Page 2 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

1

Maeve settled into line with the rest of the men and women warriors as the sun settled into the morning, and the training session was ready to begin. Their numbers had swollen since the battle for Bruce Castle; the rebels she'd come to know and love were all here, along with many of the men who had previously been under Darach's command.

Maeve had been relieved to find that they had more or less been welcomed into the rebellion with open arms, never having their previous allegiance hung over their heads, never having to face mistrust from the other rebels in the weeks they'd been here. After all, she'd been a Darach once, too, and by birth she was an O'Sullivan—she'd been as involved with traitors and servants of the False King as one could get. But Cailean knew, and the rest of the rebels knew, that her heart was here with the promise of a free Scotland, and she believed that these men, too, would give their everything for the cause.

Cailean had offered to let them go, let them leave Scotland and start life anew, and a few had taken him up on the offer. But many more had stayed, and that had given Maeve hope, even within the fear that other clans were not responding and not rallying the way they were supposed to.

"Ye all right? Ye were here early," a voice said quietly next to her. Maeve turned her head to see her friend, Eoin, standing by her side, now fully healed and ready to join in the training with the others.

"Just eager as always," Maeve told him. "How's Bre?"

Eoin went a little red around the ears. "What do ye mean? She's yer sister, ye ken how she is; ye'll see her at lunch as always."

"Aye, but I ken ye've been havin' breakfast with her and the healers every day," Maeve replied, laughing a little at the way he responded. "Patty tells me ye've been spendin' all yer time there when ye're not out trainin'."

"Well, the healers helped me a lot. And Breana and I are friends," Eoin replied. "And ye need tae stop teasin'."

Maeve grinned. "Och, ye love it," she said. She paused, then added, "How are ye?"

Eoin's smile faded a little. He was mostly doing well, but he'd had a hard time of it in the aftermath of the fall of Kyle Darach—his own father. Kyle had been ready to kill Eoin for helping Maeve escape, and Eoin's loyalties were firmly with Cailean, but Maeve understood better than most that the loyalties of family were a lot more complex than logical. She wondered what she would do, how she would feel, if she saw her own father, or her other sister, destroyed before her eyes. Could she be as strong as Eoin? She hated her father and how he'd treated her for her whole life, but she didn't know how she'd feel. And worse, she knew the day would come eventually. After all, he was another block between Cailean and defeating the False King once and for all.

"I'm here, and I'm strong enough," Eoin replied after a pause. "We're doin' what we need tae, and I'm where I need tae be. Everythin' else is secondary."

Maeve nodded, touching his arm briefly. "I'm glad ye're me friend," she told him. "I never really got a chance tae thank ye for?—"

"I saved ye. Ye saved me. There's nae more tae be said on the matter," Eoin replied. He winked. "Pairs for sparrin' today?"

"Ye're on."

Cailean's voice cut across the training field, interrupting the conversation with the natural ease of a leader. All chatter died down and the men and women of the warrior group turned to face him, each ready to obey.

"We're gonnae start with basic routines," Cailean announced. A few groans echoed out, and Cailean went on, "None of that. I ken some of ye would rather get more excited about what we're doin', but ye mustnae forget that without the basics we have naught. When it comes down tae it, kennin' a simple defense or a routine parry can be the difference between life and death."

"He's right," Darren announced from somewhere near the front of the crowd. "After all, look what Maeve managed tae do with a basic jab when our backs were all against the wall the day we took this castle back—the day that Darach fell."

Maeve gave Eoin a sidelong glance at that as the others cheered. Eoin wasn't cheering, but he didn't look upset either. He caught her staring and gave her a swift smile that she knew meant, I'm all right. I'm handlin' it. It was the best that she could expect from him.

They fell into place as the sparring began, Maeve bearing her whip-thin sword and Eoin holding a much burlier counterpart. Facing each other, they started moving in practiced circles, performing their routine with effortless ease.

"It's a bonny sword for sure," Eoin told her, moving to the side to avoid a jab. "Did the king really give it tae ye?"

"I wish ye'd stop callin' him that, true or nae," Maeve replied with a laugh. "Just Cailean. The two of ye are friends—or will be, once ye get tae ken each other better."

Eoin snorted. "Cailean, then. It was a gift?"

"Aye." Maeve ducked as Eoin swung his sword high. "And I've given her a name. She's called Tailfeather, after the bonny capercaillie who paid for her."

"Artistic," Eoin noted. He tapped the side of her arm with his sword. "Doesnae make ye faster, though."

Grinning despite her mild frustration at the loss of a point, Maeve took a step back to collect herself and redouble her efforts. "I'm plenty fast. I just felt sorry for ye," she teased. "Does Breana ken ye're such a braggart?"

"A braggart!" Eoin replied, laughing as he readied himself for their next bout. "Says the mighty queen-tae-be!"

They continued to exchange playful barbs, and Maeve was thrilled by every moment she got to spend with her friend. A long time ago, as a prisoner in this very castle, she'd dreamed of the day she would be able to befriend Eoin properly; she'd longed for the ability to just have someone with whom she could easily laugh. Eoin and Ann had been the closest things to friends she'd ever had before finding the rebels, but Ann was long since gone. She'd never expected that she'd be blessed enough to find Eoin again.

As the sparring paused, Maeve's gaze travelled to the side of the field, where many of the non-warrior rebels were watching. Some of the scouts joined in with the sparring, but many of the others stood on the sidelines along with healers, cooks, and others. Maeve saw her closest friend Ferda there, standing beside Patty and Breana. While Patty was animatedly chatting to Ferda, Breana was watching the fighting with a distant expression on her face. She wore a small frown, and her eyes seemed distant and troubled.

"Has Bre said anythin' tae ye about feelin' discomfort?" Maeve asked Eoin.

Eoin frowned slightly. "We're nae that close—we're just becomin' friends, just as I'm becomin' friends with the others here. Is there somethin' the matter?"

Maeve wasn't sure she believed the words that Eoin said, but they didn't matter at the moment. After all, Eoin had been spending much more time with Breana these weeks since the party than with almost any of the others. It made sense that they would bond; both of them had been prisoners under Kyle Darach, both of them had been betrayed by their fathers. It was the same reason that Maeve and Eoin had bonded, but with Breana and Eoin, the energy seemed different. Less sisterly, and more…

There was no time for this now. Maeve saw the troubled look on her sister's face and knew that this had to come first. "I'll come back for the next round," she told Eoin. "I just need tae make sure she's all right."

Eoin nodded, and Maeve started across the field toward her sister. However, before she could get more than a few steps, one of the messengers ran panting into the field. "Cailean!" the young man called, panting with the effort of running. "It's…it's important!"

"Stop!" Cailean announced, and the sparring across the whole field cut short at once. All eyes went to the young messenger, who jogged the last few steps before he stood in front of Cailean. A dead silence fell as everyone strained to hear. "Tell us."

"It's…one of the chieftains, sir," the messenger told him, panting a little from the effort of running here. "Someone has finally responded tae one of our messages. They've sent a man with a letter; it's waitin' in the war room for ye now."

Even from across the field, Maeve saw the look of shock mingled with wild hope in Cailean's expression. Her own heart leaped in her chest, and murmuring broke out across the field. Could it really be at long last that someone was responding to their call? Could it be that they might at long last have an ally against the darkness that had been hanging over their heads all this time? She didn't dare hope, didn't dare breathe, and yet…

"If ye want tae continue trainin', do," Cailean announced. "I must make me way tae the war room. Maeve, Darren."

Maeve gave Eoin a look, and he nodded at her, encouraging.

"Go," he said. "I'll be here."

"Check on Breana for me, will ye?" she asked. He nodded, and she leaned over and briefly kissed his cheek before hurrying off to catch up with Cailean.

The war room was filled with people. The four elder councilmen—Kier, Senan, Ewan, and Hamish—were all there, each staring a hole through a seemingly inconsequential letter that rested on top of the large wooden table in the center. Several of the scouts were there, including Ferda, and Cailean, Darren, and Maeve joined them shortly afterward. In addition, there was a messenger who Maeve did not recognize—the messenger, Maeve presumed, who had brought the news that had the whole camp holding their breath right now.

"Ah, Cailean," Senan greeted, relief in his voice. "We waited for ye. Come, son, let's see what the news is."

Maeve smiled slightly at the casual use of the word son. Cailean's blood family may have been gone, but this group of rebels truly were his family, and these four elders had all become his fathers over the years.

Kier turned to the unknown messenger and to one of their scouts. "Andrew," he said in that gruff voice of his, "Could ye take this young visitor and get him some refreshments? He must be starved."

"I'm fine—" the other clan's messenger started to protest.

"I think ye'll find ye simply must eat," Ewan suggested with a small smile. "Go on, lad. Let us have our talk in private. We'll inform ye when it's done."

The young man reluctantly allowed himself to be led away, and only when the rebel group was fully alone did Cailean at last reach for the letter. Maeve stood by his side, gently placing her hand on his arm as she noticed that his fingers were shaking an infinitesimal amount. She knew how much this meant to him. To all of them.

They had spent the weeks since the downfall of Darach and the recapture of Bruce Castle trying desperately to gather allies. At first, they'd been filled with hope and excitement, buoyed by their success, but as time wound by, it took that hope with it. Feeling it draining away had been like torture to all of them, and Maeve knew that there had been hopeless murmurings amongst some of the men that it might very well all be over soon—that they would never find allies and that the might of the False King would overwhelm them after all, no matter what they did. It was only a matter of time, some of them had claimed. They still fought, but like Cailean until recently, it was only for survival, not because they still believed they could win.

A small minority, yes, but that minority was growing loud, and it was sowing dissent amongst the rest of the rebels. Maeve couldn't blame them; the shadow of the False King grew more and more oppressive with every day that passed. She often found herself thinking of the villagers of Broken Windmill and the other towns and villages that had been faithful to the rebellion over the years. She thought of how they'd suffered and were still suffering, and how much work they still had ahead before they would be able to make these good people and this beloved country thrive once more.

And that letter on the table, resting atop a huge map of the Highlands…it might finally be what they needed to spark that flame of hope once more.

Cailean lifted the parchment and unrolled it, opening it out to read the letter to everyone there. Maeve read it alongside him, her pulse beating in time with the words.

To the Lost Prince of McNair,

Twenty years ago, Clan McNair and Clan McKenzie were staunch allies. Before the fall of the Highlands and the rise of the False King, we stood firmly side by side. After the death of the King and Queen and your brothers and sisters, we believed that all was lost, and so the McKenzie clan went into hiding. We stayed hidden, biding our time, waiting for our moment. If we'd have known that you lived, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps we could have looked for you and restored the McNair name sooner. Perhaps our Highlands would have returned to their former glory already.

All of this is to say that, though we cannot change the past, we believe that the future is still very much within our grasp. Chief Murtaugh McKenzie wishes to liaise with you and yours in order to rebuild our old alliance and bring our clans back to our old closeness. Together, we can work to restore the throne and return the Highlands to where they should be.

Our Chieftain would like to formally invite you to the McKenzie stronghold to discuss the terms of our renewed alliance. We are committed to finding our place, our country's place, and helping you bring her back to her full strength. Send word with our messenger, and we will expect you soon. We would ask that you come personally so that we can show the kind of trust between us that we want to exemplify going ahead.

We look forward to seeing you there.

When Cailean finished reading, there was a long silence, then an outbreak of talking in the room, voices twisting over each other so much that it was hard to make out any of the individual words. Maeve saw the burning hope in Cailean's eyes as he surveyed the room, but her own stomach tightened with unease.

It was true that the McKenzies had once been allies of the McNairs, but where had they been in the country's darkest hour? Where had they been when not only the McNairs had fallen, but the Bruces, and so many other loyal clans as well? Where had they been for these twenty years while the rebellion had grown strong?

Why had someone written on behalf of the chieftain? That was another important question: what had stopped Murtaugh McKenzie from writing to Cailean himself? Had he thought himself too important for such a task? And, if so…what did that mean for their alliance?

And…why had the letter been written in such plain English? Maeve knew that it was becoming more and more popular to write in a standardized form of English rather than using Scots words and phrases, and it usually wouldn't have stood out to her at all, but coming on behalf of a great Scottish chieftain, it felt strange, to say the least.

Was Maeve overreacting? Maybe. But when Cailean turned and bid silence in the room, she knew that she would have to voice her concerns. After all, she had grown to know that this would always be a place where they would listen to what she had to say.

"I'll go," Cailean said when silence fell. "I'll take a small group with me and I'll go. We cannae let this opportunity pass us by, nae when we've been waitin' for it for so long."

"The McKenzies are a strong clan, and dinnae support the False King, from what I hear," Hamish said thoughtfully. "We could do with such a powerful ally."

"Nae tae mention that once we have someone strong publicly declared for us, others will come," Ewan followed up. "I think ye're right, Cailean—we must take advantage of this opportunity."

"Hmm," was all Senan said. He had been doing that more and more recently—taking a step back, leaving it to Cailean to make the ultimate decision unless he was actively asked for advice.

Kier said, "I think Maeve has somethin' tae say."

She jumped, then turned to see his intense gaze on her. Had he been watching her this whole time? She shook her head—no need to get overwhelmed or uncertain, not now. "I do," she confirmed. "I need tae make me thoughts kent, Cailean, before ye do this."

"Speak, love," Cailean encouraged.

Her heart squirmed with pleasure at the unexpected term of endearment in public, but she did not acknowledge it, determined to get her thoughts out. She expressed the issues she had thought of, adding, "This is a risk, Cailean. If ye go, we're placin' a lot at stake—yer life included. And though that's enough for me on its own, think what yer loss would do tae the rebellion."

"Ye're right, of course," Cailean told her. His eyes showed conflicting emotions; he seemed proud of her, and his voice was gentle, but he also looked troubled. He was as aware as she was of the uncertainties that lay ahead and of the burden of the choice that lay before him. "Ye're right, but… Maeve, everyone, we cannae pass up this chance. If we can indeed sway the McKenzies tae our side, it could tip the scales of power in our favor at last."

Their eyes met, and a wordless conversation flooded between them. Maeve knew then that there was no real choice, not for Cailean—and she knew that no matter what, she'd be by his side.

"All right, then," she said with a nod. "We go."