Page 34 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Chapter Nineteen

Ansel returned to Blackthorn Castle with a heavy heart and a stone wall that had crumbled around him.

He felt naked and exposed, the pain he had worked so hard to fight off now nipping at his skin like persistent insects determined to tear him apart.

Everywhere he looked in this castle, he saw Baldric.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

He'd wanted to stay at the war camp, but when his father's summons had come only a few days after his fateful meeting in the tent, he had been given no choice but to return.

They had packed up the camp and retreated to the castle.

From the whispers of the men, it seemed like the soldiers were anticipating a direct attack, though of course the king would not hear of such a thing.

As far as he was concerned, there was no threat to the power of Ashkirk.

Edric believed even now that his strength was absolute.

Several of the men had gone ahead, and Ansel had brought up the tail of the party, taking his time to return home as the events at the war camp ruminated in his mind.

He couldn't believe he'd finally held Neala, finally kissed her, finally felt every intense emotion that he'd been keeping locked inside back from her.

He'd been so, so tempted to agree to her pleas.

He just wanted to run away, to be with her.

But he knew that there was no future for him outside of this castle, and, worse, no future for her if she'd tied herself to him.

Turning her away was the only path forward, even if it had killed something inside of him.

It was unlikely he'd survive this war anyway. Soon enough, he'd have time to rest, and Neala could live and move on.

Now, as he walked along the castle corridors, he frowned a little as he noted how empty they were.

Where was everyone? He knew the men from his war camp would be bathing or eating or getting some sleep, but none of the regular castle residents seemed to be wandering around as they usually were.

Ansel supposed that many of them had gone to the other war camps in anticipation of the coming attacks, but as far as he knew, they still had a month or so to go before the final battle would arrive. And where were all the servants?

Shaking his head to clear it of the thoughts, he approached his father's throne room. As he did, the door opened and Ruadh exited, looking pale and limping slightly.

"Dinnae go in there," Ruadh said immediately upon seeing him. He grabbed Ansel's arm and pulled him to the side, then looked left and right before he spoke again. "Ye need tae flee."

Ansel blinked. The young soldier wasn't the most fierce of his men, but he was loyal, and he was never one to back down from a challenge. What could possibly have filled him with so much fear? "What is this?"

Ruadh swallowed. "I hope ye can forgive me one day, Ansel.

I tried tae stop him. I truly did. When he overheard—when he ran tae report ye—I tried tae follow him.

I wanted tae stop him, at least before we heard yer side.

But I wasnae fast enough. We werenae far from the camp when we ran intae a rebel ambush, and I barely escaped with me life.

By the time I got back… it was too late. "

"Stop what?" Ansel demanded. "Stop who?"

Before Ruadh could answer, the door opened again, and several of the king's men exited.

Leading them was Lorcan, walking with a smirk on his face that reminded Ansel of a cat who had discovered a bird's nest. Despite Ruadh's protests, Ansel moved forward to meet them.

Lorcan's smile only grew as his eyes landed on the prince.

"Ye'd best get in there," Lorcan told him. "Yer father is waitin' on ye. Yer Highness. "

Ansel frowned, then with one last glance back at Ruadh, who looked miserable, he pushed past Lorcan and the other men and entered the throne room.

The huge room was empty except for two figures. One was his father, who was lounging on the throne. The other, sitting on a small wooden chair with her arms tied behind her back and defiantly meeting the king's gaze, was…

"Ah," Edric said brightly as he entered. "Welcome, son. I'm sure ye recognize me new friend?"

His throat burning with acrid bile, his heart squeezing so tight that Ansel thought it might just stop, the prince walked forward.

He didn't look at the prisoner, didn't acknowledge her in any way, as he walked past her.

Even the smallest look he gave Neala now could mean the end for both of them, at least until he knew what his father had discovered.

Almost casually, he placed himself between the throne and the wooden chair, his back to Neala, blocking Edric's view.

"What is she doin' here?" Ansel asked, keeping his voice as neutral as he possibly could.

Edric stood. "She's a rare thing, is she nae? The lass who returned from the dead nae once, but twice."

A chill rippled across Ansel's skin. Twice. He didn't speak, determined not to incriminate himself further until he knew exactly how much knowledge his father had.

"Ye did tell me ye killed her, that maid. Abby, was it nae?" Edric mocked. He moved closer, standing eye to eye with Ansel. "She doesnae look very dead tae me."

"I escaped him. Baldric chased after me and told him he'd dispatched me, and Ansel didnae want tae admit his failure tae ye," Neala piped up from behind Ansel, speaking so seriously that even Ansel might have believed her if he didn't know the truth. "So he took the credit. That's all."

Edric blinked, then started to laugh. "So that was it! Baldric. I should have kent. Is that the story ye're tellin' as well, Ansel?"

Ansel still didn't speak. He could sense the danger in his father's voice and the jaws of a trap threatening to snap closed.

Suddenly, his father hit out with a hard punch, connecting with the side of Ansel's face and sending him staggering backward. He followed it with another fist to the stomach which knocked the air from Ansel's lungs. Dizzy, Ansel leaned forward, wheezing as he tried to catch a breath.

"How long did ye ken?" Edric demanded harshly, the false geniality disappearing to be replaced with an ugly hatred. "How long did ye ken who she truly is?"

"I… dinnae ken… what ye mean—" Ansel started.

The next blow smacked against his temple, and the room turned white as pain screamed through Ansel's skull. He didn't remember falling, but the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the floor, his father glaring down at him.

"How long ?" Edric roared. There was spittle forming around his lips and his eyes were wild. "Did ye ken the whole time that I was harborin' a McNair under me own roof?"

Ansel's brain wasn't working properly, but the shock of fear at those words jolted through his body with the strength of a bolt of lightning. How did he know? How could he know?

"Lorcan overheard her in yer tent, ye fool.

The McNair princess. I didnae want tae believe it, but when I saw her, I saw that bastard Robert McNair starin' back at me.

" Edric spat to the side. "There's nae denyin' it.

And if she's real, then the dirty-blooded slime tryin' tae steal me throne truly is Cailean McNair. Is that right?"

When Ansel didn't respond, Edric kicked him hard in the ribs once more, and Ansel grunted through gritted teeth at the agony.

"I asked if that was right!" Edric snarled.

"It's right!" Neala shouted. "Me brother is the rightful king, and he's comin' tae destroy ye. The whole of Scotland has kent it before ye did. And ye call yerself a king!"

Edric's wild expression contorted as he tore his eyes from Ansel and toward her. "Ye plot against me. Ye corrupt me nephew and force me tae destroy him. And now ye conspire with me own son!"

Neala laughed coldly. "Yer son! Ye think this weak man kent anythin' of our plans? He thought me nothin' but a simple maid when I seduced him here in this very castle, and he would have killed me in a second had Baldric nae helped me tae escape first. Yer son is just as much of a fool as ye are."

Ansel's scrambled brain tried desperately to understand where she was going with those lies. What did she hope to achieve? He wished his head would stop aching so that he could do something other than just lie there and bleed.

"It was Cailean's idea," Neala replied in that same cold tone.

"He kent I had become the prince's lover durin' me time here.

We thought that I could manipulate him intae joinin' us.

The ultimate betrayal; turnin' yer own son against ye.

I should have kent he would refuse me. He's as worthless as ye are.

I barely escaped with me life—until yer men found me and brought me here, anyway. "

Edric grunted. "Get up, lad," he ordered.

It took a few tries, but Ansel was able to pull himself unsteadily to his feet.

When his head stopped spinning, he faced Neala.

She had bruises on her face and arms, and when she met his eyes, she wore an expression of deliberate cold neutrality that Ansel knew all too well. His soul shook as he met her gaze.

Neala scoffed. "Pathetic wee dog ye've got there, Edric."

Edric moved forward suddenly and grabbed Neala's chin, yanking her head up so that she was staring at him. "Ye think ye're so clever. Ye think ye're better than me, stayin' under me roof, stealin' me hospitality, manipulatin' me only son with yer disgustin' feminine wiles."

"I think the dirt on me shoe is better than ye," Neala replied cooly.

Edric's fingers tightened painfully on her face, pressing hard into the bruises that were already there. Neala kept her expression calm, but Ansel saw the flinch of agony she tried to hide.

"Ye've done me a service today, whore," Edric told her. "Ye've proven tae me that me idiot son isnae the traitor I feared—just a pathetic, weak fool who allowed himself tae be manipulated and let ye escape him twice. Nevertheless, a fool can still have his uses."

"Father," Ansel started.

Edric ignored him, continuing to address Neala. "I had planned tae take ye tae me bed when ye arrived. But now that I ken who ye truly are, I wouldnae taint me body with yer filth."

"So what will ye do?" Neala asked. "Kill me? Go ahead, do it now. Me brother will take his vengeance from yer flesh."

Ansel wanted to scream at her to stop, but the words wouldn't come out. He felt frozen in place, completely unable to act, torn by his heart and his duty. If he moved now, he would ruin everything, but if he didn't…

"Me!" Edric laughed. "Nay, wee temptress. Yer execution will be public, as it should be. We'll show these rebels that their precious princess has fallen before the true king. And I willnae be the one who does it."

"Oh?" Neala cocked an eyebrow, looking devastatingly uninterested. "I hope yer swordsman keeps his weapon sharp, then."

Edric dropped her face and stepped back, clapping his hand on Ansel's shoulder. "This is yer mess, lad. Ye'll fix it."

"What?" Ansel asked. There was a ringing sound in his ears.

"Two days hence will be the first of a new month. Let it also be the last of a dyin' dynasty," Edric replied. "On the dawn of overmorrow, ye'll clean up yer mess and put her tae the sword in front of our gathered followers."

The ice around Ansel's heart grew so cold that it almost burned. The ringing in his ears was so loud that he couldn't think, and the pain pulsing in his ribs and skull took all of his focus.

This was it. This was the moment that he had to decide. He looked to Neala, then to his father, and there wasn't even a question. He'd known all along that there was only one path he could take—only one thing he had been born for, no matter what else might happen. No matter how much it might cost.

"Of course, Father," Ansel said, turning his back on Neala fully and bowing to the king. "I'd be honored tae atone for me mistakes. It's all I've ever wanted."