but they're givin' us everythin' they have."

Maeve took this in for a moment. Her eyes travelled a little further along the river until she found it; there stood the broken windmill from which the village took its name. It had obviously once been magnificent, towering over the landscape, but now it was half rubble, yet still strangely beautiful in its own way. Kind of like the village itself, Maeve supposed.

"Well, they must believe in the cause," Maeve said in response to Cailean's words after a long moment. "As do I. We each must do what we can tae overthrow the False King."

Cailean gave her a look. "Ye believe that, do ye?"

"With all me heart." Maeve didn't want to go too deep into just how aware she was of the inner workings of the False King's lackeys — probably more than anyone here except the council. Well, the council and the lost prince. Maeve had her suspicions about that already, of course, but she wasn't going to speak them. Not now. "Why else would I be here? Why else would any of us be here?"

"Why else indeed," Cailean said thoughtfully. He was giving her a curious look, one which she couldn't quite understand. Then he gave her one of those electrifying half-smiles and said, "Ye're truly a determined one, are ye nae?"

Maeve shrugged. "Me determination is what I have."

"And it's a blessin'," Cailean told her seriously. "But it's also what I wanted tae talk tae ye about. It's good tae be determined. It's good tae push yerself, but ye must remember tae exercise caution as well."

"What do ye mean?" Maeve asked, frowning. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"Wrong? No. But yer efforts doin' those final laps… ye could have hurt yerself. It's good tae try hard, but it's also important tae recognize that yer body and even yer mind have boundaries as well."

"Boundaries are meant tae be pushed," Maeve said immediately, quoting a half-remembered saying from her childhood.

"Boundaries are meant tae be respected, especially our own," Cailean countered. "Aye, it's good tae push ourselves, but not too much, or we break ourselves in the process."

His words carried a weight to them that went far beyond his apparent age, and a deep wisdom that Maeve knew could only have come from a lifetime of experience. Whatever Cailean's story really was, it had given him the kind of insight that few thrice his age ever truly garnered, at least in Maeve's experience of people.

"So ye're sayin' ye dinnae want me tae train?" she asked carefully.

He shook his head, much to her relief. "On the contrary. Ye proved me wrong, and I want ye tae continue tae train very much," Cailean replied. There was something shocking and refreshing for Maeve to hear a man admit the fact that he wasn't always right. It reminded her what the women had said that morning about the importance of respect and dignity in the camp, and she found herself beginning to truly believe it.

"Oh. Good."

He chuckled and placed a hand over hers. The shock that went through her system at his touch was instant. A prickling heat traveled from where his skin touched hers up her arm and settled around her chest, and her body unconsciously angled a little closer toward Cailean. She felt like iron drawn to a lodestone, the way she could not keep her eyes or thoughts away from this man ever since last night. What was going on?

Luckily, he didn't seem to notice the strangeness that had overcome her. He continued to speak as though nothing had happened — which, Maeve strictly reminded herself, it hadn't.

"I just want ye tae remember that brute force is rarely the best answer, is all," Cailean told her. He removed his hand from hers and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ye're obviously the kind of person who kens that already, based on how ye fought; just dinnae forget it. Many of our fighters get too used tae fightin' their way through everythin'. Dinnae lose the wits that made ye stand out in the first place."

Maeve thought about those words for a long time. She understood what he was trying to say, and she appreciated it. Slowly, she replied, "I think… I think I'll skip this afternoon's trainin', if that's alright with ye. Just for the day."

Cailean gave her a quick approving look. "And what will ye do instead? Here in the camp, we dinnae stand for idleness."

"Well, I'm gonnae bathe first and try tae do somethin' about me battered body," Maeve said honestly. "I dinnae ken how ye're still movin' with such ease."

Cailean laughed, so loudly and suddenly that it startled one of the ducks, which took flight. They both watched it go, then Cailean said, "Ye'll get used tae it, Mary. It might take some time, but soon ye'll be so fit that a day's trainin' will feel effortless."

Maeve wasn't sure that she believed that, but she didn't argue. "I think I'll get tae ken everyone around camp," she said. "Ferda and the scouts, Patty and the healers, and the others as well. Everyone has their place, and I think I need tae get tae ken those places and help out where I can."

"Good," Cailean replied. "Excellent. I want everyone in me camp tae ken we're all part of the same team, nae separate factions who just happen tae be together."

" Yer camp?" Maeve asked.

Cailean tilted his head, frowning. " The camp, I said."

Maeve was almost certain that he hadn't, but she was also sure that now was not the time to push it. They sat there together in silence for a few more moments, then Maeve pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the ache in her legs that burned when she did so.

"Thank ye," she said awkwardly as Cailean looked up. "For today. For this."

Cailean shrugged. "I said I'd train ye. Now I'm trainin' ye. Dinnae let me down."

"I willnae," she swore. "Not ye, not Senan." And not herself, either.

* * *

The camp kitchens operated out of an old inn in the village, and Maeve found herself there helping to prepare lunch. She was comfortable in that kind of work, peeling and dicing vegetables with the practiced air that her time working for Bill had given her. She'd worried that it would trigger fear in her to be back in that environment, but the atmosphere was so warm and cozy and utterly different from Bill's inn that her heart didn't feel any negativity at all, only eagerness that she could do something useful to help.

The young man, Ben, whom she was working with was about twenty years old, and he walked with a limp from one leg that was slightly shorter than the other. He directed the kitchen like an old kitchen maid, and all the women and the few men who were also there to work obeyed him without question despite his gender and age. The girl from before who had been a cook, Lillian, was not around – apparently it was her rest day. Even that impressed Maeve; when she'd worked for Bill, he hadn't given her any such thing.

"How long have ye been a cook?" Maeve asked him as he handed her a sharp knife to help with her work. "Ye dinnae often see men doin' this kind of work in this kind of environment. Maybe in the halls of kings."

"This is the hall of a king, even if he's yet tae show himself, remember," he replied with a smile. "And I've been a cook since Cailean convinced me da I wasnae useless thanks tae this leg."

Maeve glanced at it, then quickly looked away.

"It's all right," Ben laughed. "Ye can ask. I was born this way. Me da is one of the soldiers here, me mam a healer. When they realized I came out like this, they kent I'd never be able tae fight for the rebellion, but thought I might become one of its scholars. As I got older, it became plain that wasnae the case. Even though I've had tutorin', I can barely write me own name."

Fascinated, Maeve said, "And so? Ye decided tae be a cook?"

"Me da wanted tae leave me at one of the villages when I turned thirteen," Ben explained. "He found a monastery that would have taken care of me well, and me mam agreed it might be good for me. I didnae want that, though. I wanted tae be part of the rebellion, tae fight for our future, even if I didnae ken how I could do it."

Maeve carefully began to clean the ingredients before her, allowing Ben to go on in his own time.

"It was Cailean who changed their mind. He heard us arguin' about it one night and he asked me da, well, if the lad cannae do the things ye think he's supposed tae be good at, why dinnae ye put a different kind of weapon in his hand? If not a sword nor a pen, what other options are there?" Ben laughed. "And me mam turned tae him and said, 'what's left? A spoon?' And the rest is history. Cailean convinced the council tae let me try out me skills in the kitchen, and it turned out I had a natural flare for it. I'd have never kent it if it wasnae for him."

Marvelling at the story, Maeve counted quickly in her mind. Cailean must have only been around eighteen then, stepping in to stand up for a young boy against a group of adults who no doubt were not so receptive to being told what to do with their own son. "But what made him interfere?" she asked, curious. She'd never in her life had anyone who would interfere like that for her, not until Ann and Eoin had saved her, anyway, or Senan later on.

"It's what he does," Ben said, shrugging. "As long as I've kent him, since I was a wee lad and he was just a wee bit older of a bairn. He comes across as gruff and harsh, but he wants us all tae be together. Honesty, togetherness, dedication, and respect: that's how he says we've managed tae stay afloat all these years."

* * *

Maeve was still thinking about Ben's story when she returned to her sleeping hut that night. The whole rest of the afternoon had been a whirlwind of activity; washing and mending clothes with some of the women — or trying to, as she mostly stabbed herself with the needle by mistake — aiding the stablemasters with feeding the horses, and even sitting in and trying to understand the high-level discussions of some of the scholars to the point that her mind was now as tired as her body.

It was a good tiredness, though. The kind of warm, welcome tiredness that she'd rarely experienced in her life, the kind that promised a good, deep sleep. The communal spirit of the camp was inspiring her, filling her with a new kind of hope and joy that she hadn't even known existed until now.

She lay down in her bed, gasping as her muscles groaned from finally being released from their strain. She winced, knowing it was only going to hurt more in the morning, but she couldn't bring herself to be too upset about it right now.

Neither Ferda nor Patty was back in the hut yet, so Maeve had the place to herself. She stared at the ceiling, reflecting on the last twenty-four hours of her life, scarcely able to believe the things that she'd seen and done. Only a few months before, she'd thought her life was over, but now it felt like it might just be beginning.

But through all the day, through all of her activities, she'd noticed an unbroken thread that followed no matter where she went. It was Cailean, of course; he'd been endlessly on her mind since the moment she'd seen him the day before, and the morning's training and the way they'd spoken afterward had only solidified it. She kept thinking back to the things he'd done and said; the way he'd challenged her then helped her, the way he'd looked with his scars glistening in the sun, the way he'd sounded when he'd given her advice, the way he'd felt when he held her hand…

It wasn't just that, though. Every time she managed to tear her thoughts away from him, there was someone else mentioning his name. Ben, telling her the story of how a young Cailean had stepped in and saved him from a life he never wanted. A healer named Georgina, who told Maeve a tale of how Cailean, then just fourteen, had traversed the countryside alone to find a particular rare flower that had saved a man's life. The stableboy, Harry, who'd been full of praise for the way that Cailean treated the horses. It seemed that every time she stopped thinking about him even for a few seconds, someone else had something to say.

The thought made her smile. She'd only known Cailean for a short time, but a wicked little part of her already knew he'd be slightly uncomfortable at the amount of praise going on behind his back. She wondered what the look would be on his face if she were to tell him.

"What are ye smilin' at?"

Maeve lifted her head slightly from her pillow and saw Ferda entering the hut, smiling broadly. "Good evenin'," she greeted. "I'm nae smilin'. I'm wincin' in pain."

"Och aye!" Ferda said, then laughed. "Darren and Fergus both told me that ye took quite a beatin' today — though I saw ye this mornin'; ye gave as good as ye got, at least at first."

Maeve snorted. "Hardly, but thank ye," she replied. "How was yer day? I thought I'd see ye, but ye vanished after the mornin' duel."

"I did," Ferda agreed. "We went on a short radius mission, that is, we circled the place, makin' sure nobody was comin'. In a few days, I'll set out on a longer journey, but I asked if I could stay around camp for a few days more for now."

"Why?" Maeve asked.

Ferda blinked, obviously astonished by the question. "Tae get tae ken me new friend, of course," she said as though it was the clearest thing in the world. "I believe we were roomed together for a reason. Dinnae ye think the same? I've always wanted a sister, and now with ye and Patty, I might have just managed to get two."

It was a little overly forward, Maeve supposed, but it touched her heart anyway. She liked the slightly quirky way that Ferda seemed to see the world, and she knew that, even if it was a little too much, Ferda's words were genuine.

Genuine was a good word to describe the rebels in general, Maeve was finding. What was it that Ben had said? Honesty, togetherness, dedication, and respect.

Yes, this was the kind of place Maeve wanted to be in. It was the kind of place she'd wanted to be in her whole life.

"I'd like that," she said.

"Good. I kent we'd get on well, Mary," Ferda said cheerfully.

With that last word, the warmth in Maeve's heart shattered and it was as though a spear of ice had pierced her. It was a reminder, too stark, of how no matter how honest and genuine her campmates were, Maeve could never return it in kind. She could never truly be part of this family, never truly earn their trust, because they didn't even know who she was.

And if they did? The daughter of the traitorous O'Sullivan, the widow of the hated villain Malcolm Darach… no. The fragile trust she'd already started to earn would be broken in an instant, and for good reason, at least from their perspective. They'd send her away, and she'd lose everything again. She pursed her lips at the irony: in trying to reinvent herself, she was having to hide away everything that had ever made her who she was today.

"Are ye alright?" Ferda asked.

"Just tired," Maeve replied. "I'll sleep now."

"Well, goodnight, Mary," Ferda said. "I'll see ye tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Ferda," Maeve replied. She turned on her side, but she knew that it would be a long, long time before sleep found her.