Chapter 23
The wind and rain whipped painfully against Neala's face as she rode in front of Ansel, feeling his chest pressed against her back.
She closed her eyes against it, and when she did, all she could see was Cailean.
Her eyelids screwed shut, she tried to burn that image into her mind forever—the brother she'd believed dead for so long, the proof that, despite all odds, her family was going to survive after all.
Would she die? She didn't know. She didn't believe that Ansel would kill her, no matter his threats and the obvious, very real danger he presented.
But she also believed he was too loyal to his evil father not to hand her over.
She might be tortured, killed, or even worse, knowing the sickening tastes of the False King.
Would she have a chance to at least be reunited with Morag and Ann once more before her fate was decided?
It was the only hope that remained to her, but it was a thin, fleeting one.
The sorrow ran so deep in her soul that she wanted to weep, but she found strength within her as she focused on the image of Cailean.
By choosing to make this sacrifice, she had saved him.
She had given him back their home, and she had kept him safe.
That was all that could matter to her now.
Cailean was safe, and the rebellion now would stand stronger than ever.
Even those who had doubted would no longer be able to deny the truth—that the True King had returned.
Her only regret was that she hadn't had just a little time to talk to him.
Just a few moments to learn a little about her lost brother, and to tell him about herself in turn.
Just a few seconds to embrace her family and be secure in the fact their legacy lived on.
Neala knew that she would never be given the chance to see Cailean again, and she had to accept it.
She hoped that the woman who had spoken so bravely at her brother's side took care of him.
She prayed that the rebellion's success brought them peace at last.
They'd been riding for some time. Perhaps an hour, possibly longer, had passed in dead silence, punctuated only by the rain and the wind and Neala's bleeding heart.
She opened her eyes and looked back, but Ansel had driven their horse so far ahead of his troops that she could not even see them.
Would he stop at all before they got to Blackthorn Castle?
Or would he push the horse onward until the creature could not race anymore?
Neala had to make peace with her decision. And so she breathed out, releasing her pain to the sky, and leaned back against Ansel's chest.
Unexpectedly, he jerked violently at the movement, then swore. A second later, he pulled hard on the reins, bringing the horse to an abrupt whinnying halt, so suddenly that Neala almost tumbled off.
"Get off the horse," he commanded roughly in her ear. "Now."
Neala knew better than to protest. She didn't understand what was happening, but she slid off the animal's back and stood, shivering, at the side of the road. Ansel dismounted a moment later, a haunted look in his eyes.
"I've never run from a fight before," he told her in a voice that mingled with the swirling wind. "Ye've ruined me, Neala McNair."
Neala just watched his face, unable to respond. The rain drummed against her shoulders, creating an atmospheric cloak that seemed to shelter them both from the world outside. Right now, there were only the two of them and the horse now docilely grazing nearby.
Ansel raised a hand and cupped her cheek. Without even thinking about it, Neala leaned into the touch. "How are ye showin' nae fear?"
"I dinnae fear ye, Ansel," she told him quietly. "Oh, ye're fearsome. But it's a terror I can handle. Perhaps I may die, but it's the worst that will happen. Ye told me yerself, ye'd never force a woman tae yer bed. And ye'll never kill an enemy without a weapon in their hand."
In answer, Ansel put his hand in his pocket and drew out her knife. He held it out expectantly.
Neala's breath caught, but she took it, allowing the weapon to hang loosely at her side. Ansel moved closer, his other hand still holding her face. He applied a very gentle pressure, tilting her head up to look at him.
"Ye're tae be me father's prisoner," he said. "Nae mine. Ye ken that."
"Then I'll bear it," Neala replied staunchly, staring up into his eyes. Her body leaned toward him, his heat drawing her in against the cold weather around them. "Because me brother's safe. Because ye did the right thing and let him live."
"The right thing?" Ansel shook his head. "I did a foolish thing, Neala. I trusted ye."
Neala's pulse quickened. Ansel's face moved downward toward hers, and Neala closed her eyes, feeling his breath moving close to her lips.
But then the heat shifted, and his lips were next to her ear, the hand on her cheek sliding back and tangling in her hair, drawing her close.
"A foolish thing," he repeated. "And now I'll pay for it."
Her whole body was shaking, but Neala did not move away. She opened her eyes in time to see Ansel moving back again, slowly dropping his hands away from her. He took a step back, and the two of them stood apart.
"Yer father gave ye orders before we left Blackthorn Castle," she said. "He ordered ye tae bring back McNair or nae come back at all. But ye're still obeyin' his orders, Ansel. Ye're bringin' me. Ye ken who I am now. Tell him that."
Ansel smiled, and she'd never seen a smile so sad before in her life. That smile tore at her already hurting heart, and tears suddenly sprung to Neala's eyes. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair.
"He'll make me do it. When he's done hurtin' ye, torturin' ye—claimin' ye—then he'll force me tae kill ye." Ansel's voice was hoarse. "I cannae do it. I cannae bear it. An' I think–I think if I saw him try tae touch ye—I might kill him."
A ringing sounded in Neala's ears, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird, and she felt lightheaded. It was difficult to breathe.
"Ye lied tae me. Ye're me enemy. I cannae trust ye.
But for whatever reason, whatever accursed impulse, I cannae see ye harmed.
I need tae ken ye're protected." Ansel let out a shaky breath, and for the first time, the mask was completely gone.
He looked younger and more vulnerable than he ever had.
His hand reached toward her again, his fingers gently brushing her neck. "I made ye bleed."
"It's just a graze," Neala whispered.
"It makes me sick." Ansel suddenly dropped his hand, moving further away.
Neala's instincts screamed at her to approach him, to bring them back into proximity.
She saw the agony in his eyes, and remembered the feeling of his body against hers.
She wanted to hold him, to whisper reassurances in his ear, to give him comfort.
She wanted to persuade him that he wasn't trapped—that he could still choose to be free.
But when she took a tentative step forward, Ansel backed up several steps. Neala stopped still, knowing that anything else she did would just make things worse.
"Take the horse," he told her. "My men will collect me shortly. Go back tae yer brother and live."
Neala just stared at him for an endless moment. She desperately wanted to return to Cailean, but her feet somehow remained rooted in place. She didn't want to leave without Ansel. She couldn't leave without him.
"Ye said ye'd kill him if he hurt me. Ye ken he needs tae be exterminated. Ye—"
"I told ye tae go," Ansel interrupted, though the mask did not reappear. He watched her with that same, open vulnerability. "I willnae give ye another chance. Take it."
Shakily, Neala approached the horse and mounted, but she did not ride off. Instead, she looked back at Ansel, who had moved to her side.
"Come with me. Please, come with me." She held out her hand. "I want ye by me side. Ye're nae him, and this proves it. Ye could be free."
"Free," Ansel repeated, and the yearning sounded so strongly that tears fell from Neala's eyes. He laughed softly. "Farewell, Neala."
"Please," she begged one more time. "Please, I've seen the real ye. I ken ye. I think I'm startin' tae—"
"Ye really ken nothin' about me," Ansel said, then slapped the flank of the horse.
The creature let out a loud whinny and reared up, causing Neala to grip the reins, as they set off at speed—back toward McNair Castle and Cailean—leaving Ansel behind.