Page 13 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Chapter Eight

Hours had passed and night had fallen by the time the horse slowed to a stop. The kidnapper, who had told her his name was Darren, slipped off the horse and raised his hands to help her. Nessa obediently allowed him to help her dismount, ignoring the ache in her body from the relentless ride.

"Sorry we didnae rest earlier," Darren said, his keen eyes obviously noticing the way she stumbled. "We needed tae put as much distance between us and that prince of yers as we could."

Nessa did not answer. She had not answered a single thing he had said, not for hours.

He'd talked almost relentlessly throughout their journey, asking her questions, making jokes, and at one point even singing an old sailor's song.

Nessa had stayed silent and cold throughout, not once allowing her stoic outer shell to falter.

He could kidnap her. He could control her. But he could not force her to speak.

Darren sighed. "Och, come on now. I ken ye can speak, ye were doin' it just fine before we started the ride. Come inside and get somethin' tae eat while we wait for our friends, eh? It looks like it might rain again, and we dinnae want yer bonny dress gettin' ruined."

Nessa glanced down at her dress, a finely embroidered day gown in a dusky red with gold accents.

The colors of Ashkirk. It was not a practical traveling dress, but her maids had suggested it as a way to please Ansel on the ride to Clan Macrae.

Nessa hadn't particularly cared about pleasing him, but she knew that seduction of the prince would be the best way to secure her role, though the thought of doing that scared her.

It didn't matter, though. He hadn't even noticed. That had given Nessa a strange relief.

She took Darren's offered hand and allowed him to lead her into a small tavern.

He sat her down at a table and went to the counter to order food, obviously secure in knowing she wouldn't run away.

He returned a few moments later with a thick bannock and two bowls of creamy potato soup.

He placed one of the bowls in front of her and then sat, ripping off a piece of the bannock and dunking it in his own soup with enthusiasm.

"Mm!" he exclaimed. "Ye should try some, Nessa. It's delicious."

Nessa's stomach rumbled, but she ignored the food. Instead, she leaned across the table and spoke her first word in hours. "Who are ye?"

He paused, another piece of bannock halfway to his mouth. "I told ye. I'm Darren." He grinned, and the smile highlighted the freckles on his cheeks. His brightness was strange, unlike anyone that Nessa had ever known, and Nessa felt wary and on edge.

"Darren who?"

He shrugged. "Eat some. Please. Yer sisters will never forgive me if I bring ye back a skeleton."

That was the second time he'd mentioned her sisters.

That meant he was definitely one of the rebels, there was no doubting it.

Nessa recalled that meeting with Maeve back in their childhood home, and her stomach clenched with unease.

She'd disobeyed her father at that moment and given her sister the chance to escape. Now, their father was dead.

She lifted her spoon and took a sip of the soup, mostly to give herself something to focus on other than that. It was surprisingly good, and she tentatively reached for some of the bannock, too.

Darren's smile grew softer, and Nessa had to look away. She felt like she was staring directly into the sun, and she feared that her eyes would burn. "There, now," he said. "And dinnae worry. It's me treat. I always pay when I take a lady out tae eat."

"Do ye often kidnap women from their betrothed?" Nessa asked acidly.

He didn't seem offended. In fact, he chuckled. "Ye'd be the first that started in such a way," he admitted. "And the first who hasnae spoken much for such a time as well. Lassies usually love the conversation I have to offer."

She scowled. "Perhaps ye're nae as interestin' as ye think."

Darren shrugged. "Perhaps!" he said easily. "Or maybe I'm just nae interestin' enough for ye . Ye're very intriguin', Nessa. And lovely as well."

Nessa's eyes snapped up to him. "Lovely? Ye're mistakin' me for me sisters."

He shook his head. "Nay. Maeve is a beauty, aye, and any man would admit it, and Breana is as bonny as the spring, it's true.

But ye are somethin' unique. Those cheekbones, the way ye hold yer shoulders, the look in yer eyes…

ye're one of the most intriguin' women I've ever met.

Truly regal. I see why the prince wanted ye. "

Wrongfooted and confused by the sudden unexpected turn of the conversation, Nessa felt her cheeks burning.

He was wrong, or he was lying—that was all there was to it.

Nessa knew she was not ugly, but she had never been beautiful like Maeve nor pretty like Breana.

She looked like their mother, who had grown into a handsome woman with age, but had been reminded again and again through her youth that she was plain.

Her only value was to make herself loved, no matter what the cost. Nessa had never had any delusions that any husband would want her solely at a glance.

That was why she'd worked so hard to get where she was—and why she could not believe that this rebel had ruined all of it.

"We have only just met. This conversation is inappropriate, borderin' on rude," Nessa snapped.

He tilted his head, seeming surprised by her reaction. "Well, I suppose kidnappin' is also inappropriate, borderin' on rude," he said. "I'm breakin' all the rules today. Forgive me if I caused ye discomfort, though—I only meant to be complimentary."

She considered telling him that she was not uncomfortable, just confused…

and suspicious as well. She wondered what he'd say if she told him that his words had lit an unfamiliar candle flame in her belly, sending a warmth she'd never known to her cheeks and flooding through her body.

But she'd long since learned that such emotion was best quashed.

So, instead of talking at all, she dropped her gaze once more and continued to eat.

A little while later, when the food was done, the door to the tavern opened and a group of four men entered.

They looked around, then spotted Nessa and Darren and made their way across the small room toward them.

Nessa tensed, not even sure what she was fearing, but worried that she was about to be stolen away yet again.

"Darren! Is this her?" the obvious leader of the men asked as he approached. He studied her with owlish blue eyes and a satisfied smile on his face. "Nae doubt about it. Ye did it!" He slapped Darren on the back. "Breana will be thrilled."

Nessa recoiled at the mention of her sister's name from this stranger's lips. He seemed oddly familiar, but the nagging in her mind would not settle on an identification. "Breana?" she asked.

Darren caught her eye. "Nessa, meet Eoin Darach, captain of the true king's guard. And yer brother-in-law, I suppose."

She blinked rapidly as she processed these words.

Brother-in-law ? Could it be true—could innocent, dreamy Breana be wed?

Of course, Breana had been married off to Kyle Darach just as Maeve had been to Malcolm before her, but this felt different.

This was a young man who spoke Breana's name as though it was the most precious sound in the world—a love match? Could it be possible?

"Edric Ashkirk is the true king," she said automatically, no feeling behind the words. "Yer pretender is just that. I have nae interest in any of this."

Darren cocked his head to the side, studying her. "Ye believe that, do ye? Or is that just what ye've been taught tae say yer whole life?"

Nessa scowled, dropping her gaze. Didn't they understand that what she thought didn't matter?

She had her own beliefs somewhere deep within her, but she'd spent her life quashing and ignoring them.

The only thing that mattered for a woman in this world was survival—and that meant believing what she was told to believe.

Eoin cleared his throat. "Well, anyway. Ye're with us now, and we'll take ye back with us. I'm sure ye didnae want tae be wed tae the likes of Ansel Ashkirk. We'll keep ye safe."

She turned her gaze to him but did not speak.

It was true—she'd had no desire to be Ansel's wife, though the invitation to marry him had been a relief.

Her whole life, she would have given anything to one day be queen.

But the longer she had spent in Blackthorn Castle, the more she'd felt a dread every morning upon waking.

She'd walked from one cage into another, and there was no chance of escape.

Maybe there never would be, not for her.

"Yer sisters will be thrilled tae have ye back," Eoin told her. "They've been goin' out of their minds this last month tryin' tae find a way tae find ye."

Nessa pursed her lips. Now she knew that Eoin was lying. Maeve would never forgive Nessa for standing by when Cailean McNair was supposed to be executed, and the last time that Nessa saw Breana, Nessa had turned her back on her weeping sister as she was dragged away to be Kyle's bride.

None of this mattered anyway. Chances were that they would never reach McNair Castle.

Ansel would already know that she was missing, and he would come after them.

Eoin and Darren would be killed, as would the other rebels who had accompanied them.

That was what happened to traitors. If Nessa allowed herself to get caught up in all of this—if the False King suspected that she was colluding with the rebellion—then she would die too.

It was just the way things were. It was the way things always had been.