Page 8 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

7

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Maeve lay awake before the sun rose, staring at the ceiling above her. Two other women slept in the hut alongside her, though she hadn't yet had a chance to get to know them. She'd been so tired after the dramatic events of accepting her into the camp that she'd fallen asleep immediately upon being shown to her bed.

She thought of the man with whom she had… not exactly argued, but certainly made a strong point. Cailean, Senan had called him. He had been an exceedingly intriguing man, with gray eyes that shone with a wisdom beyond his years and light blond hair that reminded her of sand at the seashore. He was tall, muscled, and imposing, but much of the last didn't come from his admittedly intimidating physical form. His whole demeanor marked him as someone who was not to be messed with, someone who encapsulated the wild spirit of the Highlands in his every breath. The intense way he had studied her while they talked told her that it would be dangerous to relax around him if she wanted to keep her secrets.

Maeve had spent all her life around powerful men, or so they claimed to be, but she'd never met someone with a presence like Cailean's. His voice was commanding without being controlling, his looks striking without being overly pretty — handsome, yes, but not at all vain. The calmness in his voice had been enigmatic; even when he had gotten mad at the young man who had made the rude comment, he had kept a gravitas to his voice that she had never really experienced before.

But despite all this, she had won, and she was proud of it. She didn't need this powerful, strange, handsome man to like her, only to train her, and she'd gotten him to agree to do that. She already hurt all over from the travel and her training with Senan, and part of her longed for a rest, but despite all of that she was eager to get started. She'd take every tool in her arsenal, every weapon available to her, if it meant that she'd never have to be weak again.

When the first rays of sunlight shone through the windows, another of the women in the hut stretched and yawned and then sat up. She had honey-blonde hair and a freckled face, and even in the dim light, it was clear that she was smiling when she turned her attention and noticed that Maeve was also awake.

"Good mornin' tae ye," the woman said, not troubling herself to keep her voice down for the still-sleeping third person in the room. "That was quite the entrance ye made yesterday."

Maeve managed to prevent a blush, but only just. "Well, I made me point, I think," she said with a wry chuckle. She glanced over at the other girl. "Should we leave and let her sleep?"

"Not a chance. Patty, get yerself out of bed," the blonde woman demanded, chucking her pillow over to the snoozing woman. Patty grunted and rolled over, but otherwise showed no sign of awaking. Unperturbed, the blonde woman turned back to Maeve and said, "It's Mary, aye?"

"That's what they call me," Maeve replied, hoping that the little bit of sadness that accompanied the necessary lie did not sneak into her voice.

"A pleasure. And I'm Ferda. Ye met me cousin yesterday, briefly."

Maeve felt her heart speed up as the gray-eyed man filled her thoughts again. "Cailean, ye mean?"

Ferda laughed. "Och, nae. His friend, the one who smacked that wee daftie Dirk — who's also me cousin, by the way. His name is Darren." She gave Maeve a knowing look. "But Cailean made quite the impression on ye, I suppose?"

Maeve shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. "I got me point across regardless."

The other woman, Patty, sat up at those words and said, "Ye sure did. It was a nice wee show for all of us. Are ye really here tae be a warrior?"

"I am," Maeve said, instantly feeling defensive. "Is there an issue with that?"

Ferda and Patty both laughed, though not unkindly at all. Ferda said, "Ye'll nae find a lassie who thinks she can be told who she's supposed tae be in this camp. We all came here tae be free in one way or another. I'm a scout, and I get tae freely travel the land in a way I never expected that I ever would."

"And I'm a healer," Patty replied. She had wrinkles on the edges of her eyes and some gray in her hair, though she was still quite young-looking. Maeve guessed she might be in her early forties. "It's perhaps a bit more traditionally feminine, one might say, but me parents and me late husband would expire if they kent what I was doin'. I was supposed tae get married and have bairns, nae spend me time on an occupation."

For the first time, Maeve noticed the soft Irish lilt that was mixed in with Patty's Scottish brogue. The girl had a faraway, bittersweet expression on her face, but when she noticed that Maeve was watching, Patty turned her frown into a true smile once more.

"Me parents are in Ireland," she explained in answer to Maeve's unasked question. "I was born and raised here, but me mother was from Cork. She and me father fled twenty years ago when our king was deposed, but I stayed here tae do what I could for me country."

"And yer husband?" Maeve asked, her fascination outweighing her natural urge to not be nosy. "I'm sorry, ye said he died…"

"Nae loss tae the world," Patty told her with a shrug. "I married when I was twenty-two and left him the first time he laid a hand on me. Before we wed, he acted as though me callin' as a healer was somethin' he approved of, but that quickly changed once he had a ring on me finger." She grimaced. "He didnae like it when I argued. Thank God we never had any bairns, or I'd have been trapped."

Ferda scowled. "Piece of worthless shite," she murmured.

"Dinnae swear, Ferda," Patty chided. "Though ye arenae wrong. After he hit me, I left that night, and I didnae stop runnin' until I found the rebellion. It was everythin' I'd been lookin' for. A chance tae really help me country, and a chance tae be free."

As she'd been talking, the three of them had begun to wash and dress for the day. Ferda beckoned, and Maeve and Patty followed her out of the little hut and into the cool air outside. They walked along through the camp, which was already filled with happy, chattering voices, serious whispers, and everything in between.

"I'm sorry that happened tae ye," Maeve whispered. She'd been on the receiving end of men's hurting, too, but it still seemed awful to learn it had happened to someone else. Almost unfair.

Patty shrugged. "It was terrible, but it was eighteen years ago. And the strength I've earned since more than made up for it. When I heard he died, I was so healed from it all that I didnae even feel joy, just pity for a life poorly lived."

They reached a large building and went inside, only to find rows and rows of tables laid out. Many of the seats were already filled, and Maeve realized this must be where the rebels gathered to take their meals. She allowed Ferda and Patty to lead her to a spot somewhere off to the side, then Patty went off to fetch food for all three of them.

"Are ye all right?" Ferda asked her while they waited. "Ye look pensive. Did Patty's story bother ye?"

Maeve shook her head, then nodded. "I'm nae sure. Of course it bothered me that this happened tae her, but it gave me a strange kind of feelin' as well. I'm glad she was able to find freedom here. It… gives me hope."

She expected Ferda to press her, but the other young woman just nodded thoughtfully. "She's not the only one. Of course, me own story is much less dramatic; I'm part of the Bruce clan, and we're the biggest group in this rebellion. It was always gonnae be me fate tae be part of it, ever since me parents were killed the night the king was killed."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. But me uncle Kier saved me, just as he and many of me other aunts and uncles saved the rest of us, and brought us here." Ferda reached for the jug of water in the middle of the table and poured them both a cup. "But I felt trapped and resentful. That's why I ran away when I was a young lass of thirteen or so."

"Ye ran away?"

"Aye, and it didnae go well for me." Ferda shook her head. "I was a fool. I wanted tae prove a point about me independence and instead I nearly lost it entirely. I was found by an awful couple who took me in and used me as their servant — their slave, really, for they never paid me though I worked endlessly. I got very sick, but they pushed me and pushed me, and I was convinced I was gonnae die."

"What happened?" Maeve asked. Patty returned with their food and another woman alongside her, and the newcomers slid into their seats without interrupting, simply passing along the hot porridge and leaving Ferda the space to continue her story.

"Hamish found me," Ferda replied. "The men at the council, they'd never stopped lookin' for me. It would have been so easy for them tae write me off as a useless waster, a lassie who'd made her own mess and had tae deal with it, but they never left me behind. Hamish brought me home and they cared for me until I was well again. Then, instead of punishin' me, Uncle Kier asked me tae tell him why I'd run away. I explained, feeling foolish, but they never mocked me. It was Ewan's idea tae train me as a scout if I wanted. That way, I get me freedom without losin' me home."

"I was in a brothel when Senan found me," the new girl piped up. "They never judged me for it. They just offered me a new life as a cook here and I took it. And ye ken, they've never called me a whore or thrown me past in me face."

"Naebody here would, Lillian," Patty told her. "Not with the way ye cook."

The women laughed, and Maeve stared. "The men treat ye well even with such a history?" she asked. She'd seen how men treated the women of the night they brought back to the castle, her own father included, and it was hard to reconcile this new information.

"Och aye," Lillian told her. "That's what they do here. The council — Senan, Ferda's uncle Kier, and Ewan and Hamish — they dinnae just enforce the ideals that our rebellion stands for. They embody them."

"Respect," Ferda said. "Dignity. Hope. And a love for our country. That's all they ask from us, and it's what they give us in return. Ye saw how quickly they shut down me dim-witted cousin last night. Woman, man, rich, poor; it doesnae matter where ye come from. As long as ye're a part of the rebellion with all yer heart, then ye're part of the hope for Scotland which we believe in. That's all that matters."

Maeve didn't answer, but for the first time, something small and hopeful flickered in her chest. She took a spoonful of porridge and slowly placed it in her mouth, thinking hard as she did. She'd thought that, with everything that had been done to her since birth, she was doomed to be lost forever. But hearing these women's stories, and watching the camp around her, Maeve was feeling something very strange that she'd rarely ever felt before.

Hope. Hope for the future. Hope for herself. And hope for the country she loved. All of it stemming from this room, and the kindness that flowed around her.

* * *

Cailean expected solitude at the training grounds when he arrived first thing after eating breakfast. It was usually his time to just enjoy the peace and reflect on everything that had happened over the previous days. Even when there were people there training early, they were few and far between, and he was usually left alone until the sun was high in the sky.

Not today, though. Just as he was about to start on his laps, he saw that someone was standing in the middle of the training field, clearly waiting on someone. Waiting on him .

It was her — the girl, Mary, who had so thrown him off the night before. He had expected her to spend the morning resting, but it seemed she'd come here immediately after breaking her fast, determination shining in her eyes as he got closer. Cailean cursed to himself; part of him had been hoping that spending the evening and morning with the other women would have made her reconsider at least training as a scout rather than a warrior, but he knew without even asking her that this wasn't the case. Her face wore the same expression as it had the night before, and it was pure resoluteness.

"Ye're later than I expected," Mary said as soon as she cast her eyes upon him. "The women said ye're usually here at the break of dawn, or only a wee bit later if ye remember tae break yer fast. I've been waitin' a half hour."

Cailean stared at her, struck momentarily speechless with her directness and audacity.

She shrugged. "Oh well. I'm ready tae start trainin' whenever ye are. I'm right that ye'll be takin' over me trainin' rather than Senan, aye?"

This was unbelievable. Though Cailean did greatly admire her determination, and part of him found the cheeky way she was speaking to him endearing and even exciting, he still sincerely doubted that this was a good idea. He had nothing against women as warriors, but a woman of her age with no experience, of her short, slim stature with barely any muscle, and with the haunted look in her eyes…

No. He wouldn't risk this young woman based on Senan's idealism. He understood why Senan wanted to give her a chance; Senan wanted to give everyone a chance. But Cailean just could not believe that this girl had what it took, and he didn't want to waste their time — or risk her life.

He'd promised he'd train her, though, not only to Mary herself, but in front of practically the whole camp. That meant that, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't just straight up refuse now. He needed another tactic.

"Ye found yer sleepin' arrangements tae yer taste?"

"A soft bed is always tae me taste," Mary replied with a small smile. Something in the way she said it made Cailean believe that she hadn't really gotten to experience a soft bed all that often in recent times. "And the food ye provided was wonderful as well, so thank ye. I'm ready tae start trainin' now."

His distraction techniques weren't working, and this bothered Cailean more than he'd like to admit. This morning, Darren had told him plainly that he'd just have to follow through, but Cailean still believed there was a way to avoid this.

"Ye are sharin' with Ferda and Patty, aye?" he asked. "Ferda's one of our finest scouts. She's close with the White Sparrows, they're?—"

"I ken who the Sparrows are," Mary interrupted. She spoke so plainly that it was clear that this was true, much to Cailean's surprise. How did this strange, random girl Senan had found know about the White Sparrows? "They're fine spies. And I'm sure Ferda is a fine scout. But neither of those things are what I want, if that's what ye're hintin' at."

"It is," Cailean replied, spurred into honesty and allowing a little of his annoyance to leak into his voice. "It is what I'm hintin' at. Why did Senan nae take ye tae the Sparrows rather than bring ye here? With yer build and yer temperament?—"

"Ye dinnae ken me temperament beyond these short conversations we've had," Mary replied sharply. "And as for me build, Senan says I'm small but fast. I can use that tae me advantage."

Frustrated by Senan's encouragement of Mary, Cailean barely knew how to respond. Did the councilman not see the girl before him? Did he not know that they could not afford to carry people, nor to put more people at risk?

"Ye'd put it tae better use as a spy," Cailean argued. He didn't know what about her was getting under his skin so much; usually he was much better at keeping his emotions under wraps and dealing with everything more calmly, but right now, he felt unbelievably riled. "Let us reach out tae Morag at the Sparrows. She'll take ye in."

"I've already been offered a place with the White Sparrows by Ann, and I turned it down," Mary said cooly, and again it was clear from her tone that she was telling the truth. Cailean raised an eyebrow, curiosity about this girl's past warring with his determination to send her away. "I told ye already, I want nothin' more than tae be trained as a warrior. That's who I am."

"Have ye fought before?" Cailean asked, folding his arms. "Have ye seen blood? Death? Do ye think ye have in ye what it takes tae take a life?"

"I have in me what it takes tae save a life. A thousand lives, if I have tae," Mary replied. She shivered and said, "I've seen death. I've seen what happens when a vulnerable person is slaughtered. I will never allow meself nor anyone else I stand with tae be in that position — and if that means I need tae hold a knife tae a man's neck, or cut an enemy down with a sword, then I will."

"Ye look like ye can barely hold a sword," Cailean shot out, his exasperation overwhelming him. Even he knew that he was being overly rude, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. This girl was activating emotions in him that he hadn't even known he had.

Mary scoffed. "There's more than one kind of sword in the world, with more than one weight and balance, ye ken," she told him in an impressively patronizing voice. "I'd have expected a warrior of yer experience and caliber tae ken that."

Cailean realized then that this back and forth was no use. It didn't matter what he said; Mary was going to rebut his every word and return to her determination to fight. He looked around him and noticed that a few people had started to arrive, but not too many yet.

What to do? If he had a hundred years, perhaps he could train her into a warrior. He admitted that she must have something to her, if Senan had brought her here, but he didn't believe it was enough. He didn't have a hundred years; he didn't even have one year. He didn't even know if he had one day before the next time he needed all warriors to be all hands on deck for an unexpected attack.

If he challenged her to a fight now or set her a training task, what would happen? He could still see the bruises she'd obviously earned from Senan's training. That was all well and good when it was a one-on-one mentorship, but how well would the girl cope if she failed in front of everyone? Soon, half the camp would arrive to train, and the other half would probably follow to watch, as they did most days.

If he couldn't reason with her, then there was only one choice. He would have to scare her away — at least, away from the path of becoming a warrior. He didn't mind if she stayed around the camp, but he truly felt she'd be better suited to any other role than this one. So he'd intimidate her here and now, make her realize that she was not fit to do this, and see what they could do with her after. He hoped that he could drive her away quickly before anyone else arrived, and that way he could at least save her most of the inevitable embarrassment that would come from the failure in front of everyone.

He sighed and turned to the weapons rack, ignoring her for a few moments as he selected one of the heaviest training swords — a real weapon but with a blunted edge to at least minimize the serious injuries that it could cause. He removed his shirt despite the chill of the day, allowing her to see the scars that decorated his torso from the many battles he'd been through over the years and the pain he'd suffered to get to this point, then hefted up the sword and turned to face her.

She was staring, her eyes on his chest. For a moment, there was a burning intensity in her gaze, and Cailean felt a strange heat rush through him under her scrutiny. Was she staring at his scars, as he'd intended, or was it something else that drew her gaze to him?

Cailean wasn't used to thinking of himself in a way that a woman might view him through her eyes, and his heart sped up as he briefly wondered what she was seeing. Did she enjoy the sight? Or did he scare her? For just a moment, he wasn't sure which he preferred.

He shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time for such thoughts, and he would not allow the heat that was pulsing through his body at those thoughts to cloud his mind. His task was simple; he needed to get rid of any ambition she might have to fight, even if it meant that she never looked at him again.

Holding up the sword, he made sure to arrange his expression into his most intimidating look. He nodded toward the weapon rack and said, "Choose."

"Choose?" she asked, her voice faltering a little in a way that was a little too interesting to his ears.

"Pick yer weapon," Cailean told her. "And then come at me with everythin' ye have. Nae holdin' back from either of us." He nodded toward the rack again, adopting a tone of voice that reminded him of Kier at the older man's most severe. "Ye want tae be a warrior for the rebellion? Truly? Then show me what ye've got."