Page 12 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

11

Bursting into Taran's farmhouse, breathless but still buzzing with adrenaline, Maeve was met by her whole party gathering their things and obviously discussing a plan. All heads turned to the door as she entered, and there were mingled outcries of relief when they realized that it was indeed Maeve.

"What were ye thinkin', runnin' off like that?" Eoin demanded, crossing the room in a few steps to pull her into a brotherly hug. "Darren was ready tae storm McKenzie Castle by himself and get the two of ye out, and I wouldnae have been far behind."

"None of us would," Fergus added quietly. "It was already hard enough tae retreat with Cailean gone. When Delphine returned and said ye werenae with her, the idea that ye might have been captured as well…"

"I wasnae captured," Maeve said, her hand on her chest as she tried to return her heart rate to normal. Breana moved forward toward them, and Maeve reached out with her other hand to assure her sister that she was all right. "But even if I had been…stormin' the castle wouldnae have done ye much good. Cailean isnae there anymore, and I'm sure they would have sent me away with him if they'd have kent who I am."

Breana's hand tightened around Maeve's. "What? What do ye mean? Where is he? Who?—?"

Something in her sister's fearful voice told Maeve that she already suspected the truth, and Maeve was loath to confirm it for her. But she knew that she had to. She had to say it, even though forcing the words out would make them feel true in a way she didn't want.

She couldn't look at Breana, not right now. Instead, she turned her eyes to Darren, who was watching her carefully from beside the small fireplace, where Taran and Delphine seemed on edge.

"Me father," Maeve whispered. Her throat clenched as she spoke, and for a moment she felt dizzy, as though the air couldn't quite reach her lungs. She clutched hard to Breana's hand, and, reassured by her sister's presence, spoke a little more clearly. "Laird O'Sullivan. McKenzie has given Cailean over tae me father's men."

The room went still for a moment, then Taran said gruffly, "Looks like that was the piece ye were missin', Del."

The young Frenchwoman nodded, looking grim. "The villagers, they'd heard rumors that another laird was coming to collect the prisoner. They said it was a tyrant. I had never dreamed, though, that O'Sullivan… "

"That's it." Darren slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "Enough waitin' around. Enough. We're gonnae go and get me friend back. Who's with me?"

Many of the rebels cheered, but this time, despite her desperate urge to do exactly that, it was Maeve who said, "Wait. Wait. We willnae be able tae take down me father with just eleven men."

"She's right," Breana said, giving Eoin a beseeching look that was clearly looking for support. "Our father is one of the most dangerous men in the country, maybe only second in power tae the False King himself."

Eoin looked toward Darren, and Darren and Fergus exchanged glances. Fergus, ever rational, was the next to speak.

"We must send Taran tae Bruce Castle tae reunite with his daughter. It isnae safe tae send him alone," he said slowly. "And we also must inform the council what has happened."

Darren gritted his teeth, but nodded curtly. "Ye're right. The plan tae get reinforcements hasnae changed; we need tae get more people on board if we're tae find a way through this. But I willnae leave Cailean in that man's hands. Most of ye should head back tae Bruce Castle—Fergus will lead ye—but I must go tae the O'Sullivan lands."

"I will come with ye," Maeve said sharply. "Dinnae attempt tae tell me otherwise."

Darren gave her a slight smile. "I ken better than tae try tae tell ye no."

"Me sheep…" the old farmer said. "I cannae just leave them."

"I will look after your farm in your absence, Uncle," Delphine told him. "I must stay here in McKenzie land in any case; there are rumors of a strange old woman appearing in the village, and it is my job to investigate such rumors."

"It seems, then," Fergus said, "that we have a plan. I see nae reason tae delay."

"There will be no delay," Maeve said. "Aye?"

As one, the rebels moved, grim determination on all faces as they gathered their weapons and packs quickly and efficiently. Before she knew it, they were all outside, mounting the horses, Taran and Delphine had secured for them. Delphine stood in the doorway, watching them go, equal resolve on the Sparrow's face as Maeve saw echoed on each of the rebels' expressions.

Maeve and Darren bid the others farewell and godspeed, but it only took a few moments to notice that Breana and Eoin were not following the rest of the group. Maeve opened her mouth to protest as the two rode closer, but Breana held up a hand.

"Nay," Breana said. "Dinnae send me away. I will come with ye, Maeve. I willnae let ye go and face our father alone, nae matter what. Nothin' ye can say will make me leave yer side. Understood?"

Despite herself, Maeve found a small smile appearing on her face at that. "Understood. And ye, Eoin?"

"I go where she goes," Eoin said resolutely. "I promised ye both that I'd protect her, though to be honest, with her maps and her determination, I think it is Breana who's been the one protectin' me."

Maeve couldn't miss the way that Breana blushed in the newly risen sunlight. It filled her heart with joy to see the way they were bonding, but it sent a lance of pain through her as well. She already missed seeing Cailean looking at her like that, and it scared her to think that, if they weren't successful, she'd never see it again.

As they turned and rode away from the farmhouse and set off at speed toward the O'Sullivan lands, Maeve chided herself. She would not give herself up to despair. She would save Cailean, no matter what it took, no matter the cost. Even if it meant facing down the one person who scared her most in the world.

Because they were each other's light. And they would always find each other, no matter how dark it got.

Cailean didn't know how long they'd been travelling for. He'd woken up when the sun was down, and all he was aware of was that he was already far from McKenzie Castle, so at least a day had already passed. Another two days passed between then and now, as they rode swiftly toward a tall, thin fortress that was the home of Laird James O'Sullivan. He was only grateful that he'd been allowed to ride in the carriage rather than forced on horseback, allowing his broken body to heal some over the days they spent on the road here. He felt like he would need all the strength he could get if he were to even hope to survive whatever was coming next.

Where were his friends, his family, now? He was sure that they had escaped; McKenzie would have gloated about their capture if he had managed to get them. Had they returned to Bruce Castle to get reinforcements? It was the right plan, though knowing Maeve, she had probably fought with Darren about it. He hoped she'd listened to him; he did not want her tied up in all of this. He only thanked God that there was no way that she could know that he was being brought to O'Sullivan of all people. That might be enough to break even her indomitable spirit.

His mind briefly flicked to Flora. He wondered where she'd gone. Had she found help? Had she perhaps found Maeve and the others? He hoped so, but something told him that her path led in another direction. He offered a little prayer in the back of his mind, wishing the old woman safety and freedom. She deserved it after all those long years locked away.

But as the carriage jolted to a sudden halt, Cailean was reminded that it was he who was the prisoner now. His friends and loved ones were far, far away, and Flora would have to use her own wits to survive. He only hoped that Maeve and Darren were able to band together to lead the rebels through this—especially as Darren would now one day be king if Cailean did not survive this.

The door flew open. "Out," a guard growled. "Or I'll drag ye out."

Cailean briefly considered fighting, but his body was still not in its best shape, and besides that, he would not sacrifice himself for no reason at all. He may die here, he knew that, but he would not give them any reason to kill him sooner than they had to. He was still a king, and he still had a duty to this country as long as he drew breath.

Five guards waited outside the carriage, and Cailean was jostled into the middle of the group. His hands were tied together, but his feet were free, and so he walked in pace with them as they entered the foreboding castle. It looked out of place in the Scottish landscape, more like the castle of an evil magician from a storybook than of a Scottish laird. Was this truly the place where Breana and Maeve had been raised? It seemed so unlikely that two women of such loveliness and grace could have come from such an ugly, unnatural structure.

The inside of the tower-fort was just as stark and unusual. None of the usual warmth decorated this castle; the walls were lined with imposing portraits of men and women who all looked vaguely familiar. As Cailean was led past them, he realized that these people must be Maeve's ancestors. Indeed, as he looked at their faces, he could see it—a hint of Breana in the chin of one portrait, a brush of Maeve's hair in another, and rows and rows of those startling green eyes, all staring back at him. It made him shiver, imagining his love growing up surrounded by all of these portraits, judging her, imposing upon her.

Reminding her she would never be enough, even though she was mightier than all of them.

They continued through the corridors, up a twisting staircase and through a set of doors, then down another set of stairs, until at last they came to a set of ornately carved doors. They were decorated with scenes of grand battles, each cut into the wood so lovingly that Cailean could only imagine how much of the clan's wealth had been directed into this ostentatious decoration. He was not against all finery, but this made him angry—it was clearly new, and clearly unearned. This was not a record of battles fought, but rather an imaginary celebration of victories that Laird O'Sullivan had never actually achieved.

The doors opened and Cailean was pushed through. The great hall of O'Sullivan Castle was decorated even more grandly than the hallways, covered in banners and tapestries proudly bearing the tartans and sigils of the clan, obviously declaring the greatness of O'Sullivan at every glance. At the far end of the room was a raised dais, and on that dais was a grand carved chair in the same style as the entrance doors.

Sitting atop that chair, there he was—green-eyed and pepper-sprinkled chestnut haired and more handsome than any man so evil had any right to be. Cailean would have recognized him anywhere. His features were echoed in the hundreds of portraits that Cailean had passed to get here, but those green eyes would have been unmistakable anyway. Both Breana and Maeve had those eyes, though neither of those women could have ever looked so cold had they tried.

There were two other seats on the dais. The one on the left was empty, placed as a queen's would be. It must have been Maeve's mother's seat, back when she was alive. She had died while Maeve was imprisoned as Malcolm Darach's wife, and Breana had told them that her father had sworn never to remarry, though he had many mistresses.

The other seat, on O'Sullivan's right and a little further back, was half-hidden in the shadows. A woman sat there, or maybe a girl, no older than her late teens. He could see that her eyes were dark, her hair a dusty blonde like Breana's, but he couldn't make out much else.

"Nessa," he said out loud, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

The girl started in her seat, looking up in alarm, then turned to her father, obviously looking for guidance.

"It's all right, pet," O'Sullivan said, though to Cailean he sounded more like he was talking to an animal than soothing his daughter. Indeed, he didn't even look toward the girl, instead staring directly at Cailean. His mouth turned up into a cruel smirk. "So the rumors are true, then. Me useless daughter is dallyin' with the would-be king. That fool McKenzie didnae even recognize her by yer side until it was too late."

Cailean did not answer the taunt, though fury surged through him at O'Sullivan's words.

"That's right," O'Sullivan went on, laughing coldly. "I ken that she was the one who was with ye when ye stormed Darach Castle and stole it for yer pathetic wee rebellion. Did ye take the other with ye as well? Are ye keepin' them both as a wee harem?"

"Ye're disgustin'," Cailean said quietly. "Tae talk of yer own daughters in such a way."

"I have one daughter," O'Sullivan replied, "And two whores who couldnae stay loyal tae their husbands. Of course, I'll expect them back. Women like them have one value, and it's me right as their father tae claim them and sell them off tae the next husband who'll take them, sullied as they are. But dinnae worry yerself about returnin' them tae me. I'll claim them meself once I've crushed yer pathetic rebellion intae the ground."

Cailean shook his head and snorted, deliberately making himself sound as derisive as he could to drive it home to O'Sullivan that his threats did not cause any fear. "Me men and women will slay ye where ye stand before ye could even try," he said. "Ye're nothin' tae their heart. Their spirits. This is our country, and we'll take it back."

O'Sullivan laughed again, longer and with more callous mirth than before. " Yer country! And who are ye , Cailean McNair? What are ye, but the last remnant of a broken bloodline?"

"My bloodline isnae broken. It still courses through me veins," Cailean told him, standing tall.

"And when I spill that royal blood of yers in an execution in the name of our king, what will it be then, lad?" O'Sullivan leaned forward. "McKenzie told me men how ye've named that Bruce child yer heir. Heir tae what? I'll tell ye—heir tae ash. Heir tae dust."

Images flashed in Cailean's mind—that same dream. The burning castle. His lost home. His lost family. Ash and dust.

"So it's tae be an execution, then," he said. He didn't phrase it as a question; there was no question here.

"Dinnae look so glum," O'Sullivan told him gleefully. "I willnae chop off yer head with me own sword here and now. Nay, I have somethin' much more grand than that planned for yer royal self."

"A public execution?" Cailean asked, making himself sound ironically bored, though his heart rate picked up and a new kind of fear flooded him at the thought. He was not so scared of his own death, but to leave the country behind before he'd had a chance to save it—to leave Maeve behind without being able to tell her that he loved her one more time…

"A message must be sent, ye see," O'Sullivan told him in an almost conversational tone. "A true message that will quash these whispers about ye and yer so-called uprisin' once and for all. There will be nae lost prince tae follow once numerous clan chiefs and the king's own advisor have seen the last McNair whelp lose his inflated head."

"Ah. Ye plan tae make a spectacle." Cailean shook his head. "Ye plan tae try tae crush any sort of rebellion. Ye dinnae understand the spirit that drives us, do ye? Ye dinnae understand that our love for our country is a fire, and now that it's lit, it willnae be doused, nae by the likes of ye."

He tried to look at Nessa again, but the girl looked away, hiding her face and expression entirely. When he looked back at O'Sullivan, there was a hint of anger poking through the laird's smug smirking exterior.

O'Sullivan leaned forward. "I will crush yer rebellion. I will take me daughters back, and I will sell them tae the highest bidder. And it doesnae matter what ye say about spirit, or about fire. Because ye'll be too dead tae see it." He snorted. "It's only a shame that Maeve willnae be here tae see it. But dinnae worry. When I have her back, I'll be sure she kens how ye suffered. Every last bit of it."

Cailean clenched his fist, rage flooding his blood at the sound of Maeve's name on this horrible man's lips. What this creature had done to Maeve, to Breana, and Cailean suspected, to this other girl here in the throne room—even if in a different way—fuelled Cailean's hatred, but he would not allow himself to break. Instead, he met O'Sullivan's eyes and coolly said, "We'll see."

He might die here. He probably would. Cailean had no desire to die, but he accepted there was perhaps no way out this time. But if that was to be the case, then he would make sure that his death meant something.

Until he breathed his last breath, he would use every moment to show what the McNair name—what the entire rebellion—truly stood for.