Page 14 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

She glanced up and saw that Darren was watching her carefully, seeming to observe her every minuscule movement. "What?" she asked, irritable. Something about this man kept breaking through her careful poise, and knowing that was just annoying her even more.

"Ye're thinkin' yer prince will come and slaughter us all before we have a chance tae get ye back, aye?" Darren asked.

Nessa's stomach jolted, but she kept her expression forcibly calm and did not reply.

"Dinnae fear," Darren went on. "We're already far ahead of him, and besides, we've given him plenty tae keep him busy."

Eoin nodded. "And if the Sparrows' plan goes ahead, he willnae be followin' us at all. Ever again."

Nessa saw a frown cross Darren's face at that. Whatever that plan was, he didn't approve of it—but neither did he argue. That meant that, agreeable or not, he believed it was going to work. Both of these men believed that there was no way Ansel would be able to follow them.

Her heart raced, and she felt a tingling at the tips of her fingers. None of this was what she had expected. None of this was anything she had ever dreamed. The rebels had kidnapped her—and they had a plan.

And that meant that, despite everything that Nessa had believed for her whole life, they might have a chance.

The ambush came so suddenly that two of Ansel's men were downed before they had a chance to cry out.

The rebel forces surged upon them, calling out the name of their king and racing forward with fierce pride in their eyes.

Ansel heard one of his men scream and reached for his sword, ducking out of the way just in time as an arrow whistled past his ear.

"At arms!" he roared, whipping his head around as the rebel soldiers flooded into the previously empty village. Rage pulsed in his veins as he realized what had happened. He'd been trapped. He'd been caught like an animal in a cage—the rebels had called him here to die.

Well, Ansel had no intention of dying. Not today.

They were outnumbered five to one, but under Ansel's command, most of his men jumped into action, fighting fiercely as the clanging of swords and screams of pain filled the air.

A few of the men disappeared in the chaos of battle, and out of the corner of his eye, Ansel saw Nicol lead his small cohort away to the edges of the village.

"Coward!" he snarled, but he didn't have time to act on that as someone swung a sword at his horse's flank. The animal was not hurt, but she screamed and reared up in fright, sending Ansel tumbling hard to the ground.

The impact shook his bones, and he thought he heard something crack as the pain lanced through him. He whacked his head as he fell, and for a moment his vision swam. The horse raced off into the distance as three men circled around him, approaching with their swords drawn.

None of them spoke. One of the men stabbed downward, and Ansel rolled to the side, ignoring the screaming in his muscles as he did.

The point of the sword stuck hard into the ground just where his head had been.

Another of the rebels went in for the kill, and Ansel took a wound to the shoulder as he raised his arm to parry the attack.

"Die in the dirt!" one of the rebels screamed. "Die, like me family did! Die! "

Ansel cursed and kicked out, his foot connecting hard with the shouting rebel's heel. The man stumbled into another, and as the two rebels tried to straighten up, Ansel took the opportunity to scramble to his feet, narrowly avoiding another blow from the third man.

He turned to block an attack from the third man and pushed hard, causing him to lose his balance. Ansel pushed the attack and slammed the broad side of his sword against the man's wrist. The rebel screeched in pain as his wrist snapped and he dropped his sword.

Ansel swung around as the other two rebels regained their footing and came racing toward him.

He sliced out with his sword and one of the men crumpled to the ground with a dreadful finality.

The other howled, stabbing out wildly, and Ansel grunted as he avoided the blow by a breath.

He fought back and caught the man through the chest, his sword piercing right through.

The rebel met his eyes as Ansel moved closer. To the prince's horror, the dying rebel smiled.

"Ye've lost," he breathed.

Ansel withdrew the sword and the man's body fell to the ground. As he did, a sharp agony pierced his back as a knife slid between his shoulder blades. He howled, spinning with his sword out, and cut down his attacker in a moment.

Breathing heavily, his shoulder and back pulsing with pain and three dead bodies at his feet, he surveyed the battle around him. Several of the rebels were dead, but several of his men had been downed as well. He started forward to join another battle, but stopped short.

As one, the rebels fell into a retreat. They ended their battles and ran, disappearing from the village. A few of Ansel's men gave chase, causing skirmishes here and there, but before long, the rebels were gone.

Ansel stumbled, falling to his knees. The pain from his wounds was almost unbearable. Two of his men hurried over to help him up.

"Do we follow, Yer Highness?" one of them asked anxiously.

"Nay," Ansel grunted, allowing them to pull him back to his feet. "We get back tae Nessa, and we go and report what has happened tae me father."

The two men exchanged looks, obviously uneasy, but nodded. Ansel clenched his fists, trying to clear his mind and ignore the pulsing pain. He set his eyes toward the hill, knowing that what was coming would not be pleasant—but he still had a role to play.

The first thing Ansel spotted was Wullie's body. He stared at the dead man, uncomprehending for a moment, then cast his eyes over the other still figure. As he watched, Ruadh stirred, and Ansel lurched toward him, kneeling at his side.

The young man's eyes fluttered open, then dilated in fear. "Yer Highness," he said. "Forgive me."

"What happened?" Ansel asked roughly. "Where is Nessa?"

"I was attacked—attacked from behind," Ruadh stammered. "I didnae see it comin'. I dinnae ken…I…"

Ansel closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. "Where is Nessa?" he repeated.

Ruadh didn't answer.

It didn't matter. Ansel waved one of his men over to help him up.

"Look after him," he said, nodded to Ruadh, then peered out into the distance.

Whoever had taken Nessa—whoever had successfully distracted him enough to steal her away—was long gone.

It didn't take much thought to work out where she was taken.

He'd encountered Maeve just over a month ago when the rebels had reclaimed McNair Castle, and now—now she had taken her sister back, too.

His blood was boiling under his skin. Neala would be there to greet her. Cailean McNair had taken everything from him. Everything.

"Ye've lost her, then," Nicol said. "Me king will nae be happy. I kent this would happen. Ye show too much mercy. It's a cowardice—nae wonder they managed tae surprise us."

Ansel stared at the man. " Cowardice? " he growled. "Strong words from a man who retreated while his brothers died around him."

Nicol stiffened. "I serve me king. I needed tae return tae him, nae die in a pointless ambush."

Flames licked at the sides of Ansel's temples. "Ye serve me! " he snarled. "Ye are under me command. Ye are a traitor!"

Nicol made a dismissive sound. "Ye are a spoiled prince afraid of bloodshed in the name of glory."

Ansel gripped the pommel of his sword. "Ye want bloodshed?" he asked. "Draw yer weapon."

"Yer Highness…" Ruadh whispered.

Ansel ignored him. "Do it, man."

Nicol scoffed and drew his own sword. "Ye wouldnae dare," he said. "I am a favorite of the king's. I am?—"

The rest of his words were lost as Ansel pounced, his rage a cloak of flame around him. The screams echoed down through the valley and seemed to pulse through the world.