Page 11 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Chapter Six

Ansel rarely spoke in the war room. He sat at his father's side, listening quietly as the advisors and warrior captains debated and jeered about their recent successes and future plans.

Edric spoke proudly of the slaughter at Clan McIntyre and the bright promise it showed for the Ashkirks as the rightful kings of Scotland.

"Me son has slipped, but he hasnae faltered!" Edric exclaimed, poisonous triumph booming around the room. "See how he repays me for his follies at the Sloe Stronghold! See how he shows nae mercy tae the remains of the McNair vermin!"

The men cheered or shouted congratulations.

Ansel accepted it in silence, his skin rippling with discontent.

Sitting here and acting like he'd planned the massacre of Clan McIntyre to go the way it had…

it felt more than wrong. He had no shame in his victory; he was proud of his strengths as a military commander. But the cost. The cost.

He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and block his ears, but instead he sat up straight, his mask on tight, his expression unfaltering. He must do his duty. Nothing else mattered.

Across the table, Baldric caught his eye.

Ansel's cousin was not cheering or celebrating.

Instead, his dark blue eyes glinted with understanding and even sympathy.

Baldric alone had known the true aftermath of the attack on the McIntyre Clan.

Only Baldric had witnessed Ansel's flaming rage at the men who had disobeyed Ansel's orders, and witnessed the secret that his father could never know.

Ansel tore his eyes away from his cousin.

He could not allow his thoughts to dwell on any of this.

It didn't matter. Things had gone the way they had gone, and Ansel needed to forget about it.

No matter what, he was the prince—Edric's son—and this was his duty.

The scar on his jaw burned with a phantom itch.

He could not allow himself to fail. What was it his father had said? Ye will win, or ye will die.

"And so it comes tae the reason I've gathered ye here," Edric announced. "The next chance for me son tae make me proud. The next chance for our empire tae grow in its glory!"

One of the advisors stood, indicating a spot on the map before him. Ansel leaned forward, reading the map.

"Clan Macrae," he said, recalling the information he knew of them.

Ansel had made a point over the years to remember as much as he could about any potential enemies or allies.

"They're wee, but wealthy. The laird had a younger brother who disappeared more than twenty years ago.

There are three sons, two of whom are ages with me. "

"Well-remembered," Edric said approvingly.

Ansel would never cease to be amazed at how different his father sounded when they were with other people as opposed to when they were alone.

"Well, it seems that the brothers have reconnected.

The younger has been runnin' with those treacherous rebels these twenty years, and now he's pulled the whole clan intae it.

They've declared fully under the McNair banner. We must teach them a lesson. Ansel?"

A heavy weight settled on Ansel's shoulders. He felt a deep weariness flooding through him, and he wondered if it would be possible to simply sink into the floor and disappear forever. Life was draining him in ways he had never known possible, and he was not sure how much he had left in him.

No. He could not allow himself to think this way. He had to remember who he was.

"Aye, Father," he replied. "I'm ready, of course."

Edric nodded. "Ye ken what must be done. Make an even greater example of these ones than the McIntyres. Make sure they ken exactly what it is tae stand against their king."

"Sire, the prince is due at wedding preparations with his bride this week," one of the advisors reminded them. "Should we cancel the events?"

"He has plenty of time for such things. There are still two months to go until they are wed—enough time tae make the event a celebration for everyone who is still loyal tae us," Edric replied.

"Ensure ye take Nessa with ye again. This time, bring her closer.

Yer men have informed me she is stayin' way back from the violence.

Keep her safe, but ensure she stands close enough tae see the bloodshed. "

Ansel stilled. He could still remember Nessa's face after he had returned to her last time, Baldric leading him, Ansel's own face and clothes covered in blood that was not his own. She'd kept her composure, but he'd seen the horror in her gaze. He wondered if her fear ever stopped.

"Sire, I think it's best we leave the O'Sullivan lass behind. We dinnae want tae risk me bride bein' in any danger." Ansel tried to reason with him, though he knew even before he started speaking that it would not work.

"She will go," Edric replied firmly. "She will see first-hand what happens tae traitors."

"But—" Ansel started.

He shut his mouth abruptly as he saw it—the darkness crossing his father's eyes. Though he did not change his stance, he felt the wariness that had been his constant companion since he was a small boy curling inside him. He'd gone too far.

"Everyone leave," Edric said calmly. "Out."

The advisors did not need telling twice. Everyone stood up as one and filed out of the room. The door swung closed behind the last, leaving only Edric, Baldric, and Ansel in the room.

Baldric spoke up. "Uncle, if I may? The lass has already forsworn her father and her sisters. She's proven her loyalty tae us. It may be that Ansel is right, and she should stay here with the other women."

Edric glared at Baldric. Ansel's heart lifted slightly at the sight of his cousin trying to protect him, even though he knew it was pointless.

"Everyone includes ye , Baldric. Dinnae make me ask ye a third time," Edric commanded.

Baldric bowed and left the room, but not before shooting Ansel a reassuring look.

When they were alone, Edric turned to face Ansel. "Well?"

"Forgive me," Ansel said immediately. "I didnae mean tae question ye."

"But ye did," Edric replied in a deadly low tone. " In front of me men. Have ye nae mind at all? Do ye wish tae force me intae violence?"

Ansel flinched internally, doing his best to wear a contrite expression. "Father, I?—"

"Ye will take the lass. Ye willnae fail me again. I already told ye what would happen if ye did. Have ye forgotten?" Edric hissed. "Ye already lost me three of me best men at Clan McIntyre. I overlooked it due tae yer success, but ye are treadin' a thin line. Ye hear me?"

"Aye, Father."

"Ye are replaceable. And Nessa O'Sullivan is replaceable as well," Edric reminded him. "So what will it be, lad?

Ansel stood and sunk into a bow. "I willnae fail ye, Father," he promised. "I live tae serve."

Ye will win, or ye will die.

Ansel reached Nessa's room just as the door opened, and, of all people, Baldric walked out. His cousin smiled at him and patted his shoulder on the way past, but did not say a word. Ansel did not try to stop him, but frowned deeply as he watched him go.

He knocked on the door a few moments later, and Nessa answered, fully dressed and as pale and drawn as ever.

"Men shouldnae be seen comin' and goin' from yer rooms," Ansel told her. "Least of all me own cousin. Me father would be very upset tae hear of it."

Nessa scowled. "Dinnae make it sound so sordid.

Baldric came here tae talk tae me, nae more.

He informed me of the distasteful task ye expect me tae undertake tomorrow and that ye'd be on yer way here.

It seems he's the only man in this castle who's nae a brute.

And why do ye talk of yer father bein' upset? What of yerself?"

Ansel did not rise to the obvious goading of her choice of words.

He had barely spoken a word to Nessa beyond the necessities in the last month, and he had hoped that when he finally did it would at least be cordial.

This, though, was far from it. He folded his arms. "I dinnae care what lovers ye take, before or after we are wed, so long as any bairns are our own.

Ye wouldnae be the first lass in a loveless marriage tae seek a man tae warm yer bed. "

To his satisfaction, her eyes widened in shock, and a deep blush crossed her cheek. "That's nae—that isnae?—"

He shrugged. "I would advise ye dinnae let yer heart get set on me cousin, though." It was true. Baldric spent most of his time in the kitchens these days; Ansel was fairly certain that his cousin was having some sort of relationship with one of the cooks. "Other than that, I dinnae care much."

Nessa actually stomped her foot out of anger. It was the most expression that Ansel had ever seen from her. "Why do ye taunt me?" she demanded. "I have been nothin' but charmin' in the rare times we have spoken. I have been the perfect lady. Does it give ye joy tae torment me?"

Ansel stopped short at that. He hadn't been intending to do so, and in fact he could say the same to her—but he could see why she'd seen it that way. But when he looked at her, he only saw another victim of his father, and a reminder that he himself was a tool.

A detached part of him wondered why he didn't want her. She was pretty enough, though her eyes were the wrong color and her features too soft. Her manners were pristine, though he found himself challenging her cold politeness, seeking heated sparring of wit on wit.

Internally, he scowled at himself. If he would allow himself to admit it, he knew why he did not want Nessa, and why he doubted he would ever want another woman again, no matter how perfect.

Because every time he closed his eyes he saw that look, that outstretched hand, that pleading for him to run.

And the sight of her riding out of his life forever.

He shook his head, gathering himself as best he could. "I have nae intention of tormentin' ye," he told her, letting the coldness seep back into his voice. "So long as ye play yer part well. Forgive me if I have been unwelcomin'."

She seemed surprised at that, but nodded her head gracefully in acceptance.

Ansel unfolded his arms and stood straight. "Ye should get yerself ready quickly. Baldric has told ye where we are goin'. We leave at dawn, so make sure ye rest tonight."

Nessa hesitated. "Why… why does the king insist? Why is me presence necessary?"

"Because ye are the daughter of a traitor," Ansel told her without pause. "Yer father failed yer king. Yer sisters, too, quite literally are abed with the rebels who threaten our kingdom."

"And yet ye're tae wed me," Nessa challenged.

Ansel smiled, not feeling it at all. "I am.

Father has decided tae extend ye this courtesy.

But that doesnae take away from what ye are.

Ye have traitorous blood, and that stain will follow ye forever, even as me queen.

Only by bein' taught properly may our bairns be free of the stain.

The king doesnae forgive. He doesnae forget. "

"That's absurd," Nessa replied coldly, "And I dinnae believe for a second that ye think it is the truth. Ye cannae blame me for the actions of me family. I think ye may ken that better than anyone else."

Ansel did not reply. He couldn't.

After a long silence, Nessa let out a tiny sigh, seeming to deflate.

"All right. All right, I will be ready." She paused, then said, "But tell me one thing.

Before the last attack—before ye told me tae stay back—ye ordered the men tae spare some of the men and only capture the women and bairns. Did ye change yer mind?"

For a moment he was there again, bursting into the little house amongst the flames and blood, screaming at his men to retreat, Baldric right behind him.

For a moment, he saw them again—the father holding his son in a futile attempt to protect him, both dead at the point of one of the king's men's swords.

The mother, clutching a baby, both screaming in a corner as another soldier approached her.

The little girl, still forever now while a soldier bearing his father's colors withdrew his weapon from her body.

"Nay," he replied hoarsely. "I didnae change me mind."

"Then why? Why did ye try tae spare them?" Nessa asked.

He wanted to walk away, but he felt like he at least owed her this. "Because the majority of the clan that was there in that village was unarmed. I dinnae harm unarmed people. I dinnae kill those who cannae defend themselves."

Nessa wrapped her arms around herself. "They're still dead."

"That they are," Ansel replied, his stomach tight. "Because me father has nae such qualms, and neither do the rest of his men. I am nae the king—he is."

"Hm," Nessa replied. "Then I suppose our blood isnae what defines us after all."

Ansel blinked. He didn't have an answer, and he wasn't sure he wanted to push further. He turned to go. "Sleep well," he murmured, then started down the corridor.

"Wait!" Nessa called. "Wait, please."

He faced her once more. "What?"

Nessa chewed on her lip for a moment, looking up and down the corridor as if trying to make sure they were alone. Once she was satisfied, she said, "Baldric… Baldric told me what happened. He told me what ye did."

His entire body went rigid. " What ?" he hissed. "Why would he do that?"

She shook her head. "I dinnae ken. But… but, Ansel, ye killed those men. Yer father's men. Yer men. Why?"

He was there again as the rage consumed him.

As he drew his sword without a thought and attacked, seeing nothing but the red of his anger and the blood.

When it lifted, the three soldiers were dead, and Baldric was already pointing the woman and the baby to the door.

Ansel didn't know where she had gone, or if she had managed to escape.

She'd run. She was probably still running.

Even now, he remembered the shock on the king's soldiers' faces, and the way his own blood had sung with righteous rage as he spilled theirs.

Nessa was still waiting for an answer. She was watching him too closely, almost studying him, and Ansel shifted in discomfort.

"Because they disobeyed me," he replied coldly. "Learn from that, me lady. And get some rest before tomorrow. Ye'll need it."