Page 24 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Chapter Fourteen

The McNair war room was filled with new faces, and though the general atmosphere was excitement, Neala's joy was undercut with a low current of anxiety.

Four new clan chiefs had come to Castle McNair to declare themselves for the rebel cause, and by all reports, more were on the way.

Every day that passed, the scales seemed to tip more and more in favor of the rebellion, and what had once seemed like a barely achievable dream was becoming more and more likely to one day become a reality. Maybe even one day soon.

Neala had spent her life training and fighting for the moment that Edric Ashkirk would be overthrown.

She was as jubilant as the rest that this might finally arrive, and after only a single generation, her family might be restored to the throne.

Looking around the room as Cailean spoke with Chief Kian McDermott and Laird Joseph Blair, the members of the rebellion's inner circle were allowing themselves to bask in the cautious hope.

Ewan and Hamish sat close together as always, and both were listening carefully and grinning as Senan whispered something to them.

Next to them was Ferda, who seemed restless, no doubt because she was waiting for her chance to propose a rescue attempt for Ann and Morag again.

Neala felt a stirring of guilt at that thought; her friends had now been in captivity for over a month or maybe even longer, but she knew that Cailean was right that they could not attack Blackthorn Castle until they were fully prepared.

Now, though, with more and more support flooding in, that day was approaching faster than any of them thought.

Remembering the state that Ann had been in when Neala had seen her, she simply prayed that the Sparrow would survive that long.

Shaking her head, she moved around the room to see Darren, who was leaning forward and listening closely to Cailean's conversation.

Neala felt some guilt at that, too. She hadn't spoken to Darren in the two days since her awkward confrontation with Nessa at the festival.

She knew that she had been the one in the wrong and she would have to apologize to Nessa, but she could not bring herself to do it. Not yet.

Eoin was studying a map on the table while Breana pointed something out to him, both of them looking almost feverish in their hope.

They'd both been filled with light for days, and Neala only saw it growing as more and more good news arrived at last. No doubt they felt it was long overdue.

And beside Cailean as always, Maeve was taking as much part in the conversation as Cailean himself was, negotiating and discussing whatever points the visitors had to offer.

Neala realized with a jolt that she'd missed the last part of the discussion, so lost had she been in her own thoughts. She hastily focused once more.

"...all we really ask is an assurance, Yer Majesty," Laird Blair said.

"We are fully committed tae overthrowin' the False King.

We're even fully behind yer claim tae the throne.

But ye must understand, if I am tae risk the lives of the men in me service, I need a promise from ye.

" He paused, then bowed his head to Maeve. "From both of ye."

"We'll make any promise we have the power to give," Maeve told him steadily. "So long as it doesnae compromise our beliefs nor our mission."

Laird Blair shook his head. "I wouldnae think it would. All we want is tae ken that there is nae further threat of an uprisin'. When we win—and we will win, rest assured—we need tae ken that ye'll ensure that the stain of the Ashkirk name is erased forever."

"Aye," Chief McDermott agreed. "Mercy is well and good, but justice is necessary, even when it is harsh. Ye must swear tae us that there will be nae Ashkirks left wanderin' this country when the deed is done. They must pay for what they have robbed us all of these twenty years and more."

Neala's stomach tightened. That low current rose higher, the anxiety flooding her so strongly that she felt like she would choke on it.

As Cailean and Maeve assured the visitors that this would be the case, Neala bit her lip to keep her emotions in check.

There was no way that this war could be won without Ansel losing his life.

She'd known it all along, of course she had, but the closer it came to being a reality, the more the idea revolted her.

Ansel's death would not be justice. Neala had been trained as a spy and, though she had never acted on it, as a killer.

She had no objection to putting down monsters.

But, despite what these people thought, despite what the evidence seemed to scream, Neala alone knew that Ansel was no monster.

She had to do something to stop it. She had to speak up.

Yet…she was Neala McNair. The princess. The last woman of her line.

She must do her duty, no matter what. That duty meant dedicating herself first and foremost to Cailean's claim to the throne and bringing down the Ashkirks regardless of the cost. It was what she had been training for her whole life.

She kept repeating that in her mind as the meeting concluded, but she could not silence the voice inside her that screamed that this was wrong.

She could hear Ansel's voice in her ear, see him in her mind's eye as he helped his men through training, feel the way his hand had felt when it brushed against hers.

"That went well," Maeve observed as the laird and the chief left the war room to head down to the banquet hall. Tonight, they would all feast together. "Tomorrow, I think Laird MacIntosh is sendin' his son. We should prepare."

Cailean nodded, looking a little dazed. "I just cannae believe how well things are goin'. If we keep up this pace, we?—"

The doors burst open, cutting across his word, and one of the scouts came running in, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Cowal, what are ye doin'?" Ferda looked alarmed as she jumped to her feet. "What's happened?"

"I'm sorry tae interrupt!" the young man said hastily. "But—there's a carriage. An Ashkirk carriage."

"An attack?" Darren asked, frowning. "In a carriage?"

Cowal shook his head. "We let them in because the driver… she's a Sparrow."

Neala was the first outside, with the rest of the council close behind.

By the time they reached the carriage, which was now waiting right outside the main doors of the castle, the driver had slipped down from her seat and was reaching for the doors.

Neala saw that the young woman was dressed in the all-too familiar uniform of the maids of Blackthorn Castle, and she assumed that whoever it was had been one of the spies to replace her over the last month.

When she caught sight of the girl's face, though, her heart stuttered.

"Iona?" Neala gasped.

The driver stopped, spinning around, then broke into a broad smile. "Neala!" she exclaimed. She ran to Neala and hugged her tight. "Are ye proud of me?"

Neala blinked rapidly, her head spinning as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. Joy flooded her veins at seeing her Sparrow sister again, but it was clouded by confusion and fear. "Iona, what are ye doin' here? Are ye all right?"

"Cat, Ciara, and I have been workin' at Blackthorn Castle," Iona explained. "Those two are still there, but I was part of the plan. Never mind that now. Do ye have healers ready? We'll need them."

"The plan?" Cailean asked, taking a step forward, his wary eyes on the carriage. "What plan?"

"Healers for what?" Maeve demanded at the exact same time.

Rather than answering, Iona hopped away from Neala and returned to the carriage. She opened the door and turned back to face them. "Eoin," she said, obviously recognizing him, "And one of ye others, can ye come help us? She's nae doin' well."

Eoin glanced at Cailean, who gave him a slight nod. He and Darren moved forward together, peering into the dark carriage. Neala strained her ears to hear low voices from inside, then jumped as Darren swore.

Neala had never seen Eoin freeze, but he did now, the color draining from his face. It was as though he couldn't even figure out how to react.

Pushing past him, Darren ducked inside the carriage and exited a moment later with a limp figure in his arms. The woman's complexion was grey, her hair lank and lifeless, and if it wasn't for the faint rise and fall of her chest, Neala would have mistaken her for dead.

Neala recognized her after a moment, and she let out a shuddering gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Ann!" Ferda shrieked in a wild mix of joy and fear and rage. She hurried to Darren's side. "Ann, my Ann, can ye hear me?"

"Come," Darren told his cousin quickly. "We need tae get her tae the healers. Help me."

The two of them hurried off without pause or word to the others, disappearing into the castle. Maeve let out a soft cry of shock and moved to Eoin's side, putting a hand on his arm.

"She's alive," Maeve said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. "She'll be all right. She's safe now, just like she saved me so long ago."

Iona nodded. "It was the False King's nephew," she told them. "Did ye ken he was workin' with us all this time? He helped us escape, him and a few guards. We could barely believe it."

The False King's nephew? Neala had seen him in passing a few times, mostly chatting with Ansel or playing cards with the soldiers.

She hadn't taken much note of him—Laura had told her that Baldric Ashkirk was not a priority in her mission.

And now, at last, she knew why. Her throat burned and her hands started to shake until she firmly clasped them together.

What would Ansel do if he knew that his own cousin was a traitor?

"She's nae alone," Eoin said hoarsely.

"Ye're right." Iona peered into the carriage. "Come out now," she said.