Page 16 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

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Chapter Fifteen

Cailean did not know what to do with all of the fury inside of him. He had never been so angry in his life, never felt his blood pulse in his ears and his hands shake with rage so strongly. He wasn't an idiot; he understood what had happened now, he understood whom he was leading by the hand through the woods.

Mary had lied to them all. That probably wasn't even her real name. Was anything about her real at all? She'd manipulated them into believing she was one thing, but the reality was that they knew nothing about her at all. She could be a spy for the False King for all he knew, one he'd foolishly allowed into their camp and trained in all of their secrets.

Did he believe that? Not in his heart, but then again, he didn't know what to believe. What if it was true? What if he'd given up one of his priceless memories, regardless of his mixed feelings toward it, for someone who had no intentions other than to hurt them?

The worst part was that if he admitted it to himself, that wasn't even the part he was angriest about. He was furious that she'd almost gotten herself killed. What had her plan been? It could have been that she was truly trying to lead them away from the rebels, to try to protect them from the coming attackers, but it could equally be that she was just trying to protect herself.

"Cailean…"

He started at the sound of his name. He'd been pulling her through the woods in silence, but when he stopped and turned, he saw that she was pale and shaking, her hand in his cold. They were too deep in the woods for him to make out her expression clearly, but there was a dark patch on her arm that he was sure was blood.

Cursing, he stopped and turned to her. Without a word, he tore a strip off his cloak and wrapped it around her arm. It wasn't much of a bandage, but it would do for now; it would have to. She stood there and allowed him to do it, but she didn't say a word. When he was done, she whispered, "Thank ye."

"Ye're nae gonnae die yet," he grumbled. "Ye told me ye werenae hurt."

"I… I feel dizzy," she told him. "I dinnae ken… I dinnae ken how… Cailean, I've never killed a man before. Those men might have been awful, they might have wanted to hurt me, tae hurt us, but they're still dead because of me. I dinnae ken how tae…"

His fury flared again. "Ye dinnae ken? Are ye sure about that?" he demanded. "Or is it just that killin' men in the heat of battle is a different experience from killin' yer husband in his bed?"

She was visibly startled by his words. "W… what?"

"Dinnae play the innocent. It's ye, isnae it? The Darach widow, on the run for murderin' yer husband." He moved a little closer. "Dinnae ye lie tae me. Nae now. Nae again."

She rubbed her face with her hands. "I… I am Malcolm Darach's widow, aye. I hoped ye'd never find out."

"Clearly," he snarled. He wanted to turn his back and leave her here, but something stopped him, something beyond even his urge to know the full truth. "Is Mary even yer real name?"

She shook her head. "Maeve. I'm Maeve O'Sullivan."

The words were like piercing arrows in Cailean's heart. Not only was she Darach's widow, but she was a daughter of O'Sullivan, two of the biggest supporters of the man who had destroyed his family and taken everything from him before he was even old enough to know what he had. The men who supported the False King who was draining the very life from the country he loved so much.

She'd lied about everything. Why was this hurting him so much? It felt more painful than he knew what to do with, which in turn was making him angrier.

"Did ye murder him?" he yelled, his temper exploding. "Did ye murder yer husband?"

Too late. He realized that he'd scared her, and guilt rushed through him. He hadn't meant to cause fear in her, and seeing her flinch back from him made him want to immediately apologize. He kept his mouth shut, though, dropping her hand and folding his arms.

"If I did…" she murmured, "Would that be such a bad thing? Was he nae yer enemy?"

Cailean froze, taken aback by her words. Would it be such a terrible thing if Mary — Maeve — had rid him of one of his enemies? In theory, no, but in practice, the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. It was one thing to kill a man on a battlefield, but it was quite another to slaughter someone in their bed.

She didn't wait for him to answer, though. She sighed and spoke again. "I didnae kill him. It wasnae me; all I did was be the fool who found his body and allowed meself to be caught standin' over it."

He grunted. Maybe he was a fool, but he believed her. It wasn't that he trusted this person who had lied to him about everything, but he trusted what she said right now. For some reason, it made him relax a little to know that she wasn't a cold-blooded murderer, even if the person who had been killed was amongst those who had deserved it most in all of the world. "Can ye walk?"

"Aye."

He reached out and took her hand again, tugging on her. "Come on. We need tae find me horse."

"Ye believe me?" she asked quietly.

His head was such a whirl of confusion that he didn't know what to answer at all. All he managed to let out was, "Ye're nae done explainin' yet. Just keep walkin'."

* * *

Maeve was terrified. The way that Cailean had yelled at her had scared her, but the iciness with which he was speaking to her now was even more terrifying. The idea of him being so disappointed in her was worse than his rage. Had he believed her that she hadn't killed Malcolm? Did it matter?

She allowed him to pull her through the woods, not daring to speak a word, not daring to say anything at all. He had told her that she had to explain, but he didn't prompt her to speak more, and she was scared that when she did, the fragile relationship that had built between them over these weeks would be shattered forever. Would he send her away from the camp? Would she lose everyone after all, even though she had fought so hard to save them?

Maeve tried to pull her mind away from that fear, but whenever she did, all she could see in her mind's eye were the corpses of the dead men they'd left behind; the men she'd killed. Between that and the way that Cailean had spoken to her, the way she thought she'd lost his trust forever, she had never felt so low.

They emerged from the trees nearby and both of them slowed to a stop. There was a small farmhouse hidden in the clearing with a large field around it, and all of the horses — Maeve's and Cailean's included — seemed to have found their way here. Maeve felt a surge of relief to see the animals; she'd worried that when she sent her horse away she would never see it again, and she would never have forgiven herself if the animals were hurt on top of all the human injuries and fatalities of the day.

The horses were grazing in the field, and Cailean let out a sigh of relief. They approached and checked the animals over and saw that they seemed to be fine. Cailean took a few moments, then he turned to Maeve and said, "Before we go anywhere, we're gonnae finish our conversation."

Maeve swallowed and nodded. "Ask me what ye need tae. I'll answer honestly, I swear it."

"Maeve," he said. It sounded awkward in his mouth, like he was testing it out, but hearing Cailean say her real name out loud made something deep inside her shiver. "Tell me the truth. Why did ye join me camp? What are yer intentions? Why and how did ye flee from Castle Darach? And why would they frame ye, if ye truly didnae do the crime?"

Taking a deep breath, Maeve knew she had no choice but to tell him the whole story. She let out a shaky breath and decided to start from the beginning.

"I never married Malcolm Darach by choice. Me father, ye ken who he is by me name I'm sure, he basically sold me tae keep a good relationship with the Darachs. I wasnae worth any more than a bargaining chip tae Laird O'Sullivan."

"His own daughter?" Cailean didn't look like he believed her. "I ken that lassies marry for political ties all the time, but I'd heard that O'Sullivan treats his daughter well since his wife died. Like a wee pet."

Maeve flinched at the words. "Aye. Me youngest sister has always been the pet. And he more or less left me older sister, Breana, alone, as far as I could manage tae protect her anyway. But me… he never had time for me, not when me mother was alive and certainly not after. I was another mouth tae feed, another lassie disappointin' him because I wasnae a son. I had me fair share of beatin's and he saw me as nothin' but a nuisance. When me mother died, it only got worse. So when Malcolm Darach chose me, Father sent me away without a thought."

Cailean grimaced. "I see. And ye went."

"I had nae choice. The only good thing about it all is that…" Maeve paused and blushed. "Well, there was never any chance of me producin' an heir. Malcolm left me alone."

Cailean's embarrassment at her implication was obvious, but thankfully he never asked her any more detail on that. She wasn't sure she was ready to revisit that in full, or her complicated feelings that surrounded it after Ann's revelation.

"So ye didnae kill him?" Cailean pressed. "Ye're tellin' me ye had nothin' tae do with it?"

"I didnae kill him," Maeve insisted. "We never even slept in the same bedroom. I only went by his room tae return a necklace he'd bid me wear at a feast… and when I entered I saw him." She pursed her lips, the image flooding back into her mind; Malcolm, his eyes wide open and staring, his skin pale except where it was stained with deep red. "It was… horrible."

"So if ye didnae murder him, who did?" Cailean's voice was no longer so harsh, and instead he sounded more like someone trying to solve a puzzle. He still didn't seem sure if he believed her entirely, but Maeve could see that he was softening a little, and she clung tight to the hope that this gave her.

"Kyle Darach killed Malcolm. I ken it."

Cailean raised an eyebrow. "Ye ken for sure?"

"I trust me sources. Ann of the White Sparrows, she saved me, and?—"

"Ye ken Ann?" Cailean sounded truly surprised now. "Ann saved ye? How can that be?"

And so Maeve told him the rest; how Eoin and Ann had both been watching over her in their own ways while she'd been a prisoner in that sham of a marriage; how she'd been nearly put to death until Ann broke her free with Eoin's help; and how she'd been invited to join the Sparrows but had ended up at Bill's inn instead.

"Ye'd have been good amongst the Sparrows," Cailean said when she was done. He didn't meet her eyes. "They, too, need tae ken how tae be swift and quick-thinkin'. And ken how tae lie."

It was a small dig at her, but it hurt as though it was a blow. She could see that she'd shattered his trust entirely, and despite knowing that she'd only done what she had to do to survive, the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her just kept rising. "I ken how tae lie," she admitted. "But that doesnae mean I like it. I hated every moment that someone called me Mary. I hated every second I couldnae tell everyone the truth. Ye've become like me family, the first real family I ever had besides me sister, and I…" her voice faltered under his cold gaze. "Please, Cailean. Have ye never had tae hide somethin' even though ye kent the truth would give ye freedom? Have ye never had tae lie about who ye are?"

A dark shadow flitted across Cailean's face at the question, and Maeve was reminded of that beautiful pin and the capercaillie proudly displayed in its sigil. She'd had her suspicions for a long time about Cailean, but could they be true? She clenched one of her hands into a fist to try to get a hold of herself. It didn't matter if it was true or not, not now. She would not voice her thoughts and suspicions and ruin any chance she had of gaining his forgiveness.

Cailean stepped forward and raised a hand to touch her cheek. Maeve stood still as he gently wiped a smear of blood away from under her eye. Despite everything, his touch was very soft and warm, and she longed to lean into it.

But then he shook his head, his voice still cold. "Ye should have told us the truth from the beginnin'. We could have helped ye."

"I didnae ken who Senan was. For all I kent, he would have delivered me right tae the Darachs. And then when I got here, would ye have harbored a woman ye thought a murderer in cold blood? Even if she'd killed yer enemy?"

Cailean stepped back and sighed. "Ye say Kyle Darach was the one who killed Malcolm and presumably set ye up tae take the blame. Very well, let's say I believe ye. How would the man's advisor get intae his bedchambers so late at night? Malcolm was renowned for his paranoia."

"Aye," Maeve replied. "But Kyle didnae enter the room as his advisor, he went as Malcolm's lover."

She watched as this revelation played out on Cailean's face. At first, he seemed shocked, then it seemed as though a piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place for him. After a long moment, Cailean shook his head.

"They're all monsters," he growled. "What sort of man would murder his own lover?"

"A man whose only true love is power and kennin' he gets tae wield it," Maeve replied steadily. "The kind of man whose own son would plot against him. Eoin is a good man. He's the one who warned me about his father."

Cailean's disgust didn't waver. "Every time I think one of the False King's men has sunk as low as a person can go, they do somethin' else tae prove me wrong."

"That's why we fight, is it nae? So that the true king can one day take his rightful place and save us all?" Maeve asked.

Complicated emotion wrestled on Cailean's face. "We fight tae survive. Ye ken that better than anyone." He sighed. "Ye still lied tae us, Maeve. I dinnae ken if we can ever trust ye again."

"Ye can trust me. I fled tae lead the men away from the camp. I fought with ye. Doesnae that mean somethin'?" Maeve asked.

"I trusted Mary," Cailean told her quietly. "I dinnae even ken who Maeve is. Ye tell me the reasons ye fled, but isnae it just as likely that ye ran off tae save yer own skin? That ye fought because ye realized ye had nae way of gettin' away alive?"

Despite knowing it was reasonable that he would be suspicious of her, Maeve still rankled at the unfairness of the accusation. "Ye dinnae believe that. It doesnae make sense. Surely if I was runnin' tae save meself I would have run in the other direction. Surely if I meant ye harm, I would have acted long before now."

Cailean didn't answer. He moved toward his horse and patted the creature's neck, his back turned to Maeve for a long time. Maeve looked around at the farmland that surrounded them, her eyes hot and prickling, though she did not allow any actual tears to fall. Only a few hours ago, life had seemed the closest to perfect that she'd ever experienced, closer to true joy than she'd ever expected. And now… now it might all be over, forever. In some ways, this felt even worse than when she'd faced certain death in the dungeons of Darach Castle. At least then she'd known.

"Let's go," he said. "Take yer horse. We ride back tae camp."

"I can come back?" she asked, scarcely able to believe it.

"I'm takin' ye back," he corrected. "Ye'll be taken before the council and judged. It isnae up tae me what we do with ye. It's for the elders tae decide."

A new coldness settled in Maeve's stomach. The council. Gruff but fatherly, Kier. The dedicated, strong Ewan and the kind but firm Hamish. And…

"Senan," she whispered. Her mentor. Her friend.

Cailean glanced at her, then looked away. "We all bear our own burdens," he said. "Especially when we create them for ourselves. This is the price."

"Then I'll pay it," Maeve said resolutely. She turned to find her horse and froze in her tracks.

There, in the doorway of the farmhouse, stood an old woman holding a candle and staring into the night. And from the look on the woman's face, she could see everything.