Page 7 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

6

Cailean was gone by the time Maeve woke up the next morning, though he'd left a note on her pillow.

My love,

It pains me to leave your side, but I cannot bear to wake you while you're sleeping so peacefully. I'll sneak back to my rooms now to be sure we are not caught and accused of anything wrong (though how could being together ever be wrong is impossible to consider), but know you'll be with me every moment until I see you again tomorrow.

I'm going to be in a meeting with Murtagh all morning, so take some time to explore the castle. See who you can learn about the McKenzies. Talk to the servants, to the residents, whatever you must. I know you don’t feel sure here—so find out what you can and bring it back to me.

Don’t fear, darling. Know we're already a dozen steps forward toward a brighter tomorrow—together.

Always yours,

Cailean.

Maeve finished reading and smiled at the informal style of his writing and the wild declarations of love he was giving her even for such a short time apart. He really made her feel whole, and she was glad he'd come to her the night before. His presence had kept the bad dreams away.

Now, though, she had a task. She slipped out of bed, washed, and dressed in a casual day dress that would allow her to both be practical and look feminine and approachable for the day. She knew that today was a day for making friends, even if a large part of her wistfully wished she and Cailean were back home in their room in Bruce Castle.

An hour or two passed where Maeve explored the stronghold, exchanging pleasantries with servants she met on the way. She noticed that they were all polite but all also strangely guarded, as if they were being very careful about what they could say. Was that simply paranoia? Or was there really something sinister lurking just under the surface here at Clan McKenzie? Maeve's instincts told her that the latter was the case, but she sincerely hoped that she was wrong. There was still time to find something that proved that this hadn't all been a terrible, risky mistake.

She wandered out to the stables, wondering if she could perhaps get a word from the stable master or his family. She knew that the people who controlled the comings and goings to the castle would definitely be the best place to find out anything untoward. But she never reached the stable. Instead, in the courtyard, she found a slight, scared young woman, sitting alone on a stone bench and staring listlessly up at the sky. Nearby, watching but not interfering, sat a maid, looking worried.

"Sorcha?" Maeve asked hesitantly, approaching slowly. She didn't want to scare the obviously timid young woman, but neither could she pass up this chance to talk to the chieftain's daughter.

Startled, Sorcha almost jumped out of her seat. "Oh! Oh…ye're one of the women with McNair, are ye nae?"

"I'm sorry I scared ye. Me name is Maeve. May I sit?"

Sorcha looked uncomfortable about the request, so much so that Maeve felt sorry for her and almost backed off, but she held resolute. Eventually, Sorcha said, "Aye…aye, if ye wish. Though I'm afraid I've nae much tae offer in way of conversation. Everybody says so." Her eyes widened as if she realized she'd said something she shouldn't. "I… I mean…"

Maeve pretended not to notice, though her concern grew. This girl's intense self-doubt radiated, and it reminded Maeve uncomfortably of a time long ago, telling Breana she was worth something despite the way the family treated them both. Was that the case here, too? Surely not. It was unbearable to think that another young woman was living that way, especially in the home of a potential ally.

"I see yer maid over there," she tried. "Is she a friend of yers?"

Sorcha glanced over at the woman. Her expression softened, but the fear did not fade. "That's Delphine. She's…she's me French tutor and me lady's maid. She…she protects—" The girl's eyes widened, and she closed her mouth. "Never mind."

Maeve frowned. She glanced at the maid, who demurely looked away. It was clear that pressing on this point would be too much, so instead she tried another angle, directing her conversation to Sorcha once again.

"Yer father owns a wonderful home. I've been explorin' a bit. Is there anythin' ye would recommend that I see?" Maeve asked.

Sorcha flinched noticeably at the word father , and again, Maeve pretended not to notice, but the tenseness in her stomach grew tighter. "F–father doesnae really encourage lassies tae wander."

Maeve touched her arm. "I'm nae just some woman attendant, ye ken, for the king." She watched Sorcha carefully for a reaction at the choice of words, but the other woman wouldn't meet her eyes. "I'm a warrior. Deirdre is, as well. And we're nae the only women warriors among us."

"What?"

"Cailean McNair welcomes fighters from all walks of life," Maeve explained. "He personally taught me tae fight."

Sorcha looked amazed. "It sounds like ye're from a different world."

"Sometimes it feels like it!" Maeve laughed. "Me own father would have never seen a woman bearing a sword. And yers?"

Speaking in barely a whisper, Sorcha replied, "Nae chance of that. Me father prefers that we women ken our place."

Maeve waved a dismissive hand. "Our place is where we make it. I think men who are scared tae see us with swords in our hands are those who ken we might be better at it than they are."

That got a faint laugh from Sorcha, but that was the most emotion that Maeve managed to get out of her, even as she kept the conversation going for a while longer. It was clear that this young woman had much to hide, and the more Maeve pressed, the less she seemed willing—or perhaps able—to share. When at last Maeve walked away, leaving Sorcha with her maid, she knew one thing: she was even more determined than ever to uncover whatever was going on here.

No matter what Murtagh McKenzie's true intensions were, Maeve was going to uncover them. Before it was too late.

Some time later, Cailean and all eleven of his group sat together in a sitting room they'd been allocated. Cailean was playing cards with Darren while several of the others watched and placed bets on the outcome of the game. Deirdre was whittling something in the corner, considerably more artfully than Cailean had been in the woods that day, and Fergus and one of the other men were puzzling over a chess set.

Maeve sat a little apart from all of them, just watching, ostensibly working on some embroidery that she'd started with Breana. She'd never been a huge fan of needlework, but her sister had encouraged her to take it up as something to do together. Indeed, holding the frame did make her feel closer to her sister, even across the distance. That wasn't enough, though, to comfort her; not while she was watching Cailean with such trouble in her heart.

A knock at the door caused all of them to look up, twelve warriors immediately on their guard. The door opened and a young servant boy walked in.

"I have a message for ye, sir," he said, addressing Cailean directly with a boldness that seemed surprising giving their respective ranks. "The chieftain requests yer presence at once for a private meetin'. Ye're tae follow me immediately."

Maeve blinked. It had been phrased as an order, not a request, no matter what words he used—and that made her instincts scream that something was terribly wrong. That was not the way a laird who wanted to make an alliance should allow his servants to talk to another, much less to their future king. She would not allow this. She would not let him go alone into danger, not when she was here to help him.

But Cailean was very calm as he got to his feet. "We'll continue the game later, Darren," he said. He turned to the servant boy and nodded. "Lead the way."

"Not alone," Maeve said immediately, placing her embroidery to the side and immediately moving across the room toward him. "Ye'll take me with ye."

"Ye bring yer camp followers tae meetin's often?" the servant boy asked with a smirk.

Anger flashed across Cailean's face at the inappropriate implication, but Maeve gave him a swift look, and he nodded slightly, allowing himself to calm. Darren and Fergus also got to their feet.

"We'll be comin' along as well," Darren said cheerfully. "Ye'll nae be havin' all the fun without us."

The servant frowned, obviously less amused now that men were standing up against him. "Murtagh insisted that ye come alone."

"And we insist otherwise," said Fergus in that calm, steady voice of his. "Lead the way."

The servant scowled, looking back at Cailean, who just gave him a smile. He gave a stiff nod and said, "Very well. Come with me, then."

Cailean gave brief instructions to the others to hang back but stay alert, then their small party of four followed the servant through winding corridors and down several stairways until they eventually arrived back at the great hall where they had met with Murtagh yesterday.

A sense of foreboding weighed down upon them all. Maeve could see it in the faces of her friends, as well as feel it on her own shoulders. As they entered the hall, it seemed darker somehow, and colder too. It wasn't only because the place was emptier now that it wasn't set up for a feast. There was just something in the atmosphere that felt…wrong.

Murtagh McKenzie sat on his seat opposite the entrance, slightly raised from the floor. He watched them enter, and if he was surprised or bothered by the extra people who had come along, it did not show on his stony face. His eyes glinted with something that Maeve didn't like. As their little group walked through the hall toward him, Maeve noticed that the walls were lined with men—with soldiers. Their shadows seemed to lengthen as they walked by, and Murtagh McKenzie wore a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

Maeve's hand lingered over the hidden dagger she kept in an inner pocket in her skirt. She wondered if Cailean had remembered to bring her knife.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was seeing ghosts.

But she was prepared for the worst. No matter what.

Breana was a capable rider. It had been one of the few things she was permitted to do for fun throughout her childhood, providing she stayed within the grounds of O'Sullivan castle. It had always been her refuge, the only illusion of freedom that she had ever experienced through her youth. She was glad now for all those hours she'd spent on horseback as she and Eoin hurtled through the Highlands along the path that Maeve and Cailean must have taken not so long ago. Breana's mind was focused hard on Maeve and what might be happening to her sister even at this moment.

They'd stopped for an hour to allow the horses some rest, food, and water. Breana had wanted to keep going, but Eoin had managed to convince her that they would be no use to anyone if their horses collapsed before they arrived or, indeed, if Eoin and Breana themselves were starved and tired half to death.

Eoin was poring over a map which Breana had been updating as they went, a small frown furrowing his brow. Breana watched him, his dark auburn hair shimmering red in the light he was using to read. He looked in her mind like a fae prince from a tale, tall and slim and boyish, and she idly imagined him spiriting her away from the stress she felt at the state of the world around her.

"She'll be alright," Eoin said without looking up, as if he could feel her eyes upon him.

Breana chewed on the hard biscuit they'd brought in their pack, not answering. She wondered if Eoin was trying to convince her, or to convince himself.

"She will be," Eoin insisted. He looked up with those big, honest eyes, and she felt herself drawn into them. A warmth settled in her stomach like a flickering flame, but it wasn't enough to burn away all the doubt and fear inside. "They all will. Maeve is strong, stronger than anyone kens."

Breana smiled slightly at that. "Ye dinnae need tae tell me how strong me sister is," she said at last. "She always has been, since she was a bairn. Our father used tae…he'd beat her, like a boy, because she'd talk back tae him like one."

Eoin grimaced, but Breana simply kept talking. She didn't have the term or energy to be overly sensitive about her past, not anymore. This beautiful country was a battlefield, one that her own father had helped create, and her own childhood was just one casualty in millions.

"Nessa, meanwhile, was the perfect daughter. She was everythin' me father ever wanted her tae be, and me mother as well. God only kens how she managed to do it. I sometimes wonder if she was under the most pressure out of all of us." Breana sighed. "But me… I've always been on the sidelines. The eldest, but the least interestin'. The least effective. The least useful."

"Breana…"

"I joined the rebellion nae just because Maeve saved me, but because I truly want tae make a difference. Nae matter how I try, though, I feel like I'm still just the warrior woman's sister," Breana went on. "The one who needs savin'. The one who needs help. I've nae a brave bone in me body." Tears filled her eyes.

"That's enough." Eoin folded his arms. "Breana, listen tae yerself." He tapped the map in front of him. "As much as Maeve is important tae me, do ye think she'd be able tae do somethin' like this? Or yer other sister? Maeve is a warrior, and it sounds like Nessa is a woman of politics, but ye…ye are an artist."

"What?"

He smiled. "None of them would have had the attention tae detail, the memory, and the artistry tae do this. Cartography is a mystery tae a man like me, but ye…ye make it look as easy as breathin'. Dinnae underestimate yerself."

"Other people can make maps."

"Other people can swing a sword," Eoin replied. "Does that make what Maeve can do less wonderful? Does that make the strength of the warriors in our rebellion less important?"

Breana smiled sadly at the enthusiasm in his voice. He truly believed the words he was saying, and yet he was missing the point. "They're brave. They all have a kind of bravery that I'll never had. Maeve was the one who could stand up tae our father, the one who escaped Darach Castle without help, the one who?—"

"Maeve had help. I helped her, and Ann as well," Eoin protested. "I'm nae sayin' she wasnae brave—she is—but so are ye."

"I'm nae. I never spoke up when yer father had ye shut in the dungeons. I never tried tae get away when he made me his wife." Breana wiped her eyes. "I wish I was better."

Eoin carefully rolled up the map and stashed it away. He made his way toward her, then put his hand out to gently touch her cheek. "If ye could only see what I see, Breana. Bravery isnae just the kinds of things ye're describin'. Bravery is a lass who'd sneak down tae the dungeons tae bring me and the other prisoners morsels of food. It's a woman who kent how tae bide her time even in the worst of circumstances, holdin' ontae hope that somethin' better would come."

Breana stared up at him, leaning against the touch of his cold hand against her cheek. It gave her a surge of energy, a strange kind of internal peace that somehow also started her heart racing. "I…"

"Bravery is a woman who would abandon her new safety just tae ride out intae the night and save her sister. Nae matter the personal cost tae herself." Eoin leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead. It was a soft, chaste kiss, yet it sent shocks through Breana's whole body, and part of her suddenly wondered what it would be like if she tilted her head upward and captured his lips with her own.

But she wasn't that brave. Not yet. "Thank ye," she said instead. "Let's get movin'. We've a lot of ground still tae cover."

As dawn broke, Breana expected that she'd feel exhausted, but she was more alert than she'd ever been as they arrived at the perimeter of the McKenzie lands. They'd spent the last few hours discussing with each other the various ways they could approach the castle without alerting anyone inside; she just needed to get close enough to Maeve to let her know about what had happened with the spy.

Eoin had scouted out ahead, and he hurried back toward her. Breana's rush of joy at seeing him again after such a short separation was short-lived, though, when she saw the expression on his face.

"What?" she asked as soon as he reached her behind the treeline where they were concealed. "What is it?"

"Guards," Eoin told her. He looked tense, and when she put her hand on his arm, Breana felt that his muscles were tight. "More of them than there should be."

Breana's stomach lurched at the anxiety in this usually calm man's voice. "What do ye mean? There are bound tae be guards, are there nae?"

"Nae like this. Nae this many, nae so active at dawn," Eoin replied. He ran his fingers through his hair, distress evident in his face. "Breana, this is more serious than I thought. It means…"

Breana looked out toward the castle, just beyond the trees, realization making nausea roil in her stomach. "It means…they might already be in danger."