Page 19 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

EPILOGUE

Cailean and Maeve walked cautiously toward the laird's room of Bruce Castle, which Kier had ceded to Cailean's control for as long as the castle served as the rebellion's base. A messenger had arrived not long before with urgent news, and Cailean had instantly been on alert. He'd been surprised to learn, though, that they were not under attack—rather, a cohort of soldiers had arrived led by a mysterious woman, insisting that there was a message they must pass on to the rightful king.

When the pair arrived in the receiving chamber, Darren was already in place at the side of Cailean's seat. He gave Cailean a swift grin and Maeve a wink as they entered, confusing Cailean more. He hadn't been expecting to find his friend so relaxed. Sitting on either side of Maeve and Darren's seats, filling out the rest of the great table, were the four council members.

"What is this?" Cailean asked as he and Maeve settled into their places. "Has Ferda returned from her mission with soldiers tae join our cause?"

A flash of concern crossed Darren's face at that. They hadn't heard from his cousin in many weeks, and as time went on since Cailean's return, it was beginning to feel more suspicious. However, before he could answer, the door opened again, and the visitor and her cohort of soldiers walked inside, escorted by Fergus and Deirdre.

Cailean forgot what he'd been talking about at that moment, all of his attention and surprise taken by the figure who led the group. She had changed in the weeks since he'd seen her; she was fuller in figure now, her hair clean and styled, her dress modest but cleanly well-made. She looked positively regal, all the gaunt tiredness gone from her face, and she met Cailean's eyes with a fierce confidence that made him glad that this was an ally and not an enemy.

"Lady McKenzie," he greeted, getting to his feet. Chairs scraped around him as the others hurried to do the same. "It does me heart well tae see ye not only escaped, but thrived."

Maeve gasped at his side. "Lady McKenzie!" she exclaimed, then covered her mouth. "Forgive me, I… ye look so much like Sorcha."

Flora McKenzie smiled faintly at that. "Aye. If only me niece had been able tae escape as easily as I did."

"We havenae given up on her," Cailean promised, though he knew that Sorcha McKenzie was just one of the many loose ends that faced them on the long, tough road ahead. "Murtagh McKenzie will pay for what he's done, and Sorcha willnae be made tae suffer for longer than she needs tae."

"I ken that ye cannae focus on the lass right away, dinnae fear," Flora told him, though there was a tinge of sadness to her tone. "Winnin' the war is more important. I owe ye me thanks for savin' me life, Cailean McNair, and now it's time I returned the favor."

Cailean blinked, looking around at the soldiers. Many of them looked older, but none looked any the less fierce for it, each of them with a sense of strength and loyalty emanating from their very being. He wondered from where they had come—had she gathered them on her journey? What had been her story?

"A cousin has been shelterin' me," Lady McKenzie explained as if she had heard his unspoken question. "But now isnae the time tae hide away. Clan McKenzie belongs tae me lost son, and I intend tae claim it back in his name. And Scotland… Scotland belongs tae a king who loves her. I am here tae pledge the power of these loyal men and of meself tae yer cause, if ye'll have us, yer Majesty. The power of me cousin's clan and all of those who still remain loyal tae McNair amongst the McKenzies—there are more than ye might think. And, of course, whatever strength an old woman can bring now that ye've given her another chance at life."

Overwhelmed, Cailean simply nodded. "I… I would be more than grateful for yer support," he told her. "Thank ye."

Maeve, his wonderful Maeve, was more articulate. "Whatever strength ye can bring tae the cause is welcomed, Lady McKenzie, but ken that ye're welcome here as a friend nae matter what. If there is anythin' we can do tae restore this land, including yer clan lands, tae their rightful strength, then we will do it. Ye have me word—our word."

Cailean gave her a warm look, proud to have her by his side.

Flora smiled in approval. "It seems ye've picked a wise queen tae keep by yer side," she observed. "Good. A king is only as powerful as those with whom he keeps close counsel. Keep her close."

"I intend tae," Cailean replied. "Thank ye again, Lady McKenzie. Will ye and yer men lodge here at Bruce Castle?"

She shook her head. "Nay. There is work tae be done back at me cousin's clan, and it is only sensible that we expand the physical reach of our cause. But… if I may speak tae ye on a more personal level, me king?"

"Please. Ye kent me as a bairn, and saw me at me lowest in those dungeons. Ye must continue tae call me Cailean and allow me tae benefit from yer wisdom," he told her in earnest, gaining an approving glance from Senan in the process.

Flora nodded. "I have news that is important tae ye as a king, Cailean—but also news which will have a powerful effect on ye, personally. I need ye tae understand that what I am about tae say may change the very face of this rebellion, and ye will need the strength of yer queen and yer friends tae handle the weight of it."

Without really realizing what he was doing, Cailean found his hand seeking Maeve's. She took it and held it, unashamed to display their bond before the others.

"Tell me, please," he implored Flora. "Whatever it is, I must ken."

"Indeed." Flora let out a breath. "Twenty years ago, when me family was ripped from me… well, ye ken that pain more than most, Cailean. I ken how ye suffered. The king and queen, yer mother and father, they were me friends. I've told ye as much before."

Cailean remained silent, glad for the anchor of Maeve's hand in his.

"But we've received new information, rumors which may not be true and yet mean too much tae be ignored," Flora went on. She glanced at the councilmen one by one, then at Darren and Maeve, before finally looking Cailean directly in the eye. "Ye ken how ye were spirited away that night, saved from certain death by the White Sparrow. Ye ken yer brothers and parents and sister were killed. But the youngest lass, the little one who was still a babe in arms…"

"Neala," Cailean whispered, his voice catching in his throat. His pulse raced in anticipation, unable to understand what was about to happen, unable to dare hope.

"There are rumors, well-founded rumors, that the wee one may have also been taken from the castle that night," Flora told him in a calm, steady voice.

Maeve's hand tightened in his, but Cailean could not look at her, nor at anything except Flora.

"What are ye sayin'?" he demanded. "What do ye mean?"

"I'm sayin'," Lady McKenzie said, "That yer sister, Neala McNair, may still be alive."

Hope echoed from all sides as Maeve and Cailean walked through the nearby village, seeing the banners of various clans which had now declared themselves under the McNair name raised. The McKenzie banner had joined them, flown in defiance of the pretender who had murdered his own brother to steal his seat, and Cailean smiled at it as he walked by. It was a sign that, no matter how much damage the False King had done in his ravaging of their country, there was nothing they could not overcome, nothing they could not heal.

Maeve kept correcting people who referred to her as 'yer majesty' or the like when she walked past. She was happy to be a queen, but, as she explained it to Cailean, she would be a ruler of equals, not someone who lorded her strength over them. Cailean loved her for that, as it was how he felt as well. They may well be the face of the rebellion and the future rulers of their whole country should they succeed—but they would always be Cailean and Maeve first and foremost.

They passed Eoin and Breana who were sitting at a little table outside the local tavern, their heads close together as they whispered to one another. Maeve and Cailean both exchanged knowing glances and smiled at the sight, but they did not stop, nor did they interrupt the new couple who were taking their time to get to know each other. After all, what was the point of this rebellion if not to allow new love to thrive?

"I'm truly glad that yer sister is with us," Cailean told her. "She showed bravery beyond what I could have ever expected when she came for us. She's a wonder amongst women, just as ye are. It's a marvel yer father raised such as the two of ye."

Maeve smiled at that, her pretty features lighting up at the compliment to her sister. "I suppose ye're thinkin' of yer own sister," she mused. It had been a few days since Lady McKenzie had revealed the rumors, and while Maeve had made it clear that she would be there when he was ready to talk, she had respected that Cailean needed some time to think upon it himself.

Now, though, his thoughts flowed easily. "I am. I never dreamed that any of me siblin's might have lived. Neala…she was the wee one, the bairn. I scarcely remember the games we used to play with me brothers, but I remember how much I adored the wee baby. That she might live… it changes everythin' in me heart and soul, Maeve. Truly."

Maeve took his hand. "It's a lot for anyone tae deal with. I dinnae want tae be negative without a cause, but ye must recall that they are only rumors. It could be that it comes tae naught."

Cailean had thought a lot about that in the last few days. He shook his head, frowning—not at Maeve, but in deep consideration. "I was just a rumor for the last two decades. I ken the power of words. Maybe it's a false hope, maybe it's too much tae ask for… but I cannae shake the feelin' that the rumor is true."

They paused at the edge of the village just before the entrance to the forest, a little away from the celebratory mood nearby. Maeve turned to face Cailean, looking up at him with understanding in her gaze. He felt heartened to see that expression, knowing that she would support him no matter what.

"I ken we have a war tae win, and I will fight as hard as ever. But, Maeve, if there's a chance that Neala is out there…if there's a chance me wee sister is alive… I will find her. It doesnae matter how far I have tae go, what risks I have tae take. If Neala is waitin' for me, I'll be by her side." He took a breath, emotion clogging up his words.

Maeve took his hands in hers. "I ken," she said simply. "We'll find her together." She paused, and then a little hesitantly added, "And…maybe we'll be able tae save me sister, as well."

Cailean didn't answer that, because he knew that Maeve did not need words or doubts about Nessa right now. She and Breana had spent a lot of the last few days discussing their interactions with their younger sister, and Cailean could hear the longing and hope in Maeve's voice now as she spoke of it. He didn't know if they'd ever be able to pull the third O'Sullivan sister from their evil father's grasp, but he knew that Maeve would do whatever she could to try.

He pressed her hands lightly. "I ken we can do whatever we need tae, so long as we're together." He met her eyes, and love flooded him, pure and simple and true. "Ye've given me everythin', Maeve. Me sense of purpose. The courage I needed tae reclaim me name and take me place as a leader of this rebellion and the future of our country. Ye've made me feel like there's a hope for a bright future once we make it through the chaos."

Maeve smiled at him, that special soft smile she saved only for Cailean. It made his heart leap just as much now as it had the first time he saw it. "There's a lot of chaos tae get through first," she warned him, though he heard the lightheartedness in her voice too. "There'll be many challenges."

"Many triumphs, too," Cailean answered, more sure of that than he'd ever been. "Whatever happens, I'll always come back tae ye. Ye're me home. Me only love."

"Whatever comes," Maeve assured him. "We'll find our way tae each other. And we'll give our people back their home."

The convent was ancient, though well-maintained, and the young women who called it home often thought of the sprawling stone building as a remnant of a much older Scotland. It stood deep within a forest, hidden from the rest of the world, once the hidden home of a secret order of holy women and now the nest of the hardworking Sparrows.

In its small kitchen, deep in the basement, a young woman sat crushing nuts in a bowl, setting about her daily duties as she always did. The girl was around three and twenty, with pretty waves of blonde hair that travelled halfway down her back and a pair of curious dark eyes. Her two friends, close as sisters, sat around her—Iona, who was sixteen, and little Catriona, just fourteen, chattering away to her as they always did.

It had always been like this with Iona and Cat. As long as Neala could remember, she had protected the two younger orphans, helping them through their training as Sparrows and through their day-to-day duties as well. They adored her, and she loved them in turn. She had been too young to remember the family that had been taken from her, though she knew she'd once had a blood sister and three brothers. She felt their loss every day, and she hoped deep in her heart that the way she cared for Iona and Cat would at least make up for the fact she had never been able to protect her birth family.

A silly way to think about it, Laura always said, as Neala had only been a baby when her parents and siblings were murdered. Nevertheless, Neala always felt a deep guilt about being the only one to survive, though she was determined to use that gift in any way that she could. She knew that, of all her siblings, she looked most like their father—she had his hair, as all of her siblings had, but also his eyes. Part of her wished she'd inherited the grey eyes of her mother so that she could carry them both with her. She knew, though, that both her parents were watching over her.

"Do ye think it's true, then? That the rebellion has made moves?" Iona asked excitedly. "I heard they even faced off against Laird O'Sullivan."

"Where did ye hear that? Have ye been listenin' in on the meetin's again?" Cat demanded. "That isnae fair! Ye should take me with ye!"

As the two girls bickered, Neala wondered about the rebellion. She had only heard murmurings here and there. She knew that the Sparrows had been deeply involved in it over the years, following the enigmatic Kier Bruce and several other men in the council. Morag, who Neala rarely saw, always spoke highly of them, and several other Sparrows had taken on important roles in feeding them information.

Something had changed recently, but Neala didn't know what. The Sparrows worked on a need-to-know basis, except for their highest leaders—Laura, Morag, and a few of the more experienced Sparrows like Ann. It was for their safety so that no Sparrow could give too much information if captured, but though Neala understood this, she found it very frustrating sometimes.

But if things were changing on the outside, then it was time for things to change here too. Neala was the last of the McNairs, the only remnant of the true king's bloodline, and she would no longer sit back in safety while others led the rebellion.

"What are ye doin' with all those walnuts?" Cat asked, growing bored of her playful argument and turning her attention back to Neala. "Are ye makin' a paste?"

"Aye, but it isnae for eatin', so keep yer fingers away," Neala warned her. "It's for darkenin' me hair."

"Yer hair!" Iona protested. "Ye cannae!"

"Why would ye damage those lovely golden locks? Ye simply mustnae. I willnae allow it," Cat added. "It'll make them all muddy brown, like mine."

"Yer hair isnae muddy ," Neala scolded her. "It's brown like tree bark. Bonny."

"But yers is like sunlight," Iona argued. "Ye must leave it be."

Neala sighed. It was difficult for her to argue, because if she was truly honest, she was reluctant to do this too. She was not particularly vain, but her hair had always meant a lot to her—the physical sign that tied her to all of her lost family. She had one tiny portrait of them, faded over time, that Laura had snuck out of the castle the day she'd saved Neala's life. Her father, Robert McNair, tall and blonde and proud with the same striking dark eyes as Neala. Her lovely mother, Fiona, whose own hair had been like cornsilk. And the children, so small, ranging in age down to Neala who had scarcely been able to walk, each with their mother's grey eyes and their father's golden hair.

That picture was Neala's proudest possession, and her hair was the last reminder she had of who she truly was.

But things needed to be done.

"Hush, the pair of ye. It's for the mission," Neala told them.

The younger girls instantly fell silent, almost awestruck by the mere mention of it. They were both coming close to the end of their training, and both would soon be sent on missions of their own—though neither would be attempting anything as dangerous as what she was about to do.

"I cannae take any risk, nae matter how small, that I may be discovered. I ken it would be hard tae recognize me now from the bairn I was, but if anyone is reminded of me father when they look at me, all could be lost." She closed her eyes for a moment, the gravity of the missions settling on her shoulders. "I've been trainin' and preparin' for too long tae let a silly thing like me hair ruin it all."

Iona and Cat nodded solemnly.

Just then, the door to the kitchen opened, and an older woman walked in, her long dark hair flecked with grey. She surveyed them all for a moment, then made a small gesture. At the sign, the two younger girls instantly got up and left, obeying one of the two leaders of the White Sparrows without any argument.

When they were alone, Neala said, "I hope ye arenae here tae try tae dissuade me."

Laura closed the gap between them, taking the seat that Iona had just vacated, and replied, "Ye ken, nae many of the lassies dare talk tae me so frankly."

"Nae many of the lassies have been on yer hip practically since birth," Neala replied. She smiled, and Laura smiled back. Despite that, she could see the worry in her old nursemaid's eyes. "Ye dinnae need tae do this, Laura."

"I do," Laura replied. "But ye dinnae." She shook her head. "Twenty years ago, I had hoped… I'd hoped I could have managed tae help both ye and Abigail tae escape, but I failed in that. Yer brothers, as well, I had tae leave behind. But I got ye out, and I swore with all that I had that I'd protect ye."

"And ye have," Neala assured her. "But now it's me turn tae act."

Laura nodded, gazing down at the nut paste in the bowl. "Aye," she said, the word a reedy sigh. "But ye can still change yer mind. We can buy more time. Ye can wait until Morag returns…"

"We dinnae ken when that will be. We havenae heard from her or from Ann in weeks." Neala shook her head. "If the rumors are true, if the rebellion is truly makin' strides, then there's nae more time tae wait."

Worry flashed across Laura's face, and Neala knew that it wasn't just for her. She wouldn't admit it, but it was clear to them all that Laura was very worried about the other head Sparrow. Still, her attention was back on Neala in a moment. "Someone else could take this role, child. Ye're so valuable. We could find ye another mission, one less dangerous?—"

Neala held up a hand. They'd had this argument before, over and over again, and Neala would not hear it anymore. "It's me fate. Me duty. Me legacy . I would be betrayin' me family, betrayin' meself, if I didnae do this. I will take me revenge, one way or another, and help free the country from this darkness once and for all."

Laura sighed, but she nodded again, more decisively this time. "Give me the bowl, child. Allow me tae finish the grindin' while ye fetch the rest."

The two didn't speak anymore as they worked, and when the preparation was ready, Laura helped Neala apply it to her hair, then, at Neala's insistence, set to work with a pair of scissors. After the dye had time to set, Laura led Neala to a mirror and bade her to look.

The same dark eyes stared back at her, the same sharp nose and strong though feminine jaw, the same freckles on her nose. But it was amazing how different she felt now, seeing a woman with shoulder-length dark hair staring back at her instead of the waves of gold. She swallowed, though remained dry-eyed, and turned back to Laura.

"Ye'll need a new name," Laura told her. "Ye'll choose one on the way. And ye must live and breathe yer new self. Ye cannae be Neala McNair, nae anymore, nae until the mission is done."

"I ken," Neala replied.

Laura held out her arms, and the formality broke as the two embraced, more like mother and daughter than teacher and student for a brief moment. When they parted, Laura kept her hands on Neala's shoulders.

"Now," she said, "Are ye ready?"

Neala glanced back at the girl in the mirror, then back to her mentor. "Aye. I'm ready."

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