Page 25 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Another woman stepped out of the carriage without help. She looked thin and ragged after her months of imprisonment, but she still wore that unmistakable pride and power that Neala had always admired. She took Iona's offered arm, stumbling only slightly, and observed them all in silence.

Neala's heart thudded hard. "Morag," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Morag, ye're safe. I'm so sorry I left ye. I'm so sorry I couldnae?—"

"Hush, lass," Morag soothed. Iona brought her closer to the group. "I'm here now. I gave ye a task, and oh! Look how well ye've completed it."

"I kent ye'd be back with us soon enough, ye tough old bird," Senan said gruffly. He moved forward, taking Morag's arm from Iona and giving her a swift but meaningful embrace. "Me oldest friend. Ye've looked better."

Morag laughed tiredly. "Still look better than ye, old man," she replied. She kissed his cheek, then hesitated.

Neala could scarcely believe it. She had never seen Morag hesitate before, not for anything.

The excitement in her heart at seeing her friends again was clouding her thoughts, almost overwhelming her, so much that she could barely remember what she had been thinking about a moment before.

How were they here? How were they safe? Was this a dream?

Morag at last turned toward all of the others who were gathered there. They all moved out of the way, parting until there was nobody standing between the head Sparrow and the king.

The world seemed to hold its breath. Eyes wide, Cailean took a few cautious steps toward Morag. There was a new, unfamiliar vulnerability on his face, and for the first time, he looked almost like an uncertain child. After what felt like an eternity, he reached her.

"Morag," Cailean said. "Ye're here. Ye really came back."

"More than twenty years too late, I ken," Morag told him tiredly. "Och, me wee lad. Look how ye've grown. Look what ye've achieved. Can ye forgive me? I thought I was doin' the right thing. I thought?—"

Cailean took two long strides and caught Morag in a tight embrace. He leaned into her like a boy hugging his mother, and the two of them held each other for a long time. A cheer rose up around them, and Neala, caught up in the jubilance of the moment, joined in.

When the two parted, both of their faces were wet with tears, and both were wearing broad smiles that shone with love. Morag wiped her face, then paused and reached into her inner cloak pocket, drawing something out and holding it out toward Cailean.

Neala's blood froze as she recognized it.

"Where did ye get this?" Cailean asked, his hands trembling as he accepted the gift. The little toy soldier was faded and a bit dirty, but otherwise no worse for wear than it had last been when Neala had last seen it. "Is it? It cannae be…?"

"It's yers," Morag told him. "Baldric said he found it in the castle many years ago. He gave it tae me tae return tae ye as a sign of goodwill. He said it was time that all the McNairs returned home."

Neala could barely breathe. The air seemed to grow too thick, almost suffocating, and her knees shook as they struggled to keep her upright. She had dropped that doll, and only one person could have found it. Only one person could have made sure it was returned.

She wanted to shout it out, scream it from the top of her lungs, but she knew she could not.

She could not let anyone know that she yet knew that Ansel Ashkirk lived.

After all, as far as the rebels were concerned, he was dying or already dead from poison.

Even apart from that, nobody would take something as inconsequential as a doll as proof of…

Proof of what? Proof he was on their side? Neala was not naive enough to believe that. But it was proof he did have the heart she believed under all that darkness. This was more than just payment for what she had done for him, wasn't it? It had to be.

Before she could think more on it or decide what to do, Iona tapped her shoulder. Neala turned to see her friend looking a little uncertain.

"There's… someone else in the carriage," Iona said. "But she's nae… well, ye should go talk tae her."

"Elspeth?" Neala asked with another surge of excitement and hope. "Is it Elspeth?

Iona nodded, but she wasn't smiling. "Just… go speak tae her, aye?"

Burning with curiosity and anticipation, Neala hurried over to the carriage and climbed inside. Elspeth was there, sitting with her face peering out of the far window and not moving at all. Neala paused, confused.

"Elspeth?" No response. "Elspeth, please look at me. What's goin' on?"

At long last, her friend turned around to look at her. She didn't seem hurt or sick, but her cheeks were pale and her shoulders shook. "Neala," Elspeth whispered. Then her words were lost.

Elspeth was crying.

Ansel woke up with a start. He groaned as his stiff body screamed in protest as he tried to move, and he rubbed his hands together to try to get some warmth back into him.

The sun was high in the sky, perhaps close to noon, and he cursed himself for falling asleep here on the battlements.

Luckily, nobody seemed to have found him here.

On the other hand, he'd missed Baldric's signal, and he had no idea how their plan had unfolded.

Stretching and yawning, Ansel got to his feet.

He felt light in his heart, not nearly as troubled as he had expected he would be.

Regardless of the fact that he'd decided he must serve his father no matter what, he still knew that he'd done the right thing by letting those Sparrows fly from their cages.

He and Baldric had been careful to make sure Ansel's name was nowhere near what had happened and that none of the actions could be traced back to him.

Still, the whole thing had been Ansel's idea, and he'd carefully and meticulously planned every step.

Now that it was morning, he would go and find Baldric and hear exactly how it had gone.

He'd only gotten a few steps along the battlements when he heard the commotion coming from the courtyard.

A mix of indistinct voices filled the air, some jeering and many others talking in voices that ranged from fury to fear to upset to glee.

It wasn't unusual for the king to gather people in the courtyard for a speech or a punishment, though Ansel did note that the reaction seemed more mixed than usual.

Maybe Edric had discovered that the Sparrows had escaped, though Ansel doubted it.

His father would never publicly announce that he'd lost his enemies.

Curious, Ansel made his way inside the building and down the stairs.

It was strange that Edric had started the speech or rally or whatever it was without Ansel there.

He usually took pride in having his son by his side.

Perhaps he was still angry about the failed attack on the village and the loss of Nessa, but Edric had always enjoyed showing off his strong, powerful heir before now.

Ansel reached the ground floor of the castle and paused, trying to decide if it was worth going outside to see what was going on or if he should just find something else to do.

After a night outside, he would appreciate the chance to rest.

Just as he'd decided, though, someone called out his name.

Ansel turned to see Ruadh running toward him, his face paper- white under his red hair.

The young soldier still wore a bandage around his head, but he was no worse for wear after the damage he'd received on the hill that day.

He was panting as though he had been hurrying around the castle for a long time.

"There ye are. I've been lookin' all over for ye," Ruadh said, his voice strained. "Yer Highness… Ansel… dinnae ye ken what's happenin'?"

"A rally of some sort, I assume," Ansel replied indifferently. "I didnae get an invitation, and that's fine by me. I think I'll miss it."

Ruadh shook his head frantically. "Nay. It isnae a rally. It's an execution."

Ansel's muscles tensed all at once as his brain processed the implication. There had been no execution scheduled any time soon, and the most important prisoners in the dungeon had escaped the night before. Which meant…

He swore and started running, not knowing or caring if Ruadh was following.

He burst out of the doors and into the courtyard to find it crowded right to the edges, people shouting and protesting what was happening even as others cheered.

The smell of rage and frenzy clogged the air.

Many of the castle's women were weeping, and many of the soldiers looked drawn and pale.

All eyes were drawn to the platform at the far end of the courtyard where Edric stood with his victim at his side.

"...and let this be a lesson tae ye all that nae traitor will be protected!" Edric was shouting as Ansel got outside. "Nae blood nor connection is enough tae excuse the betrayal of yer king and country! I will protect me people from this cowardly slime, even at great personal cost!"

Some people cheered, but more called out in anger. The voices around Ansel were an angry buzz. He could not make out any of their words as his eyes focused on the platform.

Baldric stood there, his usually carefully tousled hair matted with blood and half his face blackened by a blossoming bruise. He was stooping though he tried to stand tall. Ansel's stomach lurched, the bile burning his throat as he stared at the beaten, broken figure of his cousin.

"Nay," he whispered, then raised his voice to a shout. "Nay! Stop this!"

His words were drowned out by the crowd.

Ansel swore and pushed through the people in front of him, fighting to get to the front while the crowd seemed to tighten around him like a restriction.

It was like swimming through mud, desperately shoving people aside, tripping over things on the ground, losing sight of his direction. All the while, Edric kept speaking.

"The time has come!" Edric announced. "Nephew, dae ye have anythin' last tae say in yer defense?"

"I seek nae yer forgiveness or yer mercy." Baldric's voice was quiet, but it somehow echoed around the crowd. "I want nothin' from ye but yer failure. Aye, I freed those Sparrows—and I sent with them the knowledge the True King needs tae bring this accursed castle tae dust."

The noise of the crowd grew louder, and there was a hard thud and a grunt of pain as Edric attacked Baldric with the blunt end of the axe.

Ansel, who had stopped upon hearing Baldric's voice, started moving again, pushing harder to get to the front.

He didn't know what he could do, but he knew he had to act soon.

But nobody would let him pass, and he found himself trapped in the middle of the crowd.

"Move!" he shouted, shoving out with his elbows. "Move!"

"On yer knees!" the king roared. "I gave ye me name. I gave ye everythin'! Ye have tainted the Ashkirk legacy, and ye willnae be allowed tae live."

"Then let me blood be the first spilled from yer failin' legacy," Baldric spat.

Ansel stopped again, craning his head above the crowd to see.

His cousin was shoved to his knees by one of the king's men, and he knelt before a block, staring out into the crowd.

"Ansel. I ken ye're there. I need ye tae listen tae me before I go. "

"The lad didnae bother showin' up, or he'd slay ye himself for yer betrayal," the king hissed. "I'll nae let ye corrupt me son anymore. I ken ye've been behind his failin's—and now he will be free tae be me heir as he should."

Baldric did not even acknowledge that Edric had spoken. "Ansel, if ye can hear me, it's all true—I have betrayed ye. I have taken the side of Cailean McNair, the true McNair and the true king. I hope ye can one day forgive me."

Ansel knew what Baldric was doing. He was clearing Ansel of any sort of suspicion, ensuring that nobody suspected he was involved. " Move! " he screamed again, naked fear flaying him more harshly than any whip.

The king grabbed the back of Baldric's head and shoved him down until his neck rested upon the block. Silence fell over the courtyard, an awful, expectant silence that was louder than the noise that it had followed. "Then ye die for nothin'. The rebel king is a pretender, fool!"

The satisfaction in Baldric's voice was audible.

"He isnae, and I think even ye are startin' tae understand that, Uncle.

" He spoke with a serene calm that was jarring against the backdrop of blood and death.

"Ye ken the True King is comin' and ye will soon be dead.

Ye ken ye've lost already. I hope that terror follows ye tae the grave. "

"Enough," Edric commanded. "If ye love the McNairs so much, then ye can join them." He raised the axe above his head.

Ansel shoved through the last layer of the crowd and burst out at the foot of the platform. For a brief second, Baldric saw him there, and he gave him a sad, reassuring smile.

"Father, nay!" Ansel called. "Wait!"

Edric glanced his way. Then he shook his head and looked down at his nephew. "Nae mercy for traitors!"

And the axe came thudding down.