Page 13 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

12

Chapter Twelve

Maeve tried very hard to show restraint. Curiosity burned inside her from the moment that the pin showed up in Cailean's hand, and his every action since had only inflamed it more. Why had he been so insistent that the thing be destroyed? What did the capercaillie symbolize? Where had he gotten something of so much worth? And, more than that, more than anything, why in the world had he given up something so evidently precious for her sake?

She managed to stay quiet only until they got to the horses, but just before she mounted, she realized that she couldn't do it. "Cailean?"

He sighed. "I dinnae want tae talk about it, Mary. Let's just go back tae the camp, aye?"

"But why did ye do this for me?" she pressed. "I saw that pin. It wasnae nothin', so dinnae try tae dismiss it as such. There was somethin' very serious that just happened."

"It was nothin' serious at all." Cailean turned fully around to face her, the expression on his face serious. "Ye needed a new sword. The blacksmith is good tae the rebellion and he needed some way tae make sure that he could feed himself and his family. And I had the means. What more does there have tae be to it than that?"

A lot of difference. It wasn't even about the financial value of the pin and the sword, though Maeve was, of course, uncomfortably aware of how much it would be. However, she'd been the daughter of a rich family and the wife of an even richer man; she was used to having the finest things around her whether she wanted them or not. But nobody had ever done something so deeply personal for her. Nobody had ever gone out of their way to do something that was meant just for her, sensitive to what she might want and indeed need. She couldn't wrap her head around why or even how Cailean could do such a thing, and her heart felt overwhelmed by a complex web of emotions that she didn't even know how to name.

"Stop makin' that face," he told her. "I'd have done the same for any of the others if they were in need. Does that make ye feel better?"

It did, a little, but Maeve wasn't entirely sure that it was true. After all, how many priceless pins could he have in his possession? "Why did ye insist that it was melted down?" she asked.

Cailean said, "The gold will be better for him in its base form, I bet. Up here in the village, there's nae market for such intricately designed jewelry as that. Havin' the gold and bein' able to either reshape it or sell it is how it will be much better for Arthur and his family."

That made sense, but Maeve wasn't convinced that this was the whole truth either. Something about all of this simply wasn't adding up, but she couldn't even begin to understand where the missing clues were hiding.

"Why a capercaillie?" she asked eventually. "Can ye at least answer me that? It's a game bird; that makes it a bit of a strange symbol, though it is a bonny representation of the Highlands I suppose."

Cailean looked at her thoughtfully for a second. "Ye didnae recognize the symbol, then?"

She shook her head. "No. Should I have?"

"No, of course not," he replied. He smiled with a strange expression in his eyes, then said, "I wasnae the one that had the pin made. I couldnae tell ye."

Maeve could tell that there was an answer on the tip of his tongue, and suddenly, she was determined to solve this tiny little mystery at least, even if the greater mysteriousness that surrounded Cailean was thicker and more obscuring than the cloaks they both wore. "Then if ye hypothetically had tae guess why a capercaillie would be a symbol…"

He snorted. "Ye dinnae give up, do ye?" he asked. He patted his horse's flank, then sighed. "All right. Let's say that once, a few generations ago, a man got lost in the woods. He'd been attacked by bandits, and he had nae weapon, nae map, and nae direction or idea of how tae get home. He got turned around and accidentally wandered deeper intae the forest, and when he couldnae find a river to lead him out, he thought that this would be the moment that he would die."

Maeve stayed silent. She did not want to ask any questions and interrupt his story, though she couldn't tell if he was making it up or reciting something from memory.

"Weak, exhausted, and injured, the man sat down on the forest floor and closed his eyes. He kent that soon enough there would be a wild predator who'd come along and find him, and that would be the end of him. In his heart, he thought only of his new bride, whom he'd left alone tae come on this huntin' trip. He hoped she would have a long, healthy life without him, though he mourned that he'd never live tae see his son."

Cailean smiled, and Maeve suddenly realized this was a story he must have heard from someone else, perhaps from a parent long ago. He had a faraway, gentle look in his eyes.

"And then he heard the squawk. When he looked up, there it was: a huge, feathery grouse, a capercaillie, starin' at him from the edge of the treeline. He pulled himself tae his feet, and the creature began tae run — they're not well-flighted birds, ye understand. And because he kent not what else tae do, the man began tae follow the bird, hopin' against hope it would lead him tae water. He knew that he would probably lose sight of it, but somethin' amazing happened. Every single time he stumbled, the bird seemed tae pause in runnin' away, almost as though it were waitin' for him."

Maeve could see it in her mind's eye — the weakened warrior, who looked like Cailean in her mind, and the majestic fan-tailed bird, running through the trees like a creature of the faerie folk. It seemed almost magical. "What happened after?" she dared ask.

"The capercaillie led the man right tae the edge of the forest," Cailean explained. "And it met his eyes and made a low noise in its throat. The man stumbled on until he found the road, and there a kind traveler helped him get home. Soon after, the man's son was born, and the whole family lived good and well for generations after. The man made the capercaillie the symbol of his home, partly in thanks tae the creature who had saved him, and partly a reminder that even the simplest of game birds can be a hero when it matters the most."

Silence followed the story for a few moments. Maeve quietly asked, "Was that yer ancestor? The man in the woods?"

"Mary, it was just a story," he replied with a shrug. "Ye asked, and I told ye. Now, come on, our horses are gettin' impatient standin' around."

Maeve chewed on her lip. Cailean could say what he liked, but it was clear that the pin had been some sort of meaningful family heirloom, and as far as she could tell, he had no family left. "Cailean, about the sword?—"

"Ye're gonnae take the sword," he interrupted. "And ye're gonnae do me one favor in exchange."

His gray eyes met hers, and Maeve's heart fluttered. She took a deep breath and said, "What favor do ye need from me? If it's in me power…"

"Just… beat Darren in a spar," Cailean said. Then his serious expression relaxed into a grin. "I've got an ongoin' bet that I'm more than ready tae win."

* * *

Mary's surprised laughter was like music to Cailean's ears. He'd rarely heard her laugh before in the weeks she'd been here, and never so genuinely. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed the sound, and part of him yearned to be the cause of her laughter more often. "I'll do me best," Mary promised, light dancing in her eyes.

Cailean felt his breath catch when she met his eyes. She was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that, but that wasn't what was drawing him to her — not entirely, at least. There was a life to her, a vivacity that had been hiding away and that was slowly spilling out more and more as their training went on. He found himself eager to learn more about her, to spend more time with her, to see her smile and laugh and everything else.

Was that why he had made the decision he had? He couldn't honestly say for sure. It didn't really matter, though.

"Dinnae worry," he told her. "Darren's all show. Ye'll beat him in no time."

Mary laughed again, much to Cailean's secret delight. Then she shook her head and said, "Do we have tae go back tae the camp yet? I… well, ye must at least let me buy ye an ale and perhaps a meal tae make up for all ye're doin' for me."

"That's not necessary," Cailean started.

Maeve held up her hand to interrupt him. "Please. I insist."

There was no real way that he could disagree, not when she was asking him in such a way, and so he found himself nodding and saying, "All right. One drink."

They reached the center of the village a short time later, leaving their horses with the rest of those tied outside the tavern and heading inside. Mary went ahead to find a table, and Cailean moved to the bar to bring them both a mug of ale and place an order for food.

When he returned to the table, Mary was smiling. She accepted the drink with thanks and took an impressively deep swig. "This is good ale," she said.

Cailean laughed. "I'm surprised ye like it. Ferda always makes us buy her wine if we bring her out here. She says ladies dinnae drink ale."

"Good thing I'm nae lady. I told ye that some time ago," Mary replied with a wink.

They settled down across from each other. The tavern was surprisingly lively despite the small size and relative poverty of Broken Windmill; it was the gathering place for most of the village folk as well as a popular spot for travelers who made their way through, not to mention many of the rebels found their way there several times a week. It was small and worn, but still cheerful and clean on the inside, and the tavern owner and his wife were skilled cooks and brewers.

After a little while of light chatting about how training had been going so far, the tavern owner brought out two bowls of stew and placed them before Mary and Cailean.

"Thank ye," Mary said politely, earning a smile from the owner. Cailean thanked him as well, and when he was gone, Mary spoke again. "Ye ken, I used tae work in a place like this."

Cailean blinked in surprise. By her accent, he'd taken Mary for a highborn woman, perhaps the daughter of a rich merchant or maybe a minor laird. "Ye did?" he asked. "Was yer father a tavern owner?"

"No, not at all," she replied. "I was on me own, and a friend of mine managed tae get me the job. I was there in that tavern when Senan found me."

Her smile faded at that, and Cailean saw a darkness cross her expression. What had happened that had caused her to look like that? He wanted nothing more than to bring light back to her eyes and to make her smile again, but he found himself at a loss for words. What could he say to make her feel better when he didn't even know what the problem was?

They ate the stew in silence for a little time, with Cailean occasionally glancing at Mary. She still looked obviously uncomfortable. He didn't want to press or ask her, but before he could think of something else to talk about, she spoke again.

"Me boss, the owner of the establishment… he was a bad man," she explained. "He thought he owned me body as well as me labor. The night that Senan found me, Bill, the owner… he'd decided that he would take me for himself, whether I wanted it or not."

Rage filled Cailean in an instant. The fact that men who would do such things existed disgusted him beyond belief, and the idea of someone trying to force themselves upon Mary made Cailean feel sick to his stomach. "Did… did he hurt ye? Did he…?" he asked hoarsely.

She shook her head. "He tried. But Senan intervened. He beat the man senseless and offered me the opportunity tae learn tae fight, and tae protect meself"

Cailean wouldn't have minded beating this Bill senseless himself, though he felt a surge of pride for Senan at the news. He surveyed Maeve then asked, "So that ye can take revenge?"

"No," she said simply. "No, I'm nae interested in revenge. I want tae be able tae protect meself, ye ken? Not just that, others as well. Other women. Others who are weak. I wanted tae be part of somethin' bigger, and this rebellion is everythin' I could have wanted or needed."

Cailean could tell by the honesty in her voice that this was fully true. Whatever her history, Mary was fully committed to the cause, and her determination suddenly made much more sense. "Well, we're glad tae have ye," he told her.

She smiled a little teasingly. "Ye wouldnae have said so much two weeks ago. I thought ye were gonnae pick me up and throw me bodily from the place if I insisted upon stayin'."

"I thought about it. But God kens that ye proved me wrong." He shrugged. "I should have kent better when I heard yer wee speech the first day. People who talk the way ye did are never the type tae back down."

"And I never will," Mary replied. "What about ye? What reasons dae ye have for bein' here, for puttin' so much of yer heart and soul intae it?"

What reason indeed? He could tell her the full truth, but he'd hidden it from almost everyone for so long that he didn't even know where to start. He could tell her about how he couldn't bear to live in his country and passively allow the False King to rule over them all, choking the life from the land he loved so much, but that wasn't the whole story either.

Instead, he said, "They're me family. The rebels, I mean. Kier, Senan, Ewan, Hamish… they're like fathers tae me, all four of them. Darren and Fergus are like me brothers, Ferda me sister."

"Ye're a big name in the camp. It seems everyone has somethin' good tae say about ye. The healers and scouts, the stablemaster, that young cook Ben… they all seem tae think ye're the best of us," Mary told him. "Ye're a man who likes tae save people."

Cailean shook his head. "Ye've the wrong impression of me if ye think that. I'm just a man doin' what any other man would do for the people who need him."

Mary tilted her head. "Ye really believe that, eh?" She smiled. "Well, fine, let's change the subject, if it pleases ye. What would ye like tae talk about?"

He laughed. "Dinnae ye ken that that's the worst way tae start a conversation? The moment ye ask people what they want tae talk about, every conversation topic flees their mind."

Grinning, Mary said, "Well, perhaps I should have brought someone else for a meal then. Maybe I need a better conversation partner."

Cailean enjoyed her light teasing more than he wanted to admit, and he was eager to engage in the banter. "Oh aye? Who would ye bring with ye? I see the way that young Dirk looks at ye these days."

"Dirk! No, ye're wrong. He sees me as an older sister if anythin', surely," Mary replied, sounding scandalized. "And what of the way Ferda glances at ye?"

Snorting, Cailean said, "Ye're well off the mark there. Ferda's nae interested in any man, least of all me. I told ye just moments ago, she truly is like a sister tae me."

"Hmph," Mary replied. "Ye're right, I suppose. I was just teasin'. But surely there are some entanglements in a huge camp like that."

"Oh, of course," Cailean told her. He leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "Ye wouldnae believe the romantic drama that unfolds on a daily basis. The cooks in love with the scouts. The healers in love with the villagers. The couplin's and the trysts and the dramatic endin's. Occasionally, we see love blossom, but the drama is more common. Like one of the Bard's plays."

Laughing now, Mary asked, "And who's the worst for the drama? There must be someone who causes more of it than anyone else."

"Darren, of course," Cailean said without even stopping to think about it. "He's got a new lass on the go with every full moon. Swears he's in love with each of them, but it always ends in disaster. He treats them well every time, but the lad is a fool with a big heart and a mouth that never stops talkin'."

"I can see that." Mary tapped her lips. "He seems a flirt."

"What about ye? Have ye been taken in by his charms?" Cailean tried to keep his tone light, but part of him suddenly really longed to hear the answer.

"Aha! No, not me."

Cailean didn't want to admit how happy that made him feel. He didn't even really understand why — well, no, he had an inkling, but he wasn't ready to explore that yet.

"And what about ye?" Mary continued. She looked at him intently. "Have ye any romances in the camp? Any woman who's caught yer eye?"

There was a small pause when their eyes met, and a strange intensity passed between them. Cailean slowly shook his head. "Naebody," he said, though his heart thudded in his chest as he said it.

Maeve seemed to brighten, but she quickly looked away before he could see more of her expression. "Sensible man," she said. "Let me go get us more ale."

As she hurried off to the bar, Cailean watched her go. And while he'd been reluctant to come here, he knew one thing: if she asked him to sit here for the rest of the night, he'd say yes. He'd honestly be happy to never leave again.