Page 15 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

14

Chapter Fourteen

Maeve wasn't sure if anyone was following her. She wasn't even sure if the voice that had shouted belonged to one of the Darach men or if it had simply been one of the villagers noticing her speeding away. She couldn't stop to check or allow herself to panic; she needed to make sure that she was definitely noticed and definitely being followed, or else all of this would have been for nothing. Images flashed in her mind of the night she'd found Malcolm dead — the blood on her hands as she'd blindly touched his body in her shock — and they were soon replaced with imagined horrors of other deaths. Patty. Ferda. Darren, Fergus, the cooks, Ben or Lillian, Kier or Ewan or Hamish. Her beloved mentor and savior, Senan.

Or… or Cailean. Cailean could be the one laying there, pale and cold, blood seeping from his body, if the Darachs caught up to him. And if they did, it would be her fault.

Maeve gritted her teeth. No. This wasn't possible; she wouldn't allow it.

In front of her, the hills that backed the smithy rose, hills which had hidden a place of wonder and excitement only hours before. This afternoon, riding this way had been a sign of hope and joy, proof to Maeve that she'd finally found a new start, but as she sped past the smithy and directly toward the area where Arthur had mentioned he'd seen the Darachs, that had all changed.

Sure enough, a temporary camp rose before her just past the hills, around eight or ten tents, enough to sleep perhaps fifteen men. It was a small group, yes, but one big enough to be dangerous. If they were discovered by the Darach scouts, or attacked before they could gather themselves, there would be backup here in no time, and the villagers would soon be wiped out. Not long after, the rebel camp would follow suit.

Her heart felt ready to burst out of her chest, and panic clawed inside her like a wild animal trying to escape her bones, bruising and burning her from the inside out. She wouldn't let herself stop, though, and she pushed on, riding directly to the entrance to the camp, making as much noise as she could.

"Someone's there!" a voice shouted. Torches lit around her, the flames jumping to life, and nearby, the watchman for the camp was staring at her wide-eyed. "A woman. A woman! Men! Wake up! Ye! Stop!"

Satisfied almost as much as she was terrified, Maeve tugged hard on the reins and urged her horse to turn, speeding off as fast as she could in the other direction. She felt like she was going to choke, her throat and chest tightening, her breathing coming too quickly, but she sped on as quickly as she could.

"Come on, lass," she gasped out to the horse. "A wee bit more. We just need tae get away… just far enough…"

She couldn't speak anymore, and soon she heard the tell-tale drumbeat of hooves nearby. They were following her. They were coming.

Her horse stumbled, and Maeve realized that the poor thing must be tired; she'd been out all day, and it had had no time to warm up before they started this mad race at top speed. The hoofbeats were getting closer, and Maeve knew the gap between her and her pursuers was closing rapidly.

"Faster, bonny thing, faster," she whispered to the horse, leaning forward and patting the horse's neck desperately. They were far from the camp and Broken Windmill now, and there was a line of trees ahead, indicating a forest nearby. Maybe she could lead them into the trees and keep them occupied long enough for the rebels to hide or flee or do whatever they were going to do to get away from this. And then, maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to escape too.

"It's ye, isnae it?" a horribly familiar voice called out. "Ye thought ye could escape us!"

"Ye may as well stop, lass. It'll be easier if ye do!" someone else shouted.

It had been months since she heard those voices, but she knew she would recognize them anywhere. It was those two awful men who had mocked her and coveted her in her jail cell. She chanced a look over her shoulder and, to her horror, saw that all fifteen of the men seemed to be on her trail, Rod and Brian at the forefront. Her terror at feeling that was tempered by her joy; if they were all following her, then her plan was working, and maybe the villagers and the rebels would be safe.

"We'll continue where we left off," one of them called out.

Shuddering, Maeve sped toward the treeline. As soon as she and her horse managed to disappear inside the woods, she knew she only had a few moments before her pursuers caught up to her and it was all over.

The trees rose around her like a threatening circle, not so much a protective shield as another location where her life could come to an end. She was surrounded by shadows and darkness, and fear was her only companion. What was she going to do? How was she going to survive?

She slid down off her horse's back, her mind desperately forming a last-minute plan. She patted the neck of the horse and whispered, "I'm sorry, lass. I'll come find ye, I promise."

Then she slapped the hind of the horse, causing the creature to let out a loud neigh and race away deeper into the forest without her. Maeve gasped, her chest still tight, and ran to the nearest tree, hiding herself behind it just as the first of the pursuers broke through the tree line.

"Her horse is ahead!" someone shouted. "Follow!"

Holding her breath, Maeve could scarcely believe it as she watched her plan work; more than half of the men continued their race into the woods where her horse had fled, but six stayed behind, roaming the immediate area. They all got off their horses and someone shouted, "Check behind the trees!"

Panicked, Maeve looked around, trying to find some way out. Could she make it to the next tree? Even if she could, then what? She couldn't just stand here.

Gulping down air, she broke out into a run, flitting through the darkness and running as quickly as she could to the next tree. She made it, gripping the bark, her breath catching and her teeth worrying her lip so much that she could taste blood. How long should she keep this up? It didn't matter. All that Maeve knew was that she needed to keep going. She couldn't, wouldn't give up.

She darted between the trees as the six men who stayed behind searched for her, getting closer and closer. Taunts and jeers echoed through the woods as they all called out to her.

"May as well come out, Maeve," Rod's awful voice called out from just behind the tree that Maeve had just left. "Come on, come on. If ye're kind tae us and let us play a little, we may nae even hand ye over."

Crude laughter followed those words, and Maeve felt nausea clawing its way up her throat. She felt like she might actually be sick, but she swallowed it down, trying to still her shaking hands, knowing that all she could do was keep going. If she stopped, if she got caught, then it was all over. She didn't know what Kyle Darach would do to her, but she knew it would be even more cruel than anything that Malcolm had ever imagined. He'd need to make an example of her to truly display his own so-called innocence.

Terror weighed upon her shoulders so much that it felt like it was crushing her, but she looked around for the next tree and set out on a run, hoping against hope that she'd be able to make it.

But it was dark, and she was tired and scared, and she didn't see the rock until it had already tripped her and sent her sprawling to the ground.

"There ye are, sweet one," Brian's mocking voice sounded all too close. A moment later, a rough hand grasped her arm and yanked hard, pulling Maeve to her feet. "Ye still want her, Rod? Are ye willin' tae share?"

"Let go of me," Maeve demanded, pulling her arm away — or trying to, at least. His grip was like iron, and the other five men were approaching. It was dark, but she could still see the disgusting smirks on their faces. "Let me go!"

"She's learned some fire since we last saw her," one of the other men commented. Maeve couldn't remember his name from her time in the castle, only that he'd been extremely loyal to the Darach cause. "That's good. Kyle will enjoy snuffin' it out."

Rod walked closer to them, his eyes burning into her. "We've been commanded nae tae touch ye again, ye ken," he said, "But all sorts of things happen in the woods."

Maeve spat in his direction, causing several of the other men to laugh. Brian, still holding her arm, pulled back his hand and slapped her hard. Maeve stumbled, and Rod shouted to one of the other men to fetch the rope.

Then a lot of things happened at once.

The sudden thunder of hoofbeats sounded again and a dark figure rode into the clearing, the moonlight filtering through the trees showing only the fury in a pair of deep gray eyes. The six men turned, and Brian threw Maeve to the ground, jumping forward to attack.

Cailean made a swift movement with his hand and Brian went to the ground in an instant, only the silent glint of silver a hint to what had ended his life. Rod let out a furious cry, and Cailean dismounted his horse, his sword in hand, facing the attacker.

Maeve, temporarily ignored as the five remaining men circled Cailean, crawled across the ground to Brian's body. His weapons were attached to his belt. His sword was too short, thick, and heavy for her to wield properly, but he had a shiny dagger which she picked up in an instant. She had no time to think, knowing only that she had to protect herself.

Rod attacked and Cailean dodged, then in one swift move, Rod was cut down too. Maeve hurried to Cailean's side as the other four men reacted with angry cries.

"Ye think cuttin' us down is gonnae stop us?" one of the men demanded furiously. "Ye think ye can kill all of us? We outnumber ye, stranger, and there are more of us in the woods. Run while ye still can."

Cailean grabbed Maeve's arm and pulled her closer. "Stay beside me," he warned her in an undertone. His voice was rough and he didn't even look at her as he spoke.

"I dinnae ken who ye think the girl is, but she's a murderer and a traitor," another man spat. "She's comin' with us, or she's dyin' here."

"Two of ye are already dead. Ye're the ones who should be afraid!" Maeve declared, turning the dagger over in her hands. She knew she only had a few moments before this temporary standstill ended and these four men attacked, and God only knew what would happen when the others caught wind that something had happened.

Silence fell for a moment. Many of the horses had fled, spooked by the smell of blood, but Cailean's horse stood behind them patiently, obviously ready to await his master. Maeve glanced between each of the Darach men, knowing that they were going to mob them at any moment.

"Ye think this man will save ye?" one of the men taunted. "How will he save yer sister?"

Maeve froze. "What?" she couldn't help but answer. "Me sister?"

"Yer father gave her tae us, ye ken, as penance for yer crime," one of them replied, seeming to cruelly enjoy every word that fell from his mouth. "A pretty thing, if nae quite so bonny as ye. Naive and precious. Kyle will break her in and teach her, though, dinnae ye worry."

A ringing sounded in Maeve's ear. Her sister? The one upside to her awful marriage, the only silver lining in being sold like livestock to Malcolm Darach, was that at least her sisters were safe. Was it young Nessa? Maeve doubted it; her father would most likely have kept his favorite by his side if he had the choice. Fear of a different kind thrilled through her, not terror for herself but agony at the thought of what might be happening to her sweet, sensitive, innocent Breana. Surely not. Surely this monster was lying.

"Aye, I'd say he's gonnae have his fun with her—" a man started.

Maeve saw red and, before she could get control of her own actions, she gripped the dagger tight and threw herself ahead. Recklessly, she swung the dagger around, managing to slice his arm, only narrowly dodging his return blow and escaping certain death herself. Suddenly, Cailean had grabbed her again, pulling her back in a hard yank.

"Let me go!" she growled. "I'm gonnae kill him."

"Be cautious," he told her in a low voice. "Ye're gonnae have tae fight — fight smart. Dinnae forget what ye've been learnin'."

Maeve realized that he was right. She couldn't allow herself to be lost to this, couldn't allow herself to give way to her anger and lose herself entirely. She nodded almost imperceptibly and turned once again to face her attackers, just in time to find all four of them running forward with their swords drawn.

Cailean moved into the path, his sword raised to defend her. The clashing of swords sounded and found Cailean fighting two at once, and Maeve threw her dagger just as a third approached Cailean from behind. It was a lucky throw; it caught the Darach man right between the shoulder blades, sending him to his knees. Maeve ran forward, yanking the dagger from his back and acting quickly to put an end to it.

The fourth man ran toward her with his sword raised, and Maeve rolled out of the way. She noticed the newly dead man's sword was long and thin, still not perfect for her but better. She grabbed it and scrambled to her feet, and managed to parry the plunging sword just before it could hurt her.

Remember. Use their weaknesses tae yer advantage. Cailean hadn't spoken out loud, but she heard his voice in her ear anyway, and it filled her with a warm resolve. She could do this. They fought back to back, Cailean expertly dodging and weaving the two attackers, Maeve managing to fight off her own opponent only barely. She needed to find his weakness, but in the dark, when she was already scared and her face was hiding from being hit, she wasn't sure she could concentrate.

But as she dodged out of the way, there it was; he was favoring his right side, just as Darren had favored his left. And now she knew how to beat him. Weaving out of the way of his attacks, she feinted, and was rewarded by the man lunging in the other direction. Her sword flashed and, with a gasp, she managed to slice it quickly across his throat. He stared at her as if unable to believe what had just happened, then fell to his knees.

"He'll… get ye…" the man gurgled, before falling face-first onto the ground.

Maeve's heart was hammering, but she knew that she could not stop to think about the two men she had killed, not now. Now the only thing that was left for her to focus on was surviving, and making sure that Cailean survived as well. She whirled around, her sword still drawn, just as Cailean managed to dispatch both of his opponents with two quick slices.

In the silence that followed, Maeve staggered, and Cailean caught her, holding her upright.

"Are ye all right?" he asked her gruffly.

"There are… there are more…" Maeve gasped. "They dispersed into the woods. We need tae find them. We cannae let them discover…"

Cailean nodded tightly. "Stay here."

"No. I can fight."

She saw his eyes tighten, but she was in no mood to argue, and he could see it on her face. With a resigned nod, he beckoned for her to stay close. "We'll wait here, then," he said. "And catch them as they emerge."

And they did. The Darach men emerged from the woods again in twos or threes, each with mad looks of death and fury in their eyes, and Maeve and Cailean fought together side by side. Maeve was exhausted, aching, and terrified, but she fought on, knowing that the second she slipped up, she could lose everything. Having Cailean by her side was like a strange boost, and she focused only on that as she parried and dodged and sliced and avoided attacks. In the end, she took down another three men, and Cailean managed to overcome the other six. In the wildness of the fighting, even Cailean's horse fled into the forest after the others, but Maeve could only focus on the fight before her.

When the last men fell, Maeve collapsed to the ground into a sitting position and drew her knees up to her chest.

Cailean's voice was in her ear in an instant. "Get up. Ye dinnae ken if it's over yet."

"It's over," she sobbed. "Oh, God. I killed those men."

"Kill or be killed. Ye wanted tae be a warrior." Cailean held out a hand, and Maeve took it, allowing him to pull her up. There was none of the usual gentleness or understanding in his voice now, and he avoided her eyes when she tried to look at him. "Are ye sure they're all gone?"

"I'm sure," Maeve replied.

"Are ye hurt?" he asked.

She was. She'd been cut and bruised several times, and she was sure that a deep slash in her upper arm was bleeding enough that she would need attention from the healers. But she wasn't going to tell him that, not now. Instead, she just shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Cailean grunted. "Come on." He grabbed her hand without looking at her and started into the forest. "We've got tae find our horses."

Maeve followed without a word, shrinking back against his anger, yet at the same time yearning to be closer to him for comfort. She followed, her eyes downcast, and tried not to think about the bodies they left behind, and how close she'd been to being one of them.