Page 17 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

16

Chapter Sixteen

There was something intense about the way the old woman stared across the field, as though even in the darkness of night the whole world and all of its secrets were clear to her. Maeve's heart stuttered erratically as a hush fell down over the field. Even the horses seemed to still. Both Cailean and Maeve turned to watch the old woman approaching them, her solitary candle held high in front of her wrinkled face.

The closer she got, the more Maeve could make out the expression on the woman's face. She was staring, Maeve saw now, not at them both but only at Cailean. As she got closer, the old woman's dark eyes grew wider and wider, her papery skin turning paler. She walked right up to Cailean, and when she spoke, the silence shattered around them.

"Ye, lad. Ye've got his face, but those are her eyes. I cannae believe ye're here."

Maeve didn't understand, but she saw the way that Cailean's expression flickered, almost as though he were in a panic.

"I dinnae suppose ye'd recognize me. It's been so long. But I kent ye'd be here, one day," the woman went on.

"Ye have me mistaken for someone else, Grandmother," Cailean said in a polite but gruff voice. "We're sorry tae invade yer farm. We'll just take our horses and go."

The old woman's expression didn't budge. She was staring at Cailean with nothing short of wonder. "My mistake," she said after a long moment. "Ye reminded me of a young lad I kent once, long ago. I worked in his father's kitchens, twenty years or so ago, before I came out here with me son tae rebuild our lives on this farm."

Maeve could not understand the depth in the woman's tone or the look of fervency in her eyes, but she could see that Cailean was growing… what? Impatient? Uncomfortable? Maeve cleared her throat and said, "Forgive me, but we are expected elsewhere."

The old woman turned to her and smiled faintly. "Aye, I expect ye are. Off with ye, then. And take care of each other." She paused, then said, "What of these horses?"

Seeing the other horses gathered in the field — their masters now laying dead in the woods — made Maeve feel sick. She couldn't speak, so she averted her gaze to the ground.

Cailean replied. "Keep them tae raise or sell as ye like. We need only our own two."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Ye're sure? That's a fine profit ye're turnin' away."

"Then make that profit with our blessin'," Cailean replied. "Peace upon ye, Grandmother."

"And ye, lad," the woman replied. "And ye both."

* * *

The journey back was much longer than it had taken to get there, as without discussion, the two of them had decided to circle the woods rather than traverse through them again. Maeve was grateful; she didn't think she could stand seeing the blood that stained the soil. Anxiety about her own fate stormed inside her as her fear of being cast out reared up, but it was tempered somewhat by the overwhelming guilt and sorrow she felt when she thought of the dead men who now would never wake.

Had they wives? Children? Surely they had mothers or fathers, siblings, someone who loved them. What right had Maeve to take away their lives? Logically, she knew that it was her or them — no, more than that, she'd had to fight to protect the rest of the village and the rest of the rebels. But still, all she could hear in her mind were screams, the last dying sounds of men she herself had slain.

"How do ye stand it?" she whispered. "How can ye manage tae keep yerself from drownin' in it?"

She hadn't expected to be heard, but as the horses rode on side by side at a slow pace, Cailean answered, a thoughtful, pondering answer that she hadn't expected.

"A warrior fights, and aye, a warrior kills, but never for pleasure. It always hurts. It always comes with guilt. It's the price we pay for the power we wield." He spoke it as though it was rote to him. "We dinnae die by the sword, but the exchange is that we must live with it."

Maeve felt her eyes prickle again and a hard lump formed in her throat. Images of the fighting clambered in her mind, each more gruesome than the last. The way the men had cruelly taunted her, the way they'd shed her blood, only to be overwhelmed by her and Cailean working together. The identical look of terror in each man's eyes as he realized he'd lost and it was all over.

"How do we live with it, though?" she asked. "How do we get past the guilt? I ken that none of those men would have hesitated tae kill me; nae one of them would have felt any remorse at cuttin' me throat while I was defenseless. I ken at least two of them for sure would have done worse. Yet, I still feel…"

"A man's life is a heavy burden tae carry," Cailean told her quietly, "But it's the burden we both agreed tae shoulder when we dedicated ourselves tae this fight for justice. Anyone can declare that they would die for a person, but it takes the heart of a warrior tae be able tae live and even kill for someone. Even after all these years, I never take a life lightly — I never forget the face of a man who has died on me sword — but with time, ye learn tae balance it."

"How?"

Cailean didn't answer. They arrived back at the village some time later, but before he could dismount and inform the townspeople that the threat had been mitigated, he finally gave her the reply she'd been waiting for.

"Death is inevitable," he told her. "And when an enemy threatens ye or those ye love, ye have a choice tae make." He dismounted and hesitated. "I've made me peace with the death I sow tae those who have asked for it or earned it. I dinnae cry over blood shed by monsters."

"But…?" Maeve asked, sensing there was more.

Cailean sighed. "But… sometimes there are deaths that are not deserved. Sometimes people die, innocents die, because I stayed my sword when I shouldnae have, or because I didnae act quickly enough. Those are the deaths I cannae deal with. The ones I havenae figured out how tae process."

The two of them were quiet for a long moment, then Cailean spoke again.

"Wait here with the horses," he said. "I'm gonnae let them ken they're safe, and have them send out a group tae find and bury the bodies, then I'll be back."

Maeve blinked at the unexpected kind gesture. "Why?" she blurted out before she could think of another way to phrase the question.

Cailean studied her face for a moment, then shrugged. "Because we may be killers when we have tae be, Maeve. But we can never be made intae monsters unless we allow it."

* * *

As she waited for Cailean, Maeve remembered the taunts the men had been throwing at her. They'd mentioned her sister being taken in her place and gifted to Kyle Darach. Could it be true? A new kind of fear settled in her stomach, eclipsing all of her anxiety and guilt for the dead men.

Breana. It had to be Breana.

A memory flashed through her mind.

Maeve was eleven years old when she heard the quiet sobbing coming from her older sister's room. She herself was already having a terrible day; Nessa had once again blamed Maeve for something that Nessa herself had done, and Maeve had faced a beating for it. She'd intended to retreat to her room and feel sorry for herself, unable to understand why her parents never loved her as much as they loved Nessa, but hearing the soft sobs from Breana's bedroom changed her course.

She knocked on the door. "Bre? Can I come in?"

There was no reply, so after a moment, Maeve pushed the door open.

Breana sat on her bed, wearing her nightgown and clutching her stomach in discomfort, a look of sorrow on her face. She looked up when Maeve entered, and from the redness in the older girl's eyes, it was clear Breana had been crying for quite some time.

"What's happened?" Maeve asked immediately. Her sweet, kind older sister was a gentle, delicate soul, and even though Breana was already thirteen, Maeve felt protective of her. "Are ye hurt?"

"Me belly hurts," Breana admitted. "Oh, Maeve, it's awful. Me… me… me womanhood has come upon me. Already!"

Maeve frowned. She'd heard about the blood that came to women monthly once they were grown, but she hadn't realized it could happen so early. "Are ye sure?" she asked. She walked over to the bed and climbed up beside her sister. "Are… does it hurt?"

Breana nodded miserably. "It's like somethin' is scratchin' at me insides," she replied. "One of the maids saw the stain on me skirts and helped me clean up and place a rag. She says it will last for a week or so, and then…"

Touching her sister's hand, Maeve asked, "Is it so painful as that? Ye've been cryin'."

Breana swallowed. "It isnae the pain, Maeve. I'm scared. Now that I'm a woman, Father can marry me off if he likes."

"Marriage? But ye're still half a bairn," Maeve protested. "Most lassies dinnae marry so early. Father wouldnae…"

"He would if it secured somethin' for him," Breana replied. She wiped her eyes. "I ken I'm a disappointment tae him. I just want tae be here tae protect ye." She turned to face Maeve fully then and gasped. "Oh… oh, Maeve, did he hurt ye again? Yer face is bruised!"

"I fell," Maeve lied, though she knew that Breana wouldn't believe it.

The sisters embraced, not speaking again for a while.

"Me poor, brave girl," Breana said at last. "I'm sorry I cannae keep ye safe."

"We'll keep each other safe," Maeve told her. "I'll make sure he doesnae get ye married until ye're good and ready. We'll find ye a kind man, like in the stories."

Breana smiled, stroking Maeve's hair. "And I'll do what I can tae make sure he never hurts ye again. Deal?"

"Deal!"

* * *

To this day, Maeve didn't know what Breana had said or done, what she'd cajoled or bargained or threatened, but her father had never physically raised a hand to her again. He'd hurt her in other ways, and he'd ignored her, but the beatings had stopped after that moment. Somehow, Breana had faced down the great Laird O'Sullivan and won on her sister's behalf.

It had been one of the reasons that Maeve had been able to accept her dreadful marital fate. But now… now it seemed she'd failed, and Breana had been married off anyway to an even worse man than Maeve had been sold to herself. Maeve had failed.

"No," she said quietly into the night air. She remembered Cailean's words about innocents lost. If it was true, if what those men had taunted was what was really happening, did it mean her own sister, her only real family, was now one of them? Maeve couldn't even begin to consider it or what it would mean.

Cailean's footsteps sounded across the hard ground, and a moment later he returned to the horses. "It's done," he told her. "Come. Let's get back tae camp."

Maeve opened her mouth to tell him about her sister, but closed it again. Now wasn't the time to be asking for favors. After all, this return to her new home might be the last time she was ever there again. If they voted against her, which they might, her only hope was that they did not keep her as a prisoner. She would beg them for exile instead.

If they cast her out, she'd be alone again, lost and scared and without anything, and the idea terrified her. But at least she'd be free. And Breana would be waiting.

* * *

Cailean didn't try to speak to Maeve for the rest of the journey back to the camp. He wasn't sure what he could bring himself to say to her even if he did. The story of what she'd been through had moved him more than he knew what to do with, and the way they'd fought together had stirred something in his heart that had been asleep for so long that he'd thought it was gone forever.

But she'd still lied to them. She was still the daughter of one sworn enemy and the widow of another. Cailean believed her that she hadn't killed Malcolm Darach, but that did not mean that she was an innocent. In fact, it might even mean that she was more guilty; if she didn't kill Malcolm, then couldn't she have loyalty to him? He was her husband, after all.

Cailean shook his head. He didn't believe that. He believed her, but he couldn't get over the sting of the betrayal just yet.

"There ye are, ye big pillock!" Darren's voice called out over the crowd that swarmed to meet them. "We were beginnin' tae think somethin' had happened tae ye. There were rumors of Darachs in the woods."

Cailean slipped off his horse and moved to Darren's side, weaving through the other rebels who had swarmed close to greet them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several people gathering around Maeve to make sure she was alright — though of course, they would be calling her Mary . That made the sting feel fresh again. She'd lied to all of them, and worst of all, he could understand why. It was confusing to see that his fellow rebels had clearly come to care for her and maybe even love her like family.

How would they feel when they knew she'd lied to all of them?

"What's wrong?" Darren asked immediately when he spotted Cailean's expression. Then he swore. "That's blood on ye. Bastards. Ye got caught up with them, aye?"

Cailean nodded. "They're all dead. The villagers are dealin' with the bodies, but we should send a few men tae help."

Darren gave his assent and called a few words out to some men nearby. After that, he turned back to Cailean and looked him up and down. "Are ye hurt? Should I fetch a healer?" He glanced over Cailean's shoulder. "What about Mary?"

His stomach clenching, Cailean forced himself to remain calm as he replied. "We only got minor injuries. We'll see the healers after we've talked tae the council."

"She fought with ye?"

"Aye." Begrudgingly, he added, "And she fought well. I'll tell ye all about it later, but for now, I need tae speak with the elders. At once."

Darren frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are there more of them comin'? Did someone escape? What?"

"Please, me friend," Cailean asked, exhaustion suddenly weighing down on him. It was late, and he was physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. He just needed to get this over with before his entire system gave out. "Please just go get yer da and the others. It's important."

He thought for a moment that his friend would argue, but Darren nodded. "I will. I'll tell them tae gather in the war tent; ye can meet them there. And I'll get Patty tae come and have a look at Mary. Even if it's just minor wounds…"

"We'll both see the healers after," Cailean replied. "For now, Maeve will stay with me. She needs tae be there when I meet the elders."

Darren frowned and folded his arms. "All right," he said. "I'll go, and ye can explain later. Just… answer me one question for now. Just one."

Cailean's voice was hoarse, but he owed his worried friend at least that much, he supposed. "Fine. Ask."

Darren leaned close, his voice almost a whisper. " Who is Maeve?"

* * *

Maeve sat outside the war tent, her jumbled emotions winding and weaving through her skin. Her body was exhausted, ready to collapse into a long sleep, but her mind was more alert than ever. Here in the ambient noise of the camp, she could at last concentrate on the pain in her injured arm, and she relished in it, because at least it was a distraction from the confusion inside her ravaged heart.

Cailean was inside talking to the elders, and he'd told her to wait here. Maeve hadn't argued, but as she waited, she saw many a familiar face walk by and stare at her with open, unguarded curiosity. What were they thinking, she wondered? Were they filled with awe that she and Cailean had faced down a small attacking force and won? Were they suspicious of her? She didn't know what Cailean had said to Darren, and she didn't know how much of it could possibly have spread in such a short amount of time.

It was late, but it seemed that the whole camp was awake, holding its breath as if in anticipation of what was to come next. Maeve wondered that too. Was this the end for her? It could easily be it; the last moments she'd have of this place that had become her home.

A familiar face wove through the crowd, and Maeve saw Ferda staring across the field at her. She must have returned from the scouting mission early. She held up a hand and waved to her friend, but Ferda did not wave back, just watched her. From this distance, it was impossible to tell the expression on the scout's face.

Before Maeve could think about it more, the flap of the tent opened behind her, and there stood not Cailean, but Senan, staring down at her with a severe look in his eye.

"Mary," he greeted. "Or whoever ye are. Come in. I think we all need tae have a long talk."