Page 6 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

She flinched. There was no way to argue with him, not in a way that would be convincing.

Everything he was saying was correct. But they hadn't seen Ansel by the side of the road when he was tearing himself apart.

They hadn't heard the agony in his voice as he'd fought with himself to choose between duty and freedom.

"Ye're wrong," she whispered. "He's nae monster.

He's just a man. A man with a terrible father. "

"We're all just men and women. And Maeve, Breana, and I all ken what it is tae be raised by a monster.

None of us allowed ourselves tae become one.

Ashkirk did," Eoin replied. "In me youth, I did wrong in me father's name, I'll nae deny it.

But I never took such glee in the horror as they say Ansel Ashkirk does in upholdin' his father's cruelty. "

"Did he even hesitate before he cut down James O'Sullivan—a man who had been nothin' but loyal tae the False King?" Hamish asked. He wasn't aggressive, but seemed curious, as though he was trying to understand where Neala was coming from. "Cailean told me ye witnessed it. What was he like?"

Neala opened her mouth to answer. She remembered it so clearly. The flash of the blade. The horror in O'Sullivan's eyes. She closed her lips together hard and looked away.

"Exactly," Maeve said. "Exactly. He slaughtered me father efficiently and without remorse. If this is how he treats a man who was, as we all ken, a member of the False King's closest circle, what horrors will he inflict upon me sister if we leave her in his clutches?"

It was wrong. Wrong. Ansel had told her he would never force a woman, and never kill an enemy without a weapon in their hand.

Neala knew in her heart that it was true.

She'd told him that he was his mother's son, not his father's, and that he could free himself.

She'd saw he was a good man below all of the pain, and she'd given him a path to come with her and allow that good man to live.

But he had chosen to ride away. Now the monster's legacy was all he would ever be.

Cailean held up his hands. Neala wondered if he saw the tears on her face, or if he saw the pain in Maeve's, or if he was perhaps simply understanding that this conversation would go nowhere.

There were too many voices, too many opinions, and the meeting would never result in anything other than chaos.

When he spoke, his voice was subtly different. It was not the tone of Cailean, the rebel, but that of Cailean, the King. "Stop," he ordered, and gradually the room fell silent. "Stop now. We need a break. Go for a walk. Get some air. We'll resume soon."

"Cailean—" Maeve started.

"Please, Maeve," Cailean said gently. "Dinnae make me order ye. I dinnae want tae do that."

Maeve scowled, but she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door open on her way out. Cailean let out a deep sigh and sank down into his chair.

Senan shook his head. "I always kent she had a fire in her. That's why I brought her with me; I kent she would be the spark the rebellion needed. But ye best watch that ye dinnae let that wife of yers consume herself with her own flames, lad."

Cailean just rested his elbows on the table, rubbing his forehead with his fingers the same way Neala had been doing moments before.

Neala wondered if it was a habit they'd inherited from their parents.

How often had their mother and father sat in this very room, massaging their temples as they tried to deal with the most stressful parts of running the country?

Senan patted Cailean on the shoulder, then left the room. Ewan and Hamish followed next, Hamish giving Neala a quick gentle half-hug before he did. The little gesture was reassuring, but it didn't calm the swirling pressure that was threatening to burst out of her chest.

Breana let out a shaky breath. "We need tae do somethin'. I cannae live like this," she whispered. Then she and Eoin left the room, hand in hand, leaving Neala and Cailean alone.

Neala stepped forward to her brother's side. "Cailean," she said. "Please, ye must listen tae me."

Cailean looked up. His eyes were tired, but they flashed with a certainty that chilled Neala to the bone.

"Neala, I cherish ye. The fact ye're with me is beyond anythin' I ever dreamed.

But I'm nae just yer brother. I'm yer king, and the king of every person in Scotland who has chosen tae swear loyalty tae me name. Our name."

She didn't protest. She could tell that he was not imposing power. If anything, he seemed unsettled to be frankly discussing his own power in such a way.

"I ken ye have a strange… affection for Ashkirk.

Maybe even a friendship of sorts, in yer mind at least. I dinnae understand it, but I'd be blind nae tae see it in how ye talk about him and how ye defend him.

" Cailean sighed and shook his head. "I dinnae blame ye.

I've heard… I've heard it happens sometimes.

When a person is taken from their family, when they're captured or kidnapped, and one of their captors shows them any sort of kindness, they grow attached. "

"That isnae what this is," Neala insisted, though embarrassment flooded through her. Affection, he'd said. Friendship. She wondered what Cailean would do if he knew the words that Neala had tried to say when she and Ansel were separated. I think I'm startin' tae ? —

No. She doubted that Cailean would be quite as understanding then.

"Whatever it is, Neala, I cannae let it change me mind," Cailean replied. "Ye understand that. Ye must. Ye were raised by Laura and by Morag; I am sure they've taught ye that we have tae do what has tae be done, even if it's nae what we'd choose."

The pressure grew stronger in Neala's head, pressing against the back of her eyes. It was agony, but she did not even blink.

"I have a responsibility for ye. But I have a responsibility for them, too.

For Maeve, who is me wife. For Breana, and, aye, Nessa as well, who are also me sisters by law.

And even more than any of that, by acceptin' our father's legacy, I've taken on responsibility for this whole country.

" Cailean stood, shaking his head. "I have promised that I will lead the rebels tae victory.

Tae a new age. I've promised I will take the throne and purge them of the blight that's tried tae destroy the heart of our country these twenty years. Ye understand what that means?"

Neala nodded. Her throat was too dry to speak.

The Sparrows and the rebels had both done their research on the False King.

They knew him better than he probably knew himself.

Everyone knew that Edric Ashkirk's wife had died in childbirth.

He had only one son and no daughters. His parents were long in their graves, and his only other relative they knew of, a widowed sister, had died about ten years before, leaving behind only a son who now counted amongst the ranks of Edric's men.

If Ansel married Nessa, he would produce heirs.

More Ashkirks. More of the dark legacy of Edric's name.

And as far as the people of Scotland were concerned, it would never end.

Not as long as the bloodline lived. If Cailean carried the pride of McNair in his heart enough that the people loved him, then so too did Ansel carry the curse of the Ashkirks.

Cailean gently touched her cheek. "We'll talk later," he promised. "I must find Maeve. She needs me."

He walked out of the room, and by his posture, it was very clear that he was carrying the whole weight of what was going on. His shoulders were slightly slumped as he bore it, but he still stood tall and proud. Neala stood as she watched him go.

Once he had left, closing the door behind him, Neala's legs gave out.

She collapsed into the seat that Cailean had just vacated, and the pressure burst out all at once.

There had already been tears on her face, but now she wept from the heart, sobbing so hard that it hurt her chest, her breathing refusing to steady.

She'd started this day feeling such joy, but now she did not feel like there was any sunshine left.

Ansel would be married. It might be selfish to hurt so much over that, but the thought of him holding another woman filled her with a raw sickness.

She'd been so close to him that she'd felt her heartbeat mingle with his, held so tightly by him that their breath had mingled in the air, but there had always been a part of him locked away from her.

He'd never been vulnerable before her, nor she before him.

Neither had been able to fully give the other that trust, though now Neala wished more deeply than anything she had.

Perhaps if she had tried a little earlier, pushed a little harder, let him know a little sooner that there was hope, he would have come with her when she begged.

But now he was to marry Nessa. Whatever plan the rebels undertook, it was unlikely to happen before the wedding night.

Neala tried not to imagine it, but she knew that Ansel would do his duty, and she could hear the sighs of another woman in his arms, stealing the kisses that she had never been brave enough to seek.

It was not Nessa's fault. She'd lost her father and was now being forced into a marriage, wasn't she?

Except… except from what Breana and Maeve had said about their sister so far, this might have been Nessa's plan all along.

Perhaps she was delighted by the arrangement.

Perhaps she'd seduced Ansel already. Neala tried to push away the thought, but the sickness tightened in her stomach so much that she almost vomited.

Ye really dinnae ken anythin' about me , Ansel had said.

She gripped the table to steady herself.

She did know him, no matter how much he protested otherwise.

But she would never convince the others of that, not until it was too late.

And therein lay the real problem, the real reason strong, capable Neala now cried so hard she felt her heart would shatter.

The pain of Ansel's betrothal was unbearable. But what was even worse was the truth she could no longer deny after her conversation with Cailean.

Because if the rebels were to ever declare a true victory—if Cailean were to ever reclaim his father's legacy for good in the eyes of all of Scotland—then the Ashkirks had to be wiped entirely from the land. In other words, Ansel had to die.

And Neala and her family had to be the ones to kill him.