Page 16 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

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There were too many of them. Maeve braced herself for the incoming attack, knowing that even the most inspiring speech would not be enough to shield them against the O'Sullivan warriors and guards who were now approaching. She gripped Tailfeather, ready to fight to the death if that was what it took. It would be impossible for the four of them to win , but at least they could make a final stand here. At least they could make their deaths mean something, just as Cailean had said.

But then there was movement in the crowd, and something happened that Maeve could barely comprehend.

As one, many of the watchers moved. Mostly farmers and villagers, but even some warriors and a couple of chiefs from other clans. They drew their swords or found things to arm themselves with if they had no weapon, and as a group, they turned their backs on the platform and faced outward to the attackers. Standing side by side, these people, these strangers , formed a human barrier between O'Sullivan's men and allies, and the platform where Darren and Eoin had just finished dispatching the two guards.

Maeve gaped at the scene in front of her, then, before the stillness could break, she turned and clambered up onto the platform. In that moment of shock and silence, she could see only one thing—only one person. Cailean looked toward her, and his grey eyes softened, his wearied face breaking out into a beaming smile as bright as the sun.

She flew across the stage to him, running at full speed toward the man she'd feared she'd never see again. Cailean opened his arms and he caught her in a fierce embrace. There were no words, no need for any speech. They just held each other, breathing in each other's scent, secure in the knowledge that they were together once more—and that nothing would ever break them apart again.

The moment was broken as O'Sullivan let out an almost animalistic howl of rage. "What are ye doin'?" he commanded. "Kill them! Kill them all!"

The silence shattered, the stillness breaking, and a frenzy whipped up in the crowd. The barrier dissolved as the O'Sullivan loyalists and the new allies took up arms together. These brave men, fighting for a king they'd long believed dead, remembering oaths that survived deep in the beating heart of the country, slumbering until at last they were awakened again here and now.

Though the new allies fought fiercely, several of the O'Sullivan men broke through and climbed onto the platform, aiming straight for Cailean. Maeve whirled, her sword raised, and Eoin and Darren fell in at her side.

"Here," Darren said, turning to Cailean and holding out a sword he'd taken from one of the fallen guards. "Think ye might need this."

The fight broke out again in earnest, and Maeve put aside her relief and joy for the moment to focus only on her duty as a warrior—her need to protect the ones she loved. She remembered everything that Senan had taught her, every tip and trick she'd picked up in her training with Cailean and her experience on the field. She dodged and weaved and parried, fighting in earnest against two men. She fell into an intense focus, feeling Tailfeather as an extension of her own arm, losing herself in the deadly dance.

As she ducked out of the way of one of the soldier's blows, Maeve saw someone standing just at the edge of the conflict, watching with wide eyes and an uncertain expression on her face. Nessa looked—for the first time that Maeve could remember—genuinely scared. The memory of the way little Nessa had turned away at Patrick's execution filled Maeve's heart again. As a child, Maeve had seen Nessa's condemnation of Patrick as a traitor as a sign she was as manipulative and cruel as their father. Now, though, with a wealth of experience behind her and an understanding of the world that she hadn't had before, combined with the fear she could see…

She had to get to Nessa. She had to help her. Nessa needed a chance at freedom too. She might reject it, might confirm herself as their father's daughter forever, but Maeve had to at least give her that chance.

"Nessa!" she shouted over the din of the fighting around her. She dodged out of the way of another attack and quickly cut down her attacker, leaving him bleeding but alive on the ground as she made her way across the platform. Her desperation to reach the other side, to get to Nessa, felt almost as powerful as when she'd thought Cailean was gone. Maybe today she would be able to save her family. All of her family. "Nessa, I'm comin'!"

More soldiers got in the way, and the sky broke open, rain pouring down upon them. It created more noise, more chaos, and the fighting just intensified under the weeping of the heavens and the howling of the raging wind. Maeve's hair and clothes were soaked in moments, but she barely noticed, only taking care not to slip as she fought hard against those attacking her. She could barely see their faces anymore, only focusing on her sister, who was so tantalizingly close that it was painful.

"Nessa!" she screamed over the wind and rain and the sound of swords clashing. "Ye're better than this! Better than him ! Leave our father behind and come with us! Be part of the future of this country with us."

Nessa stared at her, and Maeve reached the end of the platform. Her sister was only a few steps away. To her delight, Nessa actually took a few steps forward, raising her hand toward Maeve, uncertainty still etched on her features.

"Breana is with us. You can be too—" Maeve started, but she was cut off as a dark, imposing figure appeared as if out of nowhere, blocking Nessa from view.

"Ye!" James O'Sullivan hissed, knocking Maeve to the ground as he caught her unawares. She tried to scramble back to her feet, but he stomped his foot on her chest, causing her to cry out in pain and holding her in place. "Ye've been a thorn in me side since the moment ye came squallin' intae this world. At least Breana was obedient before ye corrupted her. Ye were only ever a pretty face, a pawn tae be sold, and ye couldnae even do that correctly."

Maeve felt her childhood fear creep in as she lay there, pinned on the wood of the platform, as the storm picked up speed around them. The sound of the fighting was still as loud as ever, but there was something wrong with her hearing. It seemed to her that everything dimmed, everything slowed, as the man who she feared most loomed over her. Tailfeather had skittered out of her hand when she fell, and she couldn't even see it in the crowd.

Helpless. She was helpless.

O'Sullivan pressed his foot down harder on her chest. "And now ye try tae take Nessa from me. Me daughter, the only person I have who is close tae an heir. Ye're a pest, a demon, and I've nae doubt ye killed yer mother too."

It was becoming difficult to breathe, but Maeve recognized it when she heard it. This man was mad—truly insane. Did he believe that she had something to do with her mother's death? Perhaps, in his twisted mind, she had. And though part of her wished to reject him entirely, a small part of her, the child who had always yearned to be loved, felt pity for him.

"Ye…were supposed tae be…me father…" she wheezed, struggling against the weight of his heavy boot crushing the air from her lungs. "Ye were…supposed tae be… a parent …tae all of us…"

O'Sullivan's eyes flashed with a dark madness. "And ye were supposed tae be a son," he hissed. "But ye were born a traitorous whore. I should have killed ye long ago." He raised his sword in his unwounded arm. "Allow me tae correct that mistake!"

Maeve closed her eyes as the sword came plunging down, her thoughts racing. Where was Breana? Was she safe? Oh, she prayed that Nessa didn't see this moment. And Cailean, her beloved Cailean…she hoped he'd fight on when she was gone. She tightened her fists, prepared for the killing blow.

But instead, a loud clang of metal on metal sounded, and the weight on her chest was suddenly relieved.

Gasping for air, Maeve's eyes flew open, and she saw her father stumble backward as Cailean pressed the attack, pushing him away from Maeve. His sword clashed against O'Sullivan's, pushing him back, and Maeve could breathe again. Because Cailean was here.

Dark fury whirled deep in Cailean's soul as he stood between Maeve and James O'Sullivan, the kind of insidious anger he'd gone his whole life trying to avoid. Maeve had almost died just seconds before, and knowing he'd only reached her on time by luck.

O'Sullivan glared darkly at him, blood running down his shirt from his shoulder wound, his eyes alight with frenzy. He was unsteady on his feet, and Cailean could tell that the blood loss was getting to him.

Cailean had the advantage. This pathetic man could no longer put up much of a fight. With one slice of his sword, Cailean could put an end to him once and for all. He'd kill him now, then he'd return to McKenzie Castle and slay Murtagh, and then…

Movement behind O'Sullivan distracted him, and he saw a figure turn and run, disappearing into the night. Nessa, Maeve's younger sister, the only one who was still a prisoner here.

Cailean had heard Maeve's words just a moment before. Ye were supposed tae be our father. And he was, wasn't he? The only parent that Maeve had left, the only connection to the childhood that had been robbed from her. He thought of Eoin, who he knew was still struggling from the death of a father he'd hated, and he knew then that he couldn't do it. He couldn't cause Maeve that kind of conflict or pain, no matter how much O'Sullivan might deserve it.

O'Sullivan stumbled, falling to his knees on the ground in front of Cailean, still clutching his bleeding arm. He stared up at Cailean with eyes filled with hatred.

"Do it!" O'Sullivan yelled, spittle forming around his mouth. "Kill me, then, Pretender Prince! The True King will kill ye all where ye stand! He'll slaughter yer rebellion, every last man. He'll be rid of me traitor daughters. And then, when ye've lost everythin' , he'll kill ye as well."

Cailean set his jaw, then hit out with the blunt end of his sword, swiping the laird across the head. O'Sullivan fell to the ground, unconscious, but very much not dead.

He turned back to Maeve, but she was gone, already on her feet again. She'd gone scrambling into the now heaving crowd on the platform, retrieving her sword, and launched right back into the fighting. Nearby, Eoin and Darren were fighting fiercely too, and Cailean realized that he had no time to think about what he had just done.

There was still a fight to win.

Breana felt endlessly frustrated as she listened to the fighting break out just beyond the walls. Eoin had found her and Darren shortly after his attempted rescue of Cailean and explained the plan. But while Eoin had gone to find Maeve and Darren had pretended to be one of the guards, Breana, who had no combat training, was made to promise to stay away from the action. She had protested, but Eoin had pleaded with her, and she'd eventually given in—after all, if she were honest, she would be no help on the battlefield.

Instead, she'd stayed in the castle, the horrible place that had once been her home, and made her way to her father's study. She'd felt an intense fear as she entered the room, a place that had only ever been a den of punishment for her, so much so that she'd almost run away without getting what she'd come here for.

But she steeled herself. She might not be able to fight on a battlefield, but she remembered Eoin's words. Bravery came in many different forms, and facing her demons in this room was something she had to do. The information she could potentially retrieve from this study could turn the tide for the rebellion once and for all.

It took a little searching, but she soon found what she was looking for. A complicated map was rolled up in a little cache hidden behind her father's desk. She took it out and flattened it across the table, taking in the complex depiction of the Highlands and all of the clan lands. There were diagrams and icons all over, confusing to anyone who was not experienced in cartography, but to Breana, it was a goldmine of information.

O'Sullivan had laid it all out. The plans for the next few attacks. The allyships he had already secured and the ones he was targeting next, all in the name of the False King. This was information that could really sway the path for the rebels, information they would have had to fight a war for if not for Breana's help—because she alone could understand exactly what it meant. Exactly how they could use it to their advantage.

For the first time in a long, long time—maybe for the first time in forever—Breana felt a flood of pride in herself and her abilities. She couldn't bring the whole map with her, so she quickly copied down the relevant information into her own little book, then went searching for anything else she could find in the room that might help.

Breana put a few books and a few letters she uncovered into her bag, then froze as her fingers found something under her father's desk. A little hidden drawer popped out when she pressed it, and inside was a single letter.

Breana’s breath caught as she recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

With shaking hands, she drew out the paper and unfolded it, revealing to her what might possibly have been the last words that her mother ever wrote to her father.

My beloved James,

The end is drawing near for me. Our time is short, my love, and it's important you have the truth on paper about what you must do when I am gone.

Our daughter, Nessa, is my pride and joy. She has fulfilled everything that her sisters could not, and I want nothing more in my heart and soul than for her to carry on the legacy of our families. Find her a husband who can take on your title when we are both gone, one who will respect the name of O'Sullivan so that our bloodlines can continue to rule long after our bodies are buried.

As for the others—Darach seems pleased with his bride, and so at least our most troublesome daughter is in a place where she can no longer cause us any shame. Visit Maeve once a year and ensure that she remembers who her family is, and where her loyalty lies. Through her and the son she will one day have, we can maintain the power of Darach and a good portion of the Highlands for ourselves.

And finally, for Breana, the softhearted child who seems to have come from neither of us. I despair about what we are to do with this girl. She is pretty enough, but she does not have Maeve's extraordinary beauty, nor does she possess the wit and poise of our beloved Nessa. But she is our oldest daughter, and eyes are upon us, always. Find her a husband who is loyal to the throne, but act as though she is your greatest prize, your most priceless gem. Use her wisely, when the time is right.

And now to you, my husband. Forgive me, if you can, for never bearing you the son you so desired. Know that my dedication to the O'Sullivan name will carry long beyond this life. You are amongst the king's most trusted soldiers, and I go to my grave proud of you and all that you have done. We deserved the wealth and the power that has come to us, and I trust in you, my love, to do all that you can to maintain it, no matter the cost.

Let the country know that we are the ones who rule. Let them know our might.

Ensure our daughter follows in our footsteps, and that the other two can be used to find us favor in the eyes of the king. Live on, my laird, and remember what is truly important. Allow our name to soar. Allow our wealth to grow. And remember, always remember, who we are.

We are O'Sullivans. And this country is ours.

Yours, in life and death,

Rose

Breana stared at the letter, tears in her eyes, her hands shaking so badly that the words wouldn't stay still. She had known what her mother thought of her, known that she was never anything to them but a tool, but to see it so starkly…

Strangely, though, it didn't break her. It gave her a kind of renewed strength. Her mother had thought she and Maeve as nothing more than pawns, but had they not shown already that they were beyond that? Malcolm and Kyle Darach were both dead.

Breana and Maeve had built lives beyond what was expected of them. Maeve would one day be queen of all of Scotland, having found the love of her life and the strength to fight. And Breana… Breana had found she had skills, too. Quieter skills, but no less important. She thought of Eoin, of the first man who had made her feel alive, and smiled.

Yes, she was stronger than anyone had ever thought of her. She was no softhearted child, but a woman, strong and proud. She may never lift a sword, but that did not mean that she was weak. Eoin had taught her that. Maeve had taught her that. And at that moment, in defiance of her mother's words, she'd taught herself that too.

Tucking the letter away with the rest of the things she was taking, Breana turned and left the study, hurrying to get outside and into the fray. She may not be able to battle, but that did not mean that she was out of the fight. And she would protect her sister, the rebels, and her true family—in whatever way she could.

Maeve was growing exhausted. The fighting had died down as the attacking force had realized that O'Sullivan had been downed. Those who had fought on the side of the rebels had rounded up the attacking force and were keeping them at bay. Her father's unconscious body had been whisked away at some point in the confusion, and nobody could figure out where they'd gone.

Cailean, Maeve, Darren, and Eoin finally met in the middle of the raised platform, standing together in the eerie silence that followed the intense battle. Maeve had the horrible feeling that this quiet was false; they had not gotten through the storm yet, but only to the eye.

Each of them carried their own wounds, but none looked worse for the wear. Darren was the first to speak, a wild smile on his face, looking alive and bright. "Do ye think that's all they have tae throw at us?"

"I hope so," Cailean replied, sounding grim. "I'll fight tae me last breath if I have tae, but I'd rather that last breath not be today."

Eoin squinted out over the crowd, then gasped. "Look! Is that…is that Breana?"

Maeve turned and stared out down to the ground level. Sure enough, there was Breana, fighting her way through the crowd with a single-minded determination on her face. A few moments later, she had reached the platform, and Maeve put down a hand to help her sister clamber up.

"Ye were supposed tae stay inside. Tae stay safe until we could come and find ye," Eoin told her, strong worry in his tone.

Breathless, Breana waved him away. She clutched Maeve's hand and asked, "Nessa?"

"She…she disappeared…" Maeve replied, feeling sorrow clawing at her heart. "Maybe we can go find her, maybe we can…"

"We cannae," Breana said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but we have tae go. Now. I overheard…the reinforcements, they're comin' now. The False King has sent men tae protect his asset, and it willnae be long before they get here."

"We cannae leave," Cailean said immediately. "We cannae."

Maeve knew the feeling. Her impulse was to stay, too; to keep fighting by these brave people who had taken up arms to protect their king. But she looked around the battlefield, and at each of her friends, and saw the exhaustion and pain there. They would not be able to hold themselves up against another full-frontal attack.

She placed a hand on Cailean's arm. "Love," she said, "This cannae be the end. These people, all of our people, they need ye. I need ye."

Cailean met her eyes, and Maeve felt the hesitation there, the way he was torn between what his duty and heart told him and the absolute reality of the situation. Eventually, though, it ripped him apart inside, and he nodded in response to her beseeching look.

"We're nae runnin'," she promised him. "But we have tae go. Or it will all have been for nothin'."

She held out a hand. And Cailean took it.