Page 8 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

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"I thought I asked ye tae come alone," Murtagh McKenzie said in a laconic tone as the party stood before him. He was lounging on his grand seat, imposing himself over the great hall like a king on his throne.

The comparison disturbed Maeve more as she saw the way that Murtagh was looking at Cailean—at the man who he purported to respect as the real king. It was very obvious by the predatory gaze and the lack of respect in his voice that this was not at all the case. But if so, why would he be seeking a treaty? What could he possibly hope to gain? None of this made sense, and it made every nerve in Maeve's body stand on end as though her skin were on fire.

Cailean opened his mouth to answer, but Fergus spoke up before he could. Quiet, dependable Fergus spoke with such a tone of authority that it would have been hard for anyone to argue. "Chieftain McKenzie, ye must understand that a king has nae business movin' around without his retinue. He's chosen three of his warriors tae stay by his side, just as ye have yer warriors around us."

As he spoke, Fergus gestured at the walls, which seemed to teem with soldiers. Maeve's grip tightened on the handle of her knife as she observed them.

Murtagh gave a half-smirk that did not quite meet his eyes. "As ye say," he conceded. "Though why he would bring a wee lassie like that one amongst his group of trusted companions, I dinnae understand." His eyes glinted. "Unless she's a particularly favored bed warmer." He laughed. "Any man could understand that. We all keep a few."

Cailean's face blanched, and Maeve saw his fists clench in anger. She felt a surge of hatred toward McKenzie herself, but prayed silently that Cailean would not act. They must not respond to such easy taunts.

"I've come tae hear what ye wish tae say, McKenzie," Cailean said in a voice of forced calm. "I thank ye for yer hospitality, and I look forward tae hearin' about the alliance that ye wish tae offer. May we begin our negotiations?"

The smirk on Murtagh's face grew, and he nodded. Maeve studied him again, and realized she'd missed a person in her first survey of the room. At his side, in a small seat half-hidden in the shadows, sat Sorcha. The young woman did not look up from the floor, and she looked somehow even more downcast than she had when Maeve had spoken to her.

"Very well." Murtagh spread his hands in a pacifistic gesture of welcome, which felt to Maeve like a dangerous mockery of peace. "Let us speak, then. Ye have come tae me in response tae me letter that spoke of old alliances and new. I want ye tae ken that I meant every word that I wrote, and what's more, I intend tae provide ye with aid beyond yer wildest dreams."

Cailean wore a small, thoughtful frown on his face, but otherwise did not show any emotion. "How so? In what way can ye make such promises?"

"From the heart and from the pocket, yer Grace," Murtagh said. "If I may refer tae ye by such a title."

"Cailean is fine, or McNair if ye'd rather," Cailean replied coolly. Maeve was proud to see how Murtagh was failing to get any sort of rise out of him, no matter how much he tried. "If we are tae be allies, we shall negotiate on even footin'."

A small chuckle was Murtagh's only response to that. He went on as though Cailean hadn't spoken. "I have many friends across many clans, yer Grace. Many men who are undecided in their loyalties, or who have kept their true loyalties hidden for their safety and the safety of all in their clans. Now is the time for action. Now is the time that they'll rise tae the call, spurred by an alliance between ye and me—the lost prince returned, and the powerful chieftain championin' his cause."

Cailean did not speak, but it was clear to Maeve by the spark in his eye that the idea appealed to him. And no wonder. No matter how much Maeve distrusted McKenzie, what he said was true: many clans were beholden in one way or another to this one, and this alliance could turn the tide once and for all.

"We can join together and claim Scotland again, back where she's supposed tae be," Murtagh proclaimed, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair for emphasis. "We can serve as a powerful alliance, ye and I—and we can crush our common enemies underfoot."

"My interest lies nae in crushin' , but in protectin' ," Cailean told him neutrally. "I have nae interest in a bloodthirsty alliance. Is this all I can expect from ye?"

"Thirst or not, blood will be shed. This is war, McNair, and ye ken it as well, if not better than I. But if ye're askin' for support once the fightin' is done: aye. Me clan's riches will be yer riches, and me men will be there tae aid ye as ye rebuild yer kingdom." Murtagh got to his feet, his eyes focused hard on Cailean. "This alliance will be for now and forever, whatever ye need from me and mine."

It sounded too good to be true, but Maeve dared not speak. It was not her place, not yet; if she spoke up, she would undermine Cailean entirely and make everything even worse. Instead, she carefully watched the man she loved, hoping he could feel that she was trying to lend him every bit of her strength.

"What," Cailean asked carefully, "would be the benefit tae yerself from such an alliance?"

Murtagh gestured widely. "A free Scotland for me people—me own clan and beyond. Restoration of the true king. And one more small thing, one small request, which is all I'd ask from ye for such generosity."

"Speak it."

Murtagh placed his hand on Sorcha's shoulder. The girl flinched back, but otherwise did not react. "A husband," he said, "for me sweet daughter, the jewel of me heart. And, of course, when the time comes, she will rule at yer side as queen."

Time froze, and it felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath Maeve. The true gravity of the situation hit her like the crumbling walls of a destroyed castle. McKenzie suspected that Cailean would win this war—and if and when they did, he wanted to not only be on the winning side, but be on the top.

It was not an unreasonable request; Maeve knew that from a political standpoint, the offer was more than generous. A pretty young wife who could bear an ostensibly single king many children, in exchange for the power they needed to succeed. It was more than a fair suggestion for the chieftain to make, which somehow just made it feel worse.

Cailean's eyes widened, and his gaze flicked to Maeve as though he could not help himself. Murtagh, paying such close attention, did not miss the look, and Maeve did not enjoy the sly smile that formed on his lips in response.

"Dinnae fear. As I said, nae man can be blamed for havin' a few favorite bed warmers." He chortled, squeezing his daughter's shoulder. "Me lass doesnae expect a man who never strays—she just wishes tae serve and love ye and this country as best she can."

Maeve felt sick. Not only was the offer one which Cailean must consider—and, indeed, she could see him hesitating—but the way that Murtagh was speaking of his daughter reminded her horribly of years ago when she herself was sold off to her first marriage with Malcolm Darach. She knew that Cailean would never treat a woman in such a way, but it still made her feel dizzy to witness, and fear leaped in her heart as she realized now might be the time she lost her future with him.

But Cailean shook his head. "Forgive me, but nay. Yer daughter is lovely as a flower, but I cannae be her husband. I am already betrothed."

Relief flooded Sorcha's face, but a dark cloud fell over Murtagh's.

"Betrothed?" he boomed. Then he took a breath, barely concealing a sudden torrent of rage as he went on. "Well, whoever the lass is, set her aside. Ye are a king. Ye must have a woman fit tae be a queen, and me daughter?—"

"Yer daughter is a gem amongst women, it's true," Cailean interrupted smoothly. "But I will not shame me betrothed by settin' her aside, nor betray me own heart by considerin' it. I wish tae bring a Scotland united by love and hope. Tae wed outside of me bonds, tae take Sorcha as a prize, would be betrayin' everythin' me and my people have already worked for."

"And so ye expect me support for nothin'?" Murtagh's voice was dangerous now. "Ye expect blind loyalty with naught in exchange?"

"Of course not," Cailean replied. Behind him, both Darren and Fergus had their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, and Maeve was ready to draw her own knife. "Allow me tae make ye a counter-offer. I can suggest a husband for Sorcha, one who would be worthy of her and of yer allyship."

Cailean looked over his shoulder towards them all, and his eyes connected with Darren's. Maeve watched the unspoken conversation between them, and saw Darren's slight nod. With a swift grateful smile, Cailean turned back to Murtagh.

"And who," Murtagh asked in that same threatening tone, "Would ye suggest?"

Cailean beckoned for Darren to step forward. "This is Darren Bruce. He is the heir tae the Bruce Clan, and me right-hand man. And until such time comes when I am wed and then bear a son, he is also me heir—the heir tae the entire kingdom, once we have reclaimed it together."

"What?" Darren hissed in an undertone that only Maeve, Fergus, and Cailean could hear. "Ye're jokin'."

"He's nae jokin'," Maeve murmured quietly. "Think of it: the people need a king with a male heir, and until Cailean is wed, there's nae even a queen tae fall back upon."

Darren took a breath, then nodded. His loyalty shone through as, though it was clear he had many more questions, he simply stood at Cailean's side and nodded. "I would be more than happy tae offer me hand tae yer lovely lass," he said.

The whole room seemed to hold its breath.

Then Murtagh laughed, long and loud and cold, no humor in it whatsoever. "Ye offer me some lad !" he declared. "Ye call him yer heir, yet ye already told me ye're betrothed. How long dae ye think till yer woman bears ye a boy and young Bruce's claim means nothin'?"

"There's nae guarantee of that," Cailean argued. "And beyond that, he will still be the leader of the Bruce clan. They have already reclaimed their homeland, and once we have won, they will be amongst the most powerful clans in Scotland. Do ye not wish yer daughter tae have such a powerful husband?"

"I wish me daughter tae be queen! " Murtagh declared furiously. He balled his hands into fists. "I dinnae want yer leftovers, McNair. Ye will wed me Sorcha, or there will be nae alliance between us. This is yer final warnin'."

Cailean took a step back, his hand drifting to brush Maeve's arm as a gesture of solidarity and love, his friends at his side. "I have made me counter-offer. I have nothin' else tae give ye, Murtagh."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop all of a sudden, icy cold and dangerous. Murtagh spoke again in a voice that was eerily calm now, devoid of the anger and heat from moments before, and infinitely more deadly.

"Ye're makin' a mistake, lad," he said coldly. "Without me support, without the support of me allies, yer ambitions are little more than the dreams of a foolish boy who should have died long ago. Ye should have burned when yer brothers and sisters did. Perhaps then ye wouldnae be here, bringin' shame on yer name."

Anger flushed through Cailean's face. "I will take me leave," he said stiffly. "I see we have nothin' more tae talk about here."

Murtagh's voice was like the blackest of ice on the coldest winter day. "Ye're right. We have nothin' more tae talk about."

Before anyone could react, the guards who had lined the walls suddenly surged forward, surrounding Cailean and the others where they stood.

"Father, please," Sorcha pleaded in a high-pitched tone, but she was ignored as her voice drowned out in the shink of many swords being drawn around them.

Murtagh turned his back. "Seize him. I'll be in me quarters," he said carelessly, then disappeared into a side door behind his seat.

The guards descended, and Maeve reached for her dagger as chaos erupted around them. Cailean pushed her back, sending her stumbling into Fergus, just as a sword swipe narrowly missed where she was standing.

"Go!" Cailean yelled. "Go!"

"No!" Maeve shrieked, adrenaline shooting through her as she witnessed the horrifying tableau unfolding before her. She tried to run forward as the soldiers surrounded Cailean, murderous intent emanating from them, but Fergus held her back. "No, no!"

Even as she fought against him, Fergus's grip tightened. "Maeve. Maeve, we need tae run. Now!" he urged. "While they're distracted. Come on."

"They'll kill him!" Maeve cried out, still trying to get away. She couldn't even see Cailean now, lost as he was in a sea of guards.

"They willnae!" Darren countered sharply. "Whatever they want him for, they need him alive. We must get the others and get out of here."

"We need all of our strength if we're tae have any hope of rescuin' him. Come on." Fergus pulled her, and Maeve at last went limp, allowing him to pull her away, even though it felt like she was leaving her heart behind.

As they escaped through the door that they'd entered, pushing past guards who were too intent on Cailean to pay them any attention, Maeve caught one last glimpse of her love being overwhelmed by attacking soldiers. Her gaze flicked up, and the last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was Sorcha's pale face, watching with horror as it all unfolded.

Then she, Darren, and Fergus were alone in the hallway.

There was a brief moment of silence. Fergus still held Maeve, and she allowed it—no longer as restraint, but as support. She felt a deep weakness within her bones, a sheer wrongness at leaving Cailean behind, even though she knew it was their only choice.

"What now?" Fergus asked.

"We dinnae have long," Darren said grimly. "The guards…they'll notice we're gone and come after us soon enough."

"We go tae me rooms and get Tailfeather. I willnae leave without it," Maeve insisted. "I need me sword tae fight."

"I'll go," Darren told her. "I'll gather all our weapons and regroup with ye outside the walls. Ye and Fergus go back and get the others. Get them out, and meet me in the forest."

The two cousins exchanged nods, and reluctantly, Maeve agreed. She watched as Darren jogged off, a tightness in her stomach as he left, praying that she would see him again. Behind the door, she could still hear the angry sounds of swords and fighting, and she desperately longed to return to Cailean's side.

But she was to be a queen, a leader. That was what Cailean wanted from her. And if that was to be her role, then she had a job to do. She shook off Fergus's grip, then looked up at him.

"Thank ye," she said. "Now come on. We need tae get tae the others before it's too late."

"Aye," Fergus said.

Without another word, the two of them began hurrying down the corridor in the direction of the room where they and the others had been waiting before. She hoped that nobody had wandered off, and hoped they were not too late. And all the while that she run, she felt the looming shadows extending behind them, following so close that they could barely breathe.

Murtagh McKenzie. The False King. Cailean was consumed by the shadows now, and Maeve had to find the light before it was too late.