Page 1 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

PROLOGUE

Bodies littered the ground as they went through a twisted labyrinth of passages, some the main part of McNair Castle, others secret hallways that nobody else knew about.

Cailean stumbled, and Morag didn't pause. She swept him up into her arms and carried him as though he were still a baby, and for once, Cailean didn't object. Every so often, they ran into someone alive—a servant, or a guard, or someone else who lived there—who would tell Morag to turn this way or that to avoid them.

"Who's them?" Cailean asked into her ear. "Who are we avoidin'? Why are they nae comin' with us?"

"They're shieldin' us," Morag replied, still holding him securely. She paused before the final turn, which Cailean knew led the way out of the castle. "Come, close yer eyes. Ye dinnae need tae see this."

Cailean hid his head against her chest as he'd been ordered, and Morag took a step out into the fresh air. The sudden impact of sound and noise was overwhelming, and Cailean could smell blood as well as fire.

"Please, Morag, where is me family?" he begged, sobbing against her chest. "Please, please, take me tae me mammy."

"Ye'll survive, Cailean," she told him in his ear. Her voice was thick and full of pain. "We're under attack, and these traitors caught us unaware, but ye'll survive. The McNair name will live nae matter what. I'll keep ye safe, I promise."

After that, it was a blur as Morag broke out into a run. At some point, Cailean lost his grip on his soldier toy, and he cried out to go back for it, but she didn't hear him. He twisted in her arms, looking around, and what he saw made him forget about the doll entirely.

His home was burning. The castle was aflame, and people were fighting and dying.

They reached a horse, and Morag placed him on the saddle before hopping on herself. She held him with one arm, clinging to the reins with the other, and they desperately fled the crumbling world behind.

Cailean knew as he watched his home be devoured by the flames that his family was still there. His name, his world, his life was burning, and soon there'd be nothing left but ash. He pulled away, running back toward the castle, hoping he could somehow make a difference.

And then the world seemed to spin around him, and there was no horse, no Morag. Cailean was not a five-year-old anymore, but a grown man standing in the midst of fire and flame. The castle before him was not his childhood home, but Bruce Castle—no, he realized with a jolt as he saw the banners flying high above them, this was Darach Castle.

Horror flooded through Cailean's veins as he looked around him, desperate to understand how he'd ended up there. There were screams and shouts, louder now, and he stood right in the courtyard as fighting broke out around him. He'd been dreaming before, that same familiar dream of his childhood trauma, but now the cutting air felt so icy, the burning flames so hot, the dying screams so loud, that he was struggling to believe that he was not back there again.

"Cailean! Get it together!" Darren's voice yelled out over the noise. Cailean turned to see his friend nearby, battling off two men at once, blood soaking his clothes and hair. His enemies' blood? His own? "We need ye!"

Cailean shook himself and tightened his grip around his sword, but as he tried to move toward Darren, something held him back. There was a tightness around his wrists and ankles, like heavy ropes, but when he looked down, there were no restraints in sight. Grunting, he pulled harder, but the invisible bonds just tightened, cutting painfully into him, causing him to cry out in surprise and pain.

"Cailean!" Darren called again.

Cailean looked up and his stomach dropped. Five men now descended upon Darren, all with murderous intent blazing from them. He looked wildly around, trying to find someone else to come and help Darren, but there were only bodies littering the ground. Kier, pale and bloodless, his eyes wide and empty, lay a few feet away.

"No…no…" Nausea lurched inside Cailean, and he almost vomited. Kier couldn't be dead. Not Kier.

"Cailean, help m—" Darren shouted, then his words were cut out with a gurgled scream. Cailean whipped his head back around to see the shining sword rammed through his friend's guts.

"No!" Cailean howled, struggling harder against his bonds, desperate to get to his friend, but he was stuck. In slow motion, he watched as Darren's eyes widened, and he let out a final, shuddering breath. His eyes found Cailean's once more, then, as the sword withdrew, his lifeless body fell to the ground. Cailean cried out as Darren's killer simply moved on to the next victim, and he fought hard to get to his friend. "Darren. Darren! Please!"

The weight of the bonds got stronger, and Cailean was forced to his knees. As he did, he saw the way the Darachs and the forces of the False King were bearing down, winning each battle, chopping down his friends one by one. His family was bleeding on the stone of Darach Castle while he was forced to watch. Senan, pinned against a tree with his throat cut. Ewan and Hamish, killed together by the same spear. Little Dirk Bruce, his body trampled underfoot. More and more of them, dead or dying, men and women who had given their lives and hope to follow him and were now being destroyed before his eyes as he just stayed in one place doing nothing at all about it.

Bleeding welts appeared on Cailean's wrists and ankles as he fought to get to them, his face now hot with blood and sweat and tears as he tried to get to them, tried to get to anyone, tried to do anything to stop this. Another family gone, another life gone up in blood and fire and smoke, and another time that he could do nothing but watch. Another time that he had failed.

"Cailean…"

That voice.

He slowly turned his head, time running at a snail's pace as he did, the world almost coming to a stop as he sought her out—as he tried to find her.

"Maeve," he called out. "Maeve!"

And there she was, surrounded by soldiers, screaming as she was dragged away from him and into the castle—into the darkness where he could not follow.

"No! Maeve!"

The restraints pulled hard against him, and suddenly, he couldn't move at all. He couldn't reach her. He couldn't reach any of them. It was over.

And when the looming shadow of the False King appeared over him, sword in hard, it was all Cailean could do to close his eyes and wait for it to be over.

"Easy. Easy."

Cailean woke with a gasp, sweat soaking his nightclothes, but a gentle hand on his face kept him from completely giving into the panic. Maeve's soothing voice and comforting touch slowly brought him back to reality. She was an anchor in the storm, reminding him of where he was and where he should be.

"Just breathe, me love," Maeve murmured in his ear as she brushed his fair hair off his face.

"I… I'm all right," he assured her after a few moments had passed. "I'm all right. It was just a bad dream. Nae more than that."

His grey eyes had adjusted to the morning darkness now, and he saw that beautiful face watching over him. His Maeve. His warrior. His heart and soul. Knowing that she was here with him was usually enough to wipe away the horror of his regular nightmares, but today, unease still flickered inside him.

"The usual dream?" Maeve asked him. Cailean sat up, and Maeve shifted slightly on the bed to give him room. He put his arm around her, and she leaned against his chest. "About what happened in yer childhood?"

"It started that way," he told her. "But then…"

He trailed off. Through the window of their room in the still-standing Bruce Castle, he could see the first rays of the sunrise beginning to create the pink of dawn in the sky. No matter what happened, the cycle continued—light into darkness into light, day to night and day again. It should have made him feel more relaxed, the same way these thoughts usually did, but…

He'd spent a long time having given up on hope until Maeve had come back into his life and brought the light back to him again. The shining sun had arrived and brought dawn over the darkness at last. But…just because the sun had risen, didn't it follow that it would set again? And when it did, would they be ready?

The dream battered away at Cailean's subconscious, refusing to disappear. The False King had been nothing but a shadow in the nightmare, but shadows were all around him now, even as the dawn grew brighter. And though they had won the victory over Darach, he was only one of the False King's agents in the country, just a small example of a much larger threat that still loomed over them all. It had only been a dream, but Cailean knew he had a long, long fight ahead of him if he were to truly retake his family's throne and return Scotland to her full strength. At the end of that road, the False King was waiting, ready and willing, and able to slaughter everyone whom Cailean had ever loved.

"Cailean?" Maeve asked again. She lifted her head from his chest to look at him properly. "It started that way, but then what?"

He meant to tell her the details; he really did. But…it had just been a dream. There was no point in scaring her, not now. They'd spent the weeks since their victory over the Darachs sending out letters, trying desperately to gather the help they needed from clans all over Scotland, but they'd barely gotten any responses and those who had responded had not been kind. They were all living in stress and fear already, and Cailean would not put more on her over just a dream.

"Then ye woke me," he told her. "Nothin' more." He kissed her gently on the top of her head. "And I was lucky enough that yer gorgeous green eyes were the first thing I saw."

Maeve laughed a little. "Dinnae be so daft," she told him. "Ye couldnae even see when ye woke—the sun's only just risin' now."

He moved around and pressed his lips to hers in a deep, lingering kiss that bid her good morning in the best way he knew how. When they broke apart, he murmured, "Ye're wrong. It doesnae matter how dark it is or where we are. I can always, always see ye."

"Ye big soft man," she told him in a fond voice. "Imagine what Darren would say if he heard ye spoutin' such romance"

"Darren will find his sunlight eventually," Cailean promised her. "One that'll drive his shadows away too, just like ye've done with mine."

"Ye think even our flirty, carefree Darren has shadows?" Maeve asked teasingly.

"We all do, me love," Cailean replied. In his mind's eye, the image from the end of his dream still lingered, the False King standing above him with a sword while his friends and family lay dead around them. "Ye ken that better than anyone. We just need tae help each other through it."

Maeve kissed him lightly again. "I think it's time we broke our fast. Shall we make our way down tae the kitchens and see if we can steal somethin' from the cooks?"

Cailean smiled, but his stomach was still roiling. The images from the dream were not fading away, and he wanted to take some time to think about why it was affecting him so badly—and maybe even what it could mean. Was he the type of person who believed that dreams could mean something? A while ago, he would have said no, but today…after everything he'd been through, after everything they'd all been through…he would be foolish to not at least acknowledge every potential warning that the world threw at him.

"I'm nae hungry yet, love," he told her. "Why dinnae ye go down and get somethin'? I'll wait here."

Maeve frowned. "And what will ye do in the meantime?" she asked. "While I'm down rustlin' breakfast? Will ye sit here and brood?"

"I was thinkin' I'd sit here and…"

"So, aye ," Maeve told him. "Well, I happen tae think that's nae a good use of the king's time."

He still wasn't used to the sound of that—of people calling him king—but it didn't make him flinch like it used to, especially not coming from her.

Maeve draped her arms around his neck and moved herself up, positioning herself over his legs so that their faces were close. The weight of her on his lap was comforting, and he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close.

"So," he asked when their noses touched, "What is a good use of the king's time?"

Panting, sweating, and grinning, Cailean moved in again while Maeve stood ready. "Ye ken," he told her as their swords and bodies met in the middle, "I'd thought ye meant somethin' a wee bit different."

"Nonsense," Maeve replied, parrying him with her sword and knocking his attack to its side. "Ye needed tae spar, and here on the trainin' grounds before everyone else. It's time for us tae have fun."

Cailean laughed wildly, dodging out of the way as she aimed an attack toward him. It took him by surprise when her moves were usually so defensive, and he barely managed to avoid it. Pride flared in his chest as he skidded along the damp morning grass, spinning out of the way.

"Expect the unexpected," Maeve called mischievously, then danced out of the way as he aimed a light blow toward her in return.

They continued to spar, and though others started to appear on the field, Cailean didn't pay them any notice yet, focusing only on the joy of what was happening here, the way that sparring with Maeve was relieving some of the tension from his shoulders and helping bring him into the here and now.

Before, he would run and train alone to try to bring himself down, but he had never felt like it worked successfully. He'd just grown more and more desperate, more and more sure there was no hope. But now that he knew Maeve, now that he had her in his life, he'd started to feel much differently—much more like that sun would rise again because she was here with him. And sparring with Maeve was an activity that brought it all to the forefront. She wasn't a helpless maiden, screaming and begging to be rescued. He'd trained her, Senan had trained her, and she'd worked hard to shape herself into a woman who could fight for herself. She could protect herself and everyone else if she needed to, and respect and joy filled him when he turned to look at her.

"Ye're amazin'," he told her, lowering his blade and stealing a kiss, which she responded to briefly but eagerly.

"I am," she said, laughing, then kissed his cheek before raising her thin sword again—the sword his family's sigil had bought for her, the sword that had helped defeat Kyle Darach and save her sister, Breana. "And ye're amazin' too. That's why we work so well together. Now, stop talkin', and?—"

Her sword lightly poked him on the arm, not hard enough to make a dent, but hard enough to make a point.

"Tut, tut! Allowin' yerself tae get distracted in battle?" Maeve asked.

"Ha! Ye could distract the great heroes themselves with a flutter of yer eyelashes," Cailean told her, and raised his own sword.

They began their spar again, and as more people approached the field and more eyes were on them, they fell into practiced routines, transforming the battle into a playful dance the two of them shared. Right now, for this moment at least, Cailean was free from the shadows that had haunted his dreams last night, free from the fear that had disturbed his sleep. Right now, the sun was shining brightly.

But as Cailean met Maeve's eyes across their swords, a dark shadow passed across his heart. Maeve could look after herself just as well as many of his warriors. All of his friends and family could look out for themselves, or at least for each other. And, of course, he would never leave them, not while there was still breath in his lungs and his heart was beating.

But the shadow of the False King still loomed over them. The other clans were not rallying to his cause as he had hoped they would. And the dream still echoed in the back of his mind, faint but present and horrifying.

Because he was not just a dream; he was real. And one day, Cailean would have to face him, and Maeve would be by his side.

The fight for their future would be taken together. Cailean knew that. But he worried that the path was not an easy one and that their battle would be fraught with danger. He only hoped that it was a danger they could all get through alive.