Page 21 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

20

Chapter Twenty

"So, ye're the new bride," Kyle Darach said with a sneer, standing in the doorway of Maeve's room and staring at her with an intensity that made her discomfort grow. "Well, he certainly picked a bonny one."

"I… I'm pleased tae meet ye, sir," Maeve stammered. She'd heard all about Kyle and his important role in the Darach clan, but she hadn't yet been introduced to him. She'd briefly glanced at him at the wedding, but he'd taken Malcolm away and completely ignored her until now.

"Pleased," Kyle said, stretching out the word to make it several syllables. He walked into her room, approaching her, and put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him directly in his beady eyes. "Are ye pleasin' yer new love?"

Maeve blushed furiously. "What?"

Kyle leaned closer, his hot breath in her ear, making her shudder. "Have ye lain with yer lord and master yet? Yer marriage tae Malcolm relies on producin' an heir, ye ken. Yet, I've heard that his room was quiet on yer weddin' night, and me wee birds tell me ye've been spendin' much time in yer own rooms."

Maeve averted her gaze, trying to ignore the horrible way his fingers felt against her skin. "I… I only wish tae be a good wife," she whispered. Fear flooded through her. Could Kyle know the truth that Malcolm had sent her away from his bed? Would she be punished for her inadequacy?

Kyle's hand moved from her chin and down the back of her neck. His other hand ran down her side, settling just above her hip. Before she could say or do anything, he pulled her close, her hips against his, and she smothered a cry of alarm before it could escape. She knew better than to scream. If she upset Kyle, it could mean her life.

"Perhaps," he said, "Someone just needs tae teach ye how tae be a wife."

Fear trembled through Maeve's body, but she was frozen in place. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Whatever he did now, she was helpless against him, and that thought filled her with almost as much disgust as it did terror.

"Will… willnae Malcolm…" she stammered, weakly trying to protest. "Me husband…"

Kyle laughed cruelly. "Ye think Malcolm would object?" he asked. "I ? —"

"Father?"

Kyle immediately dropped his hands and stepped back, causing Maeve to stumble. He turned to the door where Eoin was looking in, a perturbed expression on his face.

"What's goin' on?" Eoin asked.

"Maeve asked for some help. We're finished now," Kyle said smoothly. "Should ye nae be at yer post, lad?"

"I was lookin' for ye," Eoin said, but Maeve could hear from his voice that this wasn't the entire truth. From the sympathetic look he gave her over his father's shoulder, she realized that Eoin had come here for her sake. "Come, Father. The petitioners are waitin' for ye."

Kyle nodded. He turned to Maeve and leaned over to whisper in her ear once more. "Dinnae get comfortable," he told her. "Eoin willnae always be here tae save ye."

When both men left and the doors were closed behind her, all of Maeve's fear and panic spilled out into tears and panicked, quickened breathing. The world seemed to blur around her, and her lungs refused to hold air. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out when she tried. Feeling dizzy, she stumbled toward her dresser and looked in the mirror, desperate to see something that showed her she was still herself.

To her horror, it was not her own face but Breana's that stared back at her, wide-eyed and pale, fear and pain shining through.

"Maeve," Breana's voice echoed from the mirror. "How could ye leave me here, Maeve? How could ye let them have me?"

Now Maeve truly began to scream.

* * *

Bolting awake, it took a few moments for Maeve to remember where she was. Sweat soaked her pillow and her face was wet with tears from the horrible memory that had turned into a deep nightmare. She'd been hiding out in her room for two days now, talking to nobody but Ferda and Patty, avoiding the rest of the camp, but in her dreams there had been no solace from her anxiety — only horror and fear.

How long would she allow herself to stay here, trapped in the stress of her own mind? She needed to push herself. She needed to go back to training and face Cailean, or go to the council and try to convince them to act and save her sister, even if Cailean would not agree. She needed to go out and tell the truth to everyone in the camp about her history, and make sure the whole world knew who she was and what she had to offer. She couldn't hide anymore.

What was Cailean doing now? Did he hate her for the words she'd thrown in his face? Did he think she had crossed a line by trying to force him to live up to his past? Had she really had any right to do such a thing? Anxiety swirled in her stomach at the thought.

Maeve looked to the side of her bed and saw a little tray of food there. Patty had brought her breakfast, it seemed, and she felt a rush of gratitude toward her friend at that. She lifted the tray and ate her food, though the dryness of her mouth made it taste like ash. She had no appetite, no hope, and she wondered if everything would ever be all right again.

But she couldn't stay here forever. Breana needed her. Also, she'd begged to stay in this camp and promised that she'd fight as powerfully as any other warrior. She couldn't simply allow herself to hide away. Not when she'd been so harsh to Cailean about doing the same thing.

Cautiously, she got out of bed, washed and dressed, and slowly exited the hut. She intended to head right to the war room and find the councilmen, but to her surprise, someone was waiting right outside the door.

"Cailean," she said, making the word half a question in itself. He was in his full warrior's clothing, holding something in his hands wrapped tightly in a thick blanket. "I…"

"What do ye think ye're doin' here?" Cailean demanded. "Ye've missed two practice days now. Ye said ye wanted tae stay because ye wanted tae fight, how are ye gonnae do that while ye're hidin' out in yer room?"

"I… I…" Maeve had never stammered this way when talking to someone before, but her last memory of spending time with Cailean was making her feel tongue-tied. The anger and frustration he'd clearly felt had stuck with her this whole time. "I didnae think that ye'd want tae see me, nae after…"

Cailean shook his head and held out the bundle in his hands. Maeve took it from him, uncertain, and slowly unwrapped the covering. As the blanket material fell away, she saw the glint of stunningly crafted metal in the sunlight and her breath caught in her throat. She finished unwrapping the sword after a moment and simply stared at it.

"Well?" Cailean prompted.

Placing the covering on the ground, Maeve held the sword, her sword, in her right hand. It felt perfectly well-balanced as she swished it through the air, more like an extension of her arm than a tool separate from her. It was a long, thin blade, similar to a needle, and the pommel was carefully crafted from twisted metal and a shining blue gem in the middle. It was an extra unnecessary touch, but it added an individual kind of beauty to it that went straight to Maeve's heart. She'd never owned anything so stunning.

"I love it," she said. "It's the most beautiful weapon I've ever seen."

"I didnae get it tae be pretty," Cailean told her. "I got it tae be effective. Come with me."

Maeve didn't question him, following where he led without a word, though she was surprised when he walked in the opposite direction from the training field and back toward the river spot where they'd argued two days before. It was his secret place, she knew that, and the idea that he would be taking her there now threw her off. Did he have more to say to her? Was he going to scold her further for not attending training? But if that was the case, why had he given her the sword first? It didn't make sense no matter how she looked at it.

When they were back at the spot, hidden amongst the trees, Cailean turned to face her again. He reached for his belt, and a second later he'd drawn his own sword. "Now," he said. "Show me what ye've learned."

"What? Here?" Maeve started to protest, but before she could continue her objection, Cailean was rushing toward her, his sword raised for battle. Instinctively, she dodged out of his way, weaving beneath the blow, and raised her own sword to parry his. "What are ye doin'?"

"I told ye," Cailean grunted, swinging around to attack again. "I didnae get ye that sword tae be pretty."

Maeve threw herself into the fight, at first reacting only defensively, dodging and weaving and parrying, but soon her temper began to rise, and she pushed forward with attacks of her own. "What is this?" she demanded, her breath coming hard and heavy as they spun amongst the branches of the nearby trees, the sound of the river music to their deadly dance. "Are ye angry? Is that it?"

Cailean let out a snort. "Angry?" he repeated, but instead of answering, he redoubled his attack. Maeve narrowed her eyes and met him with equal ferocity, and the fight grew more and more intense, the clashing of their swords echoing around them. "I'm nae angry, Maeve," he said eventually, though their spar did not stop.

Tension sizzled in the air, and Maeve found herself drawn to him even as she spun away from him. His gray eyes focused on her with a burning heat she didn't understand, and she was reminded of the sun itself, too intense to look at directly and yet life-giving in its very essence. She moved forward, pushing an attack, but cried out as he tripped her and she sprawled to the ground. She was on her feet again in an instant, her sword pointed out.

"How does it feel tae lose tae a coward?" Cailean taunted, a sparkle in his eyes now.

"I never said ye were a coward," Maeve protested. She swung her sword high, feinting to the left, then ducked and weaved until the point was at his chest. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized she had scored a hit. "And I'm nae losin'."

In a swift, sudden movement, Cailean grabbed her with both hands. Both their swords clattered to the ground and Maeve flew back. Tree bark suddenly pushed up against her back, and Cailean stood over her, pinning her to a tree. Their bodies were remarkably close, and heat flooded through Maeve in an instant that had nothing to do with the exertion of the fight.

Both panting, sweating, and breathless, they stood there, Maeve unable to move as Cailean pressed into her, their gazes boring into one another. Maeve couldn't help it. Maybe it was the adrenaline pulsing through her from the fight, or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, or the closeness of his body, or the way his lips were so close. She found a small, nervous giggle escaping her lips.

Cailean gave her a little half-smirk in return, and the heat inside Maeve grew more intense, pulsing through her entire body and traveling down. He moved back a little, still pinning her in place, but even pulling back a tiny bit felt like a bereavement. Maeve's body cried out for his, and she instinctively reached out with her non-pinned hand, resting it on his chest — not to push him away, but to keep him close.

He looked down at her hand and then back up at her face, that intense burning look still in his eyes. "Ye did call me a coward," he reminded her in a soft voice that was barely a breath.

"Ye're right." Her own voice caught in her throat, her breath coming quickly and heavily. "I did. But I was wrong. I never meant it."

Cailean leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching. "I was a coward," he whispered. Then his little smirk turned into a full grin. "And ye have lost."

"I… what?" Maeve could barely understand what he was trying to say. "How are ye a coward?"

"I was . I dinnae intend tae be anymore." One hand still gripping her arm in place, he raised his other and touched her cheek lightly with his fingertips. "I've spent too long denyin' truths, so long that I almost forgot about them entirely. I've been hidin' away, nae only from the other rebels but from the whole of Scotland and from meself as well. I've been wearin' a mask so convincin' that I almost convinced meself."

"Cailean…" The feel of his fingertips on her cheek was distracting, and she found herself leaning closer.

"I love me people, Maeve. But I've let them suffer just by choosin' tae do nothin', nae ever realizin' that this was as much of a choice as actin'. I've betrayed the oaths me family took tae protect the land and its people, betrayed the gifts given tae me great-grandfather by that capercaillie so long ago. I was never meant tae just survive. Scotland wasnae meant tae just survive. We're meant tae live, Maeve, live and thrive. An' I'm done pretendin' that anythin' else is acceptable."

Maeve's breath caught and she stared, hypnotized, into his eyes. The passion that flamed behind them was intoxicating, and she began to feel like she'd never look away again.

"I'm done fightin' only tae survive. If I'm tae die, then let me die. But if I am to Iive, let this life be given for somethin' greater. For me country. For me people." His voice softened. "I'll do whatever it takes tae live up tae me father's name — and I'll start immediately. With yer help, if ye'll give it."

The full weight of Cailean's admission and renewed determination washed over Maeve like a soothing balm. She understood what he was saying to her, understood what he was offering her, but more than that, she understood that he was finally allowing himself to be who he was always meant to be. His love shone in that moment. Love for his family, long gone. Love for his country and its people, still here, just waiting for him to reach out and take them back again once and for all. And here he was, asking for her help to do it. She admired him immensely, she felt overwhelming hope for her sister and her people, and she felt like at last she truly knew the man who held her now.

And, as perhaps was only natural, she felt the love that poured from him entering her own heart too. Or maybe it had been there for a long time already, just waiting to be released into the world.

He was watching her, waiting for her answer, but there was really only one response she could give. Without a word, she moved, tilting her head slightly and bridging the tiny gap between them, pressing her lips to his.

Cailean let out a small sound of surprise, and Maeve almost pulled back, worried that she'd done something wrong. But then his lips moved against hers, and he kissed her back, the passion and want echoing through them both. Maeve gasped against his lips as he released her arm and instead wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close to him. Her own hands pressed against him, and for one blissful moment, the rest of the world disappeared.

Maeve's only experience with kisses had been harsh, unpleasant, forced and disgusting, but this couldn't be any more different. Cailean's kiss was intense but not forceful, his lips soft and molding to hers, his tongue tender when it darted into her mouth, sending little jolts of happy electricity through her. Leaning against him, she felt safe in his arms in a way she'd never felt safe in a long, long time, and the taste of him was like the sweetest treat she'd ever experienced.

He smelled like the forest, like the pine trees and the fresh wind of their home, and when he kissed her, she felt like they were alone together in a perfect paradise. She breathed him in, surrendering her body and soul into that kiss, not denying herself when her own desire urged her to get a little closer, hold him a little tighter, feel the kiss a little deeper. She shivered in delight at every breath.

At last, he pulled away, softly, slowly, leaving little pecks on her lips, her cheeks, and her forehead before he at last moved back to look down at her.

"Well, damn it all," Cailean said with a low whistle.

"What?" Alarm flooded through Maeve. Had she done it wrong? Was she not good enough? Was it?—

He grinned and moved closer again. "Ye're still braver than me," he whispered, his breath against her skin sending delightful goosebumps along her flesh. "I should hae done that a long time ago."

"Well, there's plenty of time tae make up for it," she told him breathlessly.

He started the kiss this time, another soft press of the lips that quickly grew deeper, more intense. That kiss said everything that words couldn't, all of the hope and dreams and fear and love and everything in between washing through them both.

There was much that they needed to discuss, much that they needed to do. But for now, they were just two young people, allowing themselves to take the biggest risk of all and fall in love at last.

It wasn't a surprise. It didn't scare Maeve. In fact, it felt inevitable. And for once, though it was overwhelming her heart and soul and mind, she felt at peace.