Chapter 22
Cailean's feet were rooted to the floor as the scene unfolded before him, a strange detachment making him feel like he was watching himself from the outside.
He had remembered the hidden room and led his men here, though he hadn't really expected it to still be standing—and he had much less expected to find anyone inside of it.
But here he was, and here she was. Even with her hair, clearly darkened with dye, it was impossible to not know her immediately.
She had the strong jaw, dark eyes, and proud nose of his father; she was Robert McNair returned to the world as a lovely young woman, and Cailean's memories attacked him so violently he felt like he might fall over from their impact.
And there were hints of their mother about her too—the long limbs, the way she held herself, the sound she made when she gasped holding a hint of Fiona's voice.
She really was alive. Neala was alive, and she was here, so close.
"Stop!" Maeve's shout cut through the moment as she called back to the group behind them. "Naebody move! Naebody do anythin' until Cailean or I tell ye tae!"
The sound cut through the surreal moment, snapping him back into himself as he focused on the reality of the scene.
There was no mistaking the man who was holding Neala as anyone other than Ansel Ashkirk. Apart from a few minor differences, the enemy prince was the double of his bedeviled father—the very man who had slain Cailean's family here in this castle and ruined the life he'd been born to live.
Heat flashed through him and his blood boiled under his skin as he fully took in what he was seeing.
Ansel's knife glinted threateningly against Neala's throat, a breath away from ending her life.
Something screamed in Cailean's ear, urging him forward, propelling him to put an end to this right now and slaughter this demon where he stood.
He even moved forward, ever so slightly, before his mind could catch up with his instincts.
Ansel's hand tightened on the blade, and Neala gasped in pain as the point dug into her throat, drawing a drop of blood. Cailean froze stock still as Maeve sucked in a sharp breath at his side.
"Good," Ansel said in a horribly calm voice once it was clear Cailean was not going to move. Though he spoke as if he were entirely poised, Cailean could see something feral just behind the false prince's eyes. "Now we can have a conversation."
"Cailean, dinnae!" Neala gasped, then cried out as Ansel's arm jerked around her.
Cailean heard his name from his sister's lips for the first time in more than two decades and felt like he'd been punched directly in the heart. His eyes fixated on the thin stream of blood running down her throat, and he spoke as calmly as he could. "I'm listenin', Ashkirk. Speak."
Strange green eyes, so different from Maeve's, flicked over Cailean, and he had the uncomfortable feeling of being studied. Ansel smiled humorlessly after a moment.
"Well," Ansel said in a coldly conversational tone.
"I suspected it, but there's nae doubtin' it now.
Ye really are Cailean McNair. Ye have the look—and the righteous pride.
I can see it on ye even now." He nodded his head down at Neala.
"She claims tae be yer long-lost sister.
I find meself believin' her. Isnae that strange? "
Cailean gritted his teeth.
Ansel's eyes narrowed. "Ye believe her as well. Good. That makes things easier." In a clipped, precise tone he said, "That sword. Lower it now. Yer woman as well, and the rest of them. Ye ken what will happen if ye dinnae."
Cailean felt Maeve's eyes on him, but he could not tear his eyes away to look at her now. He slowly lowered his sword, and he knew the others were doing the same.
"Coward," he snarled as Ansel smiled. "Tales of yer fierceness echo across Scotland, but ye're a coward. Hidin' behind an innocent woman."
The provoking words did not gain the reaction that Cailean had hoped. Instead, Ansel simply snorted.
"Is it a duel ye want?" Ansel asked, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I am willin' tae engage ye if that's what ye wish, McNair. Ye and I, here and now. Winner takes it all, loser's blood pays the penalty."
Before Cailean could even think, both Maeve and Neala snapped, "Nay!"
Ansel smiled. "Now isnae that interestin'?" he asked. He glanced down at Neala. "I understand her. She has seen me duel. She kens ye would lose in an instant. But yer own woman? Does she doubt ye so much?"
"It's nae about doubt, Ashkirk," Maeve replied in an acidic tone.
"There's nae need for Cailean tae duel the likes of ye.
We've already infiltrated the castle. Our army is already overwhelmin' yers.
Yer carefully laid plan has already failed, and ye ken it.
Yer proposed duel is nothin' but a drownin' man's final attempt tae swim. "
The mask slipped for a moment as a look of deep irritation flashed across Ansel's face. He scowled, but a moment later it was gone, and his expression was neutral once more when he turned to Maeve.
"I ken ye," he told her. "Yer father always used tae bring ye and yer sisters tae the castle when we were bairns, hopin' tae tempt me own father intae choosin' one of ye as a bride for me. Do ye remember?"
Cailean finally turned to look at Maeve. Her lip curled, and she balled her hands into fists.
"I remember," she forced out. "Even as a bairn, the thought of ye disgusted me. I'd have rather died than be yer wife."
"What ye'd rather played nae part in it," Ansel responded almost casually. "Yer fool of a father stood nae chance, regardless. I heard he sold ye and the oldest one both off tae Darach of all people. Bloody fool."
"Aye?" Maeve replied. "And ye saw what happened tae Malcolm and Kyle Darach both."
"I did," Ansel agreed pleasantly. "Nae real loss. The pair of them, along with yer father, were the biggest idiots amongst me father's followers. And of course, I took care of O'Sullivan meself recently. His blood made quite the mess of me father's throne room."
The color drained from Maeve's face and shock flew across her features, but to Cailean's immense pride, she did not falter.
"If me good-for-nothin' father died by yer blade, Ashkirk, then that is the very last on the list of grievances I have against ye," Maeve hissed. "Let Neala go, and I'll show ye."
Cailean looked back to Ansel, who was smiling too widely now.
"I dinnae think I will," Ansel replied. "But how's this, wee exile who would be king? I'll offer ye a bargain."
"I'm nae interested in yer tricks," Cailean snapped.
"Nae tricks," Ansel replied smoothly. "Simply this.
The O'Sullivan lass is correct—this castle is lost tae me.
Perhaps it was always gonnae be this way.
So what ye're gonnae do is let me go. Ye'll let me gather the loyal amongst me men and walk out of here, free as a bird, tae return tae me father.
Ye'll allow me tae graciously accept me loss and prepare for the next time we meet. "
"And in exchange," Cailean said slowly, "Ye'll release me sister?"
Something dangerous flashed in Ansel's eyes. "In exchange," he corrected icily, "I willnae slit her throat right here and allow the wee spy tae bleed out all over the floor. Ab–Neala will be comin' with me, but she'll live."
Bile flooded Cailean's throat. "I'll tear ye in half before I allow—"
"Stop!" Neala shouted. Silence fell, and all eyes were drawn to her.
"Stop. Cailean, listen tae me. Ye must do as he says.
If he'll call off the attack, if he'll take his men and leave, then ye must allow it.
There has already been too much bloodshed.
Too many people on both sides will die today if we let the fightin' continue.
Let me go. Claim our home back once and for all. "
"Are ye mad?" Cailean demanded. "I cannae let him take ye. I only just found ye!"
But Neala simply lifted her chin, pride in her stance. Their mother's strength. Their father's courage.
"I've longed tae meet ye, Cailean," she said, her voice soft but firm. "And now I have. But ye willnae question me choice. I will go with him. And ye will allow it. I am yer sister, and ye will allow me tae act as I see fit."
Something shattered inside Cailean then as Maeve moved to his side and caught his arm. He felt like he was suddenly swimming in mud, unable to process what was happening before him. Like a dream, Ansel moved, his knife still pointed at Neala, his arm firmly around her as he guided her past them.
"Dinnae attack!" Cailean called hoarsely back to the warriors who waited behind him. "Let him pass! Dinnae hurt her!"
The rebels parted like the waves, and Ansel and his prisoner sailed through the library.
Cailean and Maeve followed closely behind them, clinging to one another, Cailean desperately trying to think of a way to fix this disaster unfolding in front of them.
He moved through sludge as they made their way through the castle, occasionally yelling at their own men to stay back, until at last they reached the large main doors that led to the front courtyard and the main gates.
The courtyard was full of soldiers in battle, and just beyond the closed gate, more of Cailean's army were loudly trying to batter their way in. As Ansel walked into the center, Cailean and Maeve following behind them, the battlefield momentarily stilled.
Ansel led Neala to the tied horses near the gates, and Cailean watched in horror as his sister climbed onto the mount without argument. Ansel mounted behind her and smoothly commanded, "Open the gates."
"But, Yer Highness—" the gateman stammered.
"Do it!" Ansel insisted, his voice a whip crack. He signaled to a man who was clearly one of his commanders. The man hurried over, and Ansel gave him a quiet order. Then he turned his head and gave Cailean one final searching look
The commander looked baffled, but did not question his orders. "Men!" he shouted. "Follow yer prince!"
As the gates opened, the rebel army spilled in, colliding with the Ashkirk forces who were surging out of the gate after the prince. The courtyard descended into total chaos in the blink of an eye—men shouting, errant swords swinging, and slowly but surely the droves of the False King leaving.
Maeve set to work, grabbing nearby rebels and enemy soldiers alike to ensure that Ansel's order was relayed.
She made sure the word spread far and wide to all residents of the castle that they were commanded by their own prince to leave and that the rebels were to stand down and let them go.
As the chaotic desperation swirled around him, though, Cailean could only stand stock still, staring at the horizon.
He kept watching until the army of loyalists disappeared into the horizon. He watched until the horse carrying Ansel Ashkirk was gone from his sight—taking Neala with him.