Chapter 24
It had only been two or three hours since the power balance of the rebellion had shifted on its axis forever.
The rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking through the clouds above McNair Castle.
The castle itself, the nearby village, and the land all around it were now officially in rebel hands—in McNair hands once more—and the last of the False King's men had gone.
In the courtyard and in several parts of the castle, men and women were celebrating.
They had fetched the injured and waiting rebels from the forest camp, and Ferda and another scout had gone ahead to take the news to Bruce Castle at top speed.
Someone had called for a feast, and it was already underway in the kitchen, and the whole atmosphere of the world around them was one of pure celebration.
Standing on the battlements of his home—his family's home—Cailean knew that he should be overjoyed. This is what he had fought long and hard for. This was everything he had yearned for, for more than twenty years.
But it felt hollow. Cailean felt hollow. It was as though someone had taken all of the spirit out of him, leaving only an empty husk behind. It had been a victory, a huge one, but for Cailean, the cost had been far, far too great.
He heard footsteps on the stone behind him, but he did not move from his position staring out into the horizon.
He knew who it was—he would recognize her gait anywhere.
Sure enough, Maeve slid her arm around his waist, leaning against him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder without even thinking.
It was a natural position for them, standing together side by side, supporting each other with their every breath.
"Everyone is movin' inside," Maeve told him softly. "They're all findin' a place in the great hall for the feast. We should join them. It's a celebration for ye, after all."
"I dinnae feel much like celebratin'," Cailean replied.
Maeve sighed. "Me love, there's nothin' ye could have done differently. This is the best possible outcome based on the cards we were dealt."
Cailean shook his head. He didn't often disagree with Maeve, but now he believed she couldn't be more wrong. "I could have accepted the duel. I should have. I should have cut that smug bastard down where he stood."
"He didnae look smug tae me," Maeve replied thoughtfully. "He looked… afraid."
Frowning, Cailean moved back a little, turning to face her. What did she mean? There were many words he would use to describe the sight of Ansel Ashkirk at that moment, but afraid was about as far from those as he could get.
"An' besides. What would we have done if he'd killed ye?" Maeve demanded. "The rebellion would have been shattered."
"He wouldnae have killed me. I would have destroyed him," Cailean replied, an ugly undertone in his voice.
Maeve sighed. "Maybe. But it wasnae worth the risk. We managed tae take the castle back, yer home back, without too much bloodshed. Some of the False King's men have even stayed behind tae hear us out. And…"
She trailed off, and Cailean frowned.
"And?" he prompted.
She hesitated. "And… Neala went with him willingly, Cailean. She kent what she was doin'. She was protectin' ye and protectin' him as well."
"Why would me sister protect him?" Cailean demanded. His voice came out louder than he'd intended, and a few of his men still stationed at the gates turned their heads in his direction. He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry. I didnae mean tae shout. But ye’re mad if ye think—"
Maeve held up her hands in front of her, palms toward him, signaling peace.
"There was somethin' there, love, whether ye want tae see it or not.
Somethin' unspoken between them. If he wanted her dead, she'd have been a corpse before we arrived.
And if she'd wanted him dead—Cailean, yer sister is a trained White Sparrow.
She had more than enough opportunity tae end him if she'd wanted tae. "
"Ye're wrong," Cailean snapped immediately. "Me sister would never side with the enemy."
"I never said that!" Maeve replied, her own voice a little raised now in self-defense. "But I am an O'Sullivan. Eoin is a Darach. And ye hid yer own name for twenty years. We both ken it's more complicated than black or white."
Cailean threw his hands up in frustration and started pacing back and forth. "He cut her, right in front of our eyes."
"He grazed her. It didnae look intentional, and—"
"He held a knife tae her throat!"
Maeve folded her arms. "I'm nae actin' like he's a good man.
He still took her. He still planned an attack that would have wiped us all out.
He still serves his accursed father. But, for whatever reason, Neala wanted him alive.
Perhaps she thinks she can get more information out of him.
Perhaps there's another reason. But it was her choice, and it's our duty tae respect that. "
"How can ye—" Cailean started to argue, but cut off as his eyes fell on something in the distance. "Maeve."
She stilled, instantly alert as she recognized the tone in his voice, their argument already forgotten. She moved quickly to his side, and the two of them walked to the very edge of the battlement, looking out at the rapidly approaching figure on horseback.
"Cailean!" one of his guards shouted back. "It's a rider! Shall we prepare the archers?"
He was about to say yes, but something stopped him. It was only one rider, with no others behind them. Perhaps it was a messenger from Bruce Castle, or one of the White Sparrows who had followed in Breana and Eoin's wake, or…
His heart leapt painfully, and he hurried for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Maeve call to the guard to hold their fire before she rushed down after him. They reached the ground in just a few seconds, and together they sped to the gate, which opened at Cailean's command.
The rider was closer now, close enough that they could make out some features.
It was a woman, her dark hair still damp from the rain, racing as fast as her horse could take her toward them.
Cailean's fingertips felt cold, his breathing rapid, and he held out a hand.
Maeve took it immediately, and, like that, they moved forward outside the castle to await the rider's arrival.
She reached them in moments, and there was no doubting it now—it was Neala, alive and in one piece, exhausted and crying, but here, on the very same horse that Cailean had believed was taking her away forever.
He dropped Maeve's hand and rushed forward, Maeve close behind.
They reached Neala just as she pulled her horse to a stop, and the young woman practically fell off the horse, collapsing, sobbing and laughing, into Cailean's arms.
Cailean held her close, tears in his own eyes, barely able to believe what was happening.
His arms wrapped tight around her, perhaps crushing her a little too close as he tried desperately to believe this was real, and she clung to him just as desperately.
Maeve stayed back for the moment, tending to the horse, giving the siblings space to reunite.
He had no idea how long they stood there, just crying and holding one another. It may have been an eternity, and he didn't care. Eventually, they pulled apart, though their hands remained joined.
"Neala," he said hoarsely. "How?"
"Ansel… he… he let me go," Neala stuttered, then burst into a fresh round of tears. "He let me come back to ye. He gave me me brother back."
Cailean needed to ask questions. He couldn't understand how this was possible. But right now, it didn't matter.
The two embraced again. Maeve returned to their side after a few moments, and this time when the hug ended, Cailean beckoned her over.
He could not stop staring at his sister, at this impossible, wonderful woman who should not exist. Faraway memories that had almost left him entirely came flooding back.
He had a vivid flash of being a tiny child sitting at his mother's bedside, holding the new baby in his arms with her support, his brothers teasing him for how enchanted he was by the child but still waiting for their own turns.
And now he was holding her again. They were together again, in the very home where they had been born.
He could feel the magnitude of this moment.
A ghostly image shimmered in his mind. He imagined older versions of his mother and father, and two older men and a woman just a little younger than himself—his siblings, all together and smiling, silently celebrating the reunion.
He blinked, and the image faded, but to his joy, Neala still stood there, smiling tearfully up at him.
"Maeve," he said, speaking like a man in prayer. "Come and meet… me sister. Meet Neala."
His love moved close and held out a hand in greeting. "Neala. Me name is Maeve O'Sullivan."
Neala turned and, to both Cailean and Maeve's surprise, threw her arms around Maeve too. Maeve blinked but then laughed, returning the embrace.
"Are ye his wife?" Neala asked when the two women pulled apart.
To Cailean's delight, Maeve's cheeks tinged pink, and she nodded, telling Neala briefly of their handfasting.
Neala smiled and said, "Then ye're me sister as well. Thank ye for comin' for me." She hesitated, then added. "Is what Ansel said true? Was–was James O'Sullivan yer…"
A shadow crossed Maeve's expression, and she looked away for just a moment. "Me father, aye," she replied.
Neala's smile faded. "I'm sorry, then. I was there when it happened. I saw—"
Maeve shook her head. "He was me father, aye. But he was nae the kind of father any lass would miss."
It was more complicated than that, Cailean knew.
It would take many long nights of thinking and processing, and perhaps conversations between Maeve and Breana before this new wound could be healed.
But for now, he admired Maeve's strength as she shook off the shadow and took Neala's hand in hers once more.