Page 35 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Chapter Twenty

"We're less than a day away," Nessa said, staring out over the horizon. "We'll be at the castle by midday tomorrow at latest."

Cailean, pacing back and forth swore, but did not say anything else.

Ferda poked the fire to keep it going and sighed. "We're limited. We've fought through three different war camps tae get this far, and there's nae kennin' how many of the king's men we'll meet in this final stretch. Between our injured and our dead…"

Maeve put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I ken ye're upset about leavin' Ann behind at the castle, but it isnae so grim as ye think.

We've scarcely lost any of our fighters, and we've gained victories so securely that even some of the king's men are now fightin' on our side.

There's nae limitation here, Ferda. We've already won.

It's just a matter of gettin' there on time. "

"Besides," Eoin said cheerfully, "There's nae doubt we'll get home safe. Breana's back there keepin' our bairn safe until it's ready tae be born, and Ann's waitin' on ye as well. We simply have tae get home."

"I'll die one day, but it willnae be at the hands of the False King's men," Darren added.

He casually wrapped his arm around Nessa's shoulders, and she leaned into his warmth with a smile on her face.

"Look at this massive camp we have followin' us, and we've left groups at siege points stoppin' supplies gettin' tae Blackthorn Castle. There's nae way we lose this."

Nessa wondered if the others shared Darren and Eoin's enthusiasm, and felt certain that they did.

The jovial and jubilant excitement crackled over their entire army, the certainty of their coming victory fueling them forward.

Most of their men and women were asleep in their tents, though some were still gathered in small groups like theirs, chatting or playing games or making plans for the next battle.

Ewan and Hamish sat a little further away, playing a card game, while Senan and Kier were in an intense discussion with Flora McKenzie.

Nessa's eyes lingered on them for a little longer before one of the others in their group spoke.

"We shouldnae underestimate the power of Blackthorn Castle," Sorcha said quietly.

She and Fergus made up the last members of their little group around the fire, and this was the first time the shy young woman has spoken.

"It's easy tae get cocky, but we mustnae forget that he is wily and strong.

There's a reason he was able tae destroy so many lives tae begin with. "

Fergus squeezed her hand. "Think how hard we've fought so far, love. We only need tae push a little further. Soon it'll all be well at long, long last."

Cailean growled, stopping in the tracks of his pacing and throwing himself down to sit next to Maeve at the fire. " Well ," he repeated, anger lacing his tone. "It doesnae matter. We're still gonnae lose."

Nessa stared at him, but Maeve was the first to speak. "What are ye sayin'?" Maeve asked, touching his arm. "Ye were filled with such energy earlier when we won the last battle. Why are ye feelin' so morbid now? Ye ken we can win any battle if we're together."

"We'll defeat the tyrant, I've nae doubt of it," Cailean replied darkly, "But we're restin' for too long."

"The men need tae sleep," Darren replied with a frown.

"Men and women," Ferda corrected, and Darren nodded in acknowledgement. "But Darren's right. They'd be in nae state tae fight without rest, and what's comin' is the most important battle of our lives."

Eoin nodded. "It's only another couple of hours, then as Nessa said, we'll be there by midday. With any luck, the False King will surrender when he understands he cannae possibly win, and we'll have taken the castle by sundown tomorrow."

Cailean buried his head in his hands. Suddenly, Nessa understood, and she raised her hand to her mouth. "It'll be too late," Cailean mumbled.

Nobody spoke. Because he was right. They would probably win, no matter how many dangerous battles lay ahead.

They could hold Blackthorn Castle under siege for a long time if they needed to, and if they worked cleverly, it wouldn't even come to that.

The rebel army, the McNair army, had grown and trained to the point that it was unstoppable.

But at the last war camp, one of the soldiers had spitefully told them of Neala's capture. And by midday tomorrow, she would already be gone. They would win the war, but they would lose Neala—forever.

Nessa chewed on her lip. "This is my fault. I shouldnae have helped her," she whispered so that only Darren could hear. "If only I'd?—"

Darren pressed his lips to her forehead. "Neala is a McNair," he told her, speaking loudly enough that everyone else looked to him. "Ye couldnae have stopped her if ye tried."

Maeve gave a sad smile at that. "Aye, that's true. We all ken she willnae go down without a fight. But Cailean, even if we left now, there's nae way we'll reach Blackthorn Castle in time. All we can do is keep fightin'."

Cailean took a steadying breath. His eyes shone in the firelight, but a new determination now set in his jaw.

"Ye're right. And the last thing she'd want is me mopin' instead of focusin' on gettin' it done.

" He got to his feet again. "Go get some rest. We set out in two hours.

Let's go and make sure that none of this was in vain. "

Neala shivered in the cold of her cell, silently counting down the moments.

She didn't have much longer left, and she knew it.

She hadn't slept in the two nights since she had been here, but she had been able to keep track of the time by the movement of the guards who were visiting other prisoners with food and water.

There had been none of that for her. Her stomach growled, and her mouth felt dry and parched, but she had not called out to them.

She would die strong and proud, never asking the False King or his servants for a thing.

They'd put her in the same cell where they'd kept Morag and Ann. Neala had no doubt that it had been a deliberate slight, one last insult to her before the end. She had walked into it with her head held up high.

She had broken only when she was sure she was alone.

Her eyes burned from weeping the night before, lying awake curled up on the stone floor as she listened to the other prisoners' screams. Nobody was coming to rescue her.

She'd known from birth, training as a Sparrow, that it might end this way, and she was ready for it, but the looming threat of her own death was too much even for her practiced mind to bear.

She tried to take comfort in her memories.

Cailean's smile. Cat and Iona doing her hair.

Laura's hugs when she was a little girl and Morag's careful teaching.

Maeve accepting her as a sister, Nessa forgiving her, building friendships with the rebels.

She had so many warm thoughts to keep her company in the cold.

Most shining amongst them was the night she'd spent in Ansel's arms. Even though it was likely she would die at his hand in only a few hours, even though he had made it clear that he had chosen his father once and for all, she could not regret a single second of it.

She hoped that when she died, he knew that she still did not hate him. They all had their choices to make.

Neala rubbed her eyes, trying to gather herself together.

After Ansel had accepted the task of ending her life, the False King had called the guards to take her away.

Only while they were dragging her away had Ansel finally looked at her.

He'd mouthed something to her, only a word or two that she could not make out fully, but she understood.

She was fairly sure that he'd been telling her that he was sorry.

Well, so was she. After all, Ansel and the False King would not last much longer than she did.

She knew that Cailean and the rebel army would be on the way.

That thought comforted her, even though she knew it would be far, far too late for her own life to be spared.

"A small price tae pay tae end all of this," she reminded herself out loud. She believed it. But she was still afraid.

Less than an hour later, the guards arrived to lead her to her death.

One of them was a young red-headed man with a limp who seemed vaguely familiar, and the other she did not recognize at all.

The young one held out a hand and helped her up gently.

His expression seemed so mournful that Neala almost laughed despite the horror of it all.

"Cheer yer face up, Ruadh," the other man snapped. "Ye look like a wounded puppy. Yer precious prince will survive the loss of his whore, dinnae fear."

Ruadh opened his mouth as if to protest, then sighed and looked down at the floor. The other man took out rope and gestured for Neala to hold out her arms.

"There's nay need for that," Ruadh said. "She's on her way tae die. She's unarmed. There's naewhere she can flee."

The other guard shook his head. "She escaped twice already. Thrice, if ye count her disappearin' as a bairn. We're takin' nae risks." With those words, he grabbed Neala's wrists and tightly bound them. She winced as the rope dug into her skin, but she did not speak.

Ruadh pressed a hand gently to her back and propelled her forward.

The three of them trudged along the corridor, the two men on either side of her.

Neala could not see into the other cells as she passed them, but she heard the prisoners whispering or groaning.

She only prayed that her brother and his army arrived here soon so that they, at least, could be free.