Chapter 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.