Page 10 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

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The first thing that Cailean became aware of was a throbbing pain in his head, followed closely by the cold stone below him. He didn't risk opening his eyes yet, but raised his hand to touch the painful spot on his head. It came away sticky, and he grunted as he recognized the feeling of half-dried blood. He must have received a massive blow to the head to get such a wound, which would explain how he had fallen unconscious for who knew how long.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes. The world around him was pitch black, but he lay there on the stone floor, steadily waiting. Slowly, the shapes around him started to swim into focus, lit dimly by torches that were bracketed somewhere some distance away. He turned his head ever so slightly, feeling a rush of agony in his skull as he did, and saw bars.

A cell. He was in a cell.

Then it all came flooding back; memories mingled amongst the pain—Murtagh's offer. The betrayal. The attack.

Cailean swore, his voice echoing off the walls as he did, but nobody approached. There was nobody here, no guards, nothing. McKenzie, it seemed, had thrown him here to rot.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not foreseen the danger that he was in? Maeve had warned him over and over again that her instincts were uneasy, and Cailean himself hadn't been sure that it was a good idea, but he'd convinced himself that he had to go forward with seeking out this treaty. He should have known that McKenzie couldn't be trusted. How could a man who had turned away from McNair so easily when the False King attacked ever be trusted to uphold vows sworn a generation ago?

"Fool," he muttered to himself. "Ye great oaf."

Where was Maeve? Where were Darren and Fergus? They'd been in that room with him. Cailean remembered telling them to run, but he knew that Maeve would never leave unless the others had made her. Had they been able to get her out? Or had McKenzie captured them too—or worse?

No, they weren't dead. He would know it; he would feel it in his soul. Darren was his best friend, his brother in all but name, and Maeve… Maeve was his heart, his soul, his guiding light in all darkness. The world would not still be spinning for him if she was not in it.

And the others? Deirdre, young Dirk, and all the rest—had they been warned in time to get out? Or had McKenzie dealt with them too?

Frustrated, Cailean forced himself to sit up, ignoring the agony that the movement sent lancing through his body. They had beaten him terribly, and he knew he'd be sore for some time, but while he was still alive, he would not give up. As he moved his leg, he felt something digging into his foot at the base of his boot.

The sudden realization flooded through him, a mix of wild relief and anticipation. He removed his boot and allowed the object to fall out—a small, sheathed knife.

In his mind's eye, he saw Maeve's smiling face, and heard the words over again. "I'm givin' ye a blade, just as ye gave me one. May it guard ye as closely as yers has guarded me."

Cailean pressed his lips to the sheath of the knife. "I'll see ye soon, love," he whispered. Then he peeled the sheath from the knife and stuck it in his empty pocket, holding the little weapon's handle tight in his hand. He made his way across the cell, slowly and painfully but with purpose, and ran his hand across the cold metal of the bars until he found what he was looking for.

The lock.

It took him some time to work the system using the little knife, but soon enough, he heard the satisfying click that meant he had been successful. The metal door screeched as it opened, and though Cailean froze in place, nobody came running.

He waited, then slowly walked out into the lit hallway. There were torches on brackets all along the walls, obviously lit to guide whoever threw the prisoners down the hall, but no guards in sight. One direction obviously led to the exit back into the castle, while the other led deep into dark tunnels, deeper into the dungeons.

Cailean longed for the simple route. He wanted nothing more than to exit through the easy path. But he knew that, if he went that way, all that probably waited was more guards and nothing but pain or maybe even death. Sighing, he took a torch from one of the brackets on the wall and turned toward that deep, dark tunnel.

He moved forward and tried not to let it feel like the darkness was swallowing him whole.

Cailean wasn't sure how long he'd been walking. The dungeons were dark and twisted, a maze beneath the surface, and he'd been taking turns at random. Every so often, he came across another cell, though most of them were empty. He had nothing on him but the rapidly dying torch, the small knife, and his instincts.

He took a left, and then all of a sudden, there was a sound other than his footsteps on the stone—the sound of someone else breathing.

"Who's there?" Cailean called, then cursed his own idiocy. He had lost the element of surprise, still foggy because of his head injury.

But what he hadn't expected was that the answer would come in an old woman's voice. "Just me. Same as always. What do ye want from me now?"

Surprised, Cailean walked toward the voice. He turned a corner and came across another cell, smaller and darker than the rest, far away from the rest of the castle. He held up the torch and could barely believe what he saw inside.

A woman stood there in a dirty dress, her hair white, long, and thin, her body so slim she looked like she would break in a slight breeze. She could have been fifty or eighty, it was impossible to tell, but there was still a defiant light shining in her eyes. Those eyes widened, though, as she saw Cailean come into view.

"It cannae be," she whispered.

"Who are ye, ma'am?" he asked. "Let me get ye out of here. Just wait."

"Cailean McNair? Is it truly ye?"

Cailean froze to hear his own name on the woman's lips. He studied her again, and suddenly, he felt a nagging familiarity clawing at his foggy mind. This was someone he knew from a long, long time ago, someone he recognized from the childhood he had all but lost.

The old woman smiled, and as she did, it was clear that she wasn't as old as she looked. This time here in the dungeons had obviously aged her significantly, and it made Cailean shiver to think how long this poor lady had been down here.

"It is ye, then," she replied. "I ken ye wouldnae recognize me, lad, dinnae fear. Ye must have been four or five when I saw ye last, just a wee bairn."

"Ye…ye kent me as a bairn?" Cailean asked, his hands fumbling as he tried to work on the lock with his knife. "Ye ken who I am?"

"I kent all of ye. Yer brave mammy and daddy. Yer poor siblin's—Graham and Barry, Abigail and Neala, I remember them all. But I remember ye most of all. Ye climbed on me husband's lap and pulled on his beard and declared ye'd have an even grander one when ye were grown." The old lady smiled at the memory. "And look at ye now—grown indeed. And a king, if the whispers are true."

Naming of his siblings was like a physical blow, but not in a painful way. The impact was more like something had unlocked inside of him, something he had carefully locked away for a long time. The boys, his older brothers who he'd idolized, and his younger sisters who he'd wanted to protect with everything he had. Little Neala, the youngest, who had been his most beloved, and who had barely had a chance to breathe before the False King's attack had ended her life. They were all gone now, but hearing their names reminded Cailean what he was fighting for. It helped clear his head a little, and he focused more on what he was doing now.

"Who was yer husband?" he asked.

"Ye cannae guess?" The woman gave a fond, sad laugh. "Och. Me poor Grodric. I dinnae ken if I believe he left this world naturally, but I've been in these dungeons since he passed."

The memory clicked into place. "Ye're…ye're Flora McKenzie," Cailean replied in awe. "Ye and yer son…ye should have been the rightful heirs tae this clan after yer husband died."

Flora dropped her eyes. "Me son died. He was just an infant. They said it was a sudden death in his crib, but I… I have me doubts. It was just before Grodric uncovered the truth. His brother, feedin' information tae the False King's spies about the McNairs! He tried tae arrest Murtagh, tried tae bring him tae justice, but the loss of our son had weakened him, and instead, Murtagh had him killed." Her face twisted. "Too much of a coward tae even do the deed himself."

Cailean heard the lock click open, his mind racing with information. So Murtagh had betrayed his father, even back then. "So he seized control of the clan, and he locked ye up in here?"

"Aye."

"Didnae anybody wonder where ye had gone? Yer own family? The clansfolk? I can see how Murtagh covered up his brother's murder, but yer disappearance on top of it?" Cailean asked.

"He told the world I'd gone mad with grief, and who wouldnae believe it? The whole country was in chaos with the death of yer father. What was one mad woman amongst all that?" Flora sighed. "And so, gradually, the world forgot me. And I've rotted away here these twenty years."

Cailean finally opened the door and held out a hand. Flora hesitated, but then took it. Her hand shook, and it was so remarkably thin that it broke his heart. "Why…why are ye alive? I'm grateful for it, but I dinnae understand why he didnae just kill ye as well. I cannae understand why a man like him would leave ye alive with the knowledge ye have against him."

Flora looked as though she were about to cry. "Sorcha," she whispered. "Sweet little Sorcha. Her mother died the day she was born, and I was the only woman left in her life. She's a year or two older than ye, if ye'd believe it, though I ken she looks much younger. She remembers what it was like when we were happy."

Disgust filled Cailean as the implications hit him. "So he's kept ye alive tae keep his poor daughter under control. We must save her, I cannae abide a man who would use love against anyone like that."

"We cannae save her now. I dinnae even ken if we can save ourselves." Flora shook her head. "The only way that we can free Sorcha is by defeatin' Murtagh—and the only way we can defeat Murtagh is by fightin’ the False King. Without the backin' of the tyrants whose power he feeds from, Murtagh McKenzie will be nothin'."

The two of them made their way hand in hand through the tunnels, both now following their same instinct, both hoping that their path led toward the light. As they went, Flora told him stories of her visits to McNair Castle back in the day, and Cailean felt a flare of hope and love every time his family was mentioned. In exchange, he told her about Maeve, about the adoration he felt for her, and about the future they hoped to build together.

Then they heard it—the shouts.

"He's this way! I can see the torchlight!" a guard's faint voice shouted from somewhere behind them. "Come on!"

Panic surged through Cailean, and he grabbed Flora's hand tighter. They began to run, counting on a gust of cold air ahead of them as being an opening—a way out. Flora quickly ran out of breath, wheezing as they ran, but she didn't once try to slow down. They twisted through the tunnels, following the breeze, desperate to get to the escape.

But the guards were gaining on them. Footsteps were drawing closer and closer, and Cailean knew that it was only a matter of time before they caught up. He set his jaw and said nothing to Flora, simply pulling her along as quickly as he could.

"When ye get out," he panted, "Go tae the village. Find someone who'll take ye tae Bruce Castle. Use a fake name. Do what ye have tae."

"W–what?" Flora gasped breathlessly. "What?"

Cailean pushed Flora ahead of them as they turned the corner and saw the exit directly ahead of them. Just as they did, the guards rounded behind them, so close that Cailean could hear the sound of their swords clanking.

"Run!" he cried out for the second time in days.

He turned to face the guards, holding only the knife. There was no chance of his escaping now, but at least he could gain Flora some time.

"Be strong, lad!" Flora shouted back with desperate urgency. "Ye're nae alone!"

To his relief, after she had said those words, she turned and fled, making it to the exit just as the guards reached Cailean. There were ten of them, too many for him to fight alone in these conditions on his best day, but now that he was injured with no weapon except the knife, there was no chance.

Still, Cailean wasn't going down without a fight.

He dodged the first punch aimed at him and sliced out with his knife, cutting one of the guards across the face and causing a scream of pain. Another guard grabbed him, but Cailean kicked out backward, damaging the man's shin and managing to wriggle out from his grasp. He shoved out with his elbow, connecting with a third guard's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

For just a moment, it felt like he could win this against all odds. For only a moment, he had such a bright, shining hope that he'd see Maeve again that his strength felt almost superhuman.

But then one of the guards drew his sword and held the point to Cailean's throat. Another snatched the knife from his hand, scowling, and pocketed it.

"I have permission tae cut yer throat if ye dinnae comply. Ye'd be better as a livin' gift, but Murtagh can make do with a dead body if he needs tae," the guard snarled.

The strength ebbed out of Cailean as he felt another sword point against his back. He wanted to scream in defiance, but he knew that he could do no good for Maeve nor for Scotland as a whole if he was dead. His head and body hurt so much, and he wobbled on his feet.

"Ye'll lose," he told the guard quietly. "Yer precious Murtagh will fall. Just as Kyle Darach did."

The guard spat at his feet. "King of dirt. Come back tae yer cell. It isnae Murtagh ye need tae worry about."

Cailean wanted to fight, but he simply didn't have the energy to do so anymore. He prayed that Flora had gotten away freely; certainly, the guards hadn't even seemed to notice her flee, since they'd been so preoccupied with him. He allowed himself to be half-dragged back to his cell, already plotting how he'd escape again once his energy returned.

As they passed Flora's cell, two of the guards started speaking to each other in low, urgent murmurs. Cailean smiled slightly to himself, pleased to hear the fear in their voices as they discussed how they would tell Murtagh that his 'pet' was gone.

They reached his cell, and Cailean was thrown unceremoniously inside. He landed hard on the floor, his already aching body hurting, but as the guards retreated, his thoughts were far away. Maybe Flora would find Maeve with the rest of their companions. Maybe they'd be able to help each other.

He knew one thing, though. He was captured, but he'd never be defeated. Not by a man like this. Not by anyone.