Page 13 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

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Breana felt sick. Nausea had started churning in her stomach the moment that her small party had crossed into O'Sullivan territory, and it had only gotten worse as they got closer to the village that ringed the castle where she had grown up. Maeve did not betray any fear in her face, but Breana knew her sister well—she saw the tightness in her jaw, saw how the sparkle in her eye had dimmed. Breana wished she knew how to comfort her. She wished she could assure Maeve that it would all be right. But back here, in the lair of their evil father, Breana felt like a scared child again.

Eoin gave her a brief reassuring smile as they entered the gates that surrounded the village. They left their horses at a stable just outside the borders and entered the village on foot. It was usually a sedate kind of place; the rare times that Breana had ever gotten to visit the village, she'd found the people hardworking and shrunk into the themselves. It was as though her father's shadow had oppressed them, even from all the way up in the castle.

Not so today, though. Today, the village was bustling with more people than Breana had ever seen here, more people than Breana had known could ever fit into this place.

"There's tartans and sigils here from many different clans," Darren observed. "Many of those we've reached out to and received rejections or nae answer."

"Why are they here?" Eoin wondered. He turned to the women. "I'm gonnae try tae blend in. See what I can pick up. The two of ye, stay close tae Darren and out of sight."

Maeve looked ready to argue, but Breana put a hand on her arm. Eoin was right; they could not afford to be recognized now, not when they were so close. Neither of them had spent much time in the village, but there was always a chance that someone could recognize them by their features.

"Are ye all right?" Maeve whispered to Breana once they had settled on a small stone bench near the side of the village, away from the crowd. Darren stood nearby, keeping close watch without making himself look too obvious.

"Am I all right?" Breana asked, laughing slightly despite how awful she felt. "I'm nae the one who's here tae free the love of her life. Ye dinnae need tae worry about me all the time."

"Ye spent even longer here than me. Ye were here most recently, and Father always kept you on a tight leash," Maeve replied. She squeezed Breana's hand. "And…and I'm tryin' nae tae lose meself in thinkin' about Cailean. Nae until we have a plan tae save him."

"We will save him," Breana assured her. "Naebody kens this castle and its secrets as well as ye and I. I dinnae ken how we'll get in and get him out, but we will."

They were silent for a long time, watching the crowd. There was an inexplicable unease in the air, some unknown tension echoing just below the surface. Then Breana said something that had been bothering her since she set out on her journey.

"Ye ken… Nessa, she cried when I left tae marry Kyle Darach. She thinks I didnae see her, but I did." Breana shook her head. "I dinnae ken what tae make of it."

"Nessa cried ?" Maeve asked, obviously so astonished that she forgot the rest of her pain for a moment. She looked behind them, to where the tower castle loomed in the background, then turned back to her sister. "So maybe ye were right. Maybe there is hope for her yet."

"Or perhaps she was weepin' because the last path out of Father's grip was taken from her. Perhaps the time we've spent away has just solidified what we already kent—that she's goin' tae just become another version of our Father." Breana sighed, looking at the ground. "I dinnae want tae believe it. But I've learned that there's true evil in this world now. I learned that at Darach Castle, and I've seen it with me own eyes as I witness what the False King has done. Perhaps Nessa is just caught in it, just as our mother and father were."

"Perhaps," Maeve said and sighed. She squeezed Breana's hand. "But I hope not."

"Aye," Breana agreed. "I hope so, too."

They looked up as Eoin came back out of the crowd and exchanged a few words with Darren, obviously alarmed by whatever his short reconnaissance had taught him. Darren groaned and slapped his forehead, then both of them approached the women with grim expressions on their faces.

"They're here for the event," Darren told them without preamble in his usual abrupt way. "Clan chiefs and lairds, warriors and common folk, and everyone in between. They're here for the…the execution. Of 'the Pretender'. It's all anyone can talk about."

Maeve went pale, and Breana held her close, but both kept paying rapt attention.

"Not all . There are other whispers," Eoin told them. "Many whispers of rebellion and discontent."

The sisters exchanged looks. "We need tae get in there," Maeve said hoarsely. "Now. We need tae get Cailean out, nae matter what it takes. Now."

"We cannae get in without a distraction," Eoin said, looking around them. "We need some kind of…"

Breana acted without even thinking. She let go of Maeve's hand and stood up in one fluid movement, then walked to Darren and pushed a finger against his chest, putting on the haughty voice she'd learned from Nessa and from their mother. "How could ye?!" she demanded. "Ye swore tae wed me!"

All three of them stared at her in astonishment, then Darren gave her a quick grin before falling into character. He put on a pompously angry voice and said, "Woman! To whom do ye think ye're speakin'? I will dally where I please!"

"Break this up immediately!" a guard called, and several began to approach.

Maeve and Eoin hesitated for half a second more, but as the act continued and more and more eyes turned their way, Maeve mouthed, thank ye. She and Eoin disappeared into the crowd, and Breana, still theatrically declaring Darren a scoundrel amongst men, watched her go.

Godspeed, sister. And good luck.

Maeve found the servant's entrance without much trouble. It was one of the few places she'd been able to use to escape from the castle for a few hours back when she lived here in this prison disguising itself as a home. She led Eoin through and into a scullery room which contained aprons and rags, and with a few quick adjustments, she was easily able to disguise herself as a kitchen maid.

"There's nae much for me tae hide in," Eoin noted. "We'll have tae just hope I'm mistaken for an O'Sullivan soldier in the chaos."

"Just stay out of sight as much as ye can," Maeve told him. She paused, taking a shaky breath. Being here was making her dizzy, but she would not allow herself to give into the fear within her heart while Cailean was waiting for her. "Follow me. Stay close."

It was shocking how easy it was to traverse the corridors which were somehow simultaneously familiar and strange—echoes from a distant memory, a different life. Eoin stayed close behind, but did not speak, for which Maeve was thankful. She needed the quiet to help keep herself together, as the oppressive feeling of her childhood home was weighing heavily on her.

They entered one of the twisting corridors lined with the portraits of Maeve's ancestors, and she did all she could to avoid looking at them. She'd always hated the way that they stared at her, the way that they judged her, and she could feel them looking at her now, taunting her, telling her that she would fail.

A movement at the end of the corridor startled her. "Hide!" she whispered, and Eoin disappeared into an alcove behind a tapestry. Maeve waited where she was, knowing she wouldn't have time to hide too, and prayed that her maid's disguise would be enough.

That hope disappeared as soon as the person came properly into view.

She'd gotten taller since Maeve had seen her last. Her body had filled out, more a woman's frame now than a girl's, and she wore her hair as a lady might. But the face, the eyes, the astonished expression on the face—all of it was unmistakable.

"Nessa," Maeve breathed, not even trying to pretend she did not know that it was her little sister who walked toward her now.

Nessa gaped at her for a moment, then her expression neutralized, transforming into the cold suspicion that Maeve knew so well. It was her father's expression, and Nessa donned it like a cloak, transforming herself even in the seconds she stood there.

"Maeve," Nessa said slowly. "Is that really ye? Are ye really such a fool as tae be here?"

Maeve took a step forward. Her hands were shaking, so she held them firmly at her side, hoping that Nessa didn't notice. "I'm here because I must be," she said. "And ye? Why are ye here?" All the anger suddenly bubbled up in force. "Roamin' the corridors as a spy for our father? Preparin' yerself in yer finery for the upcomin' execution?"

Nessa did not flinch. She folded her arms. "Our father is executin' a traitor to our king," she said coolly, though Maeve wondered at the rote way in which she said it. "And if he kent ye were here, he would execute ye as well."

"I have nae doubt about it," Maeve replied, acid in her tone. "And ye'd watch from the sidelines as he did, aye? Just as ye watched when he took us away—first me, then Breana."

For a moment, pain seemed to flash in Nessa's eyes, so briefly that Maeve might have imagined it. For a moment, she was not the evil representation of their father, but a nineteen-year-old girl, one who'd been mostly a child when Maeve was first taken away. Could it be that there really was more in this girl's heart than anyone had ever known?

But then it was gone, and the ice was back, and Nessa was once again the heartless creature her mother and father had shaped her to be. "I could expose ye. Here and now. And there's nothin' ye could do to stop it." Nessa moved forward. "Would ye like that? I imagine Father would do ye the kindness of reunitin' me with yer Pretender Prince before he's slain for good. Maybe he would even allow ye both tae die together."

Maeve did not cower. She did not shrink back. Instead, she looked Nessa fully in the eye and spoke precisely, knowing that Eoin could hear her. "Then expose me," she said. "Kill me, if that's what it takes. But ken that no matter what ye do, it willnae change anythin'. The rebellion will win—and when it does, our father will be torn down from his seat and brought tae justice. And if ye continue tae stand by his side, ye will too."

There was a frozen moment between the two sisters. Maeve had no idea which way this would go. Would this be where she died, here where it had all begun, at the word of her own sister? It would be almost poetic for it to end this way, and part of her almost hoped that Nessa would call for the guards now. At least that way, she'd be taken to Cailean. Maybe that way they'd be able to fight their way out together—or at least die together, hand in hand, making a stand for the rebellion that meant everything to their hearts and souls.

Eoin stood behind the tapestry, hand on his sword, ready to pounce when the time was right. Peering out through a tiny gap in the side of the material, he watched the confrontation between the sisters.

He would not attack the young woman who reminded him of both Maeve and Breana so much, but if she called for the guards, he would be ready to fight to protect his friend. But just as he was about to reveal himself, Nessa acted in a way that none of them could have predicted. She surged forward and grabbed Maeve by the arm, pulling her along and into a room, all before either Maeve or Eoin could react. The door slammed shut behind the women, leaving Eoin in the corridor alone.

Eoin left the alcove and went back into the corridor, torn with indecision. Should he break into that room and go after Maeve? It was unlikely that she was in direct physical danger right now—and from the sound of the murmurings in the village, time was running out for Cailean.

"Forgive me," he whispered in the direction of Maeve's door, then ran down the corridor, trusting his instincts to lead him toward the dungeons.

The king was waiting. And it seemed that Eoin was the only one who could save him.