Some people in the crowd cheered, though others stayed silent. Maeve fought through the crowd as Cailean was dragged to the block which stood beside O'Sullivan, desperate to get to the front, desperate to reach him.
"The rebellion will be quashed!" O'Sullivan announced, sneering down at the bound figure at his feet. "This criminal who stole me own daughters away from me, who robbed the life from one of our most beloved chieftains, will die today, and harmony can at last return tae Scotland. Is this nae what we've fought for, me friends? Is this nae what our men have wished for all these years—for a united Scotland for all our wives and children?"
Rage flooded Maeve at those words. How dare her father twist the aims of the rebellion to suit his own narrative? How dare he act as though he had anyone's best interest at heart other than his own?
"Many years ago, me youngest daughter was offered a boon at an execution similar to this one," O'Sullivan announced. "Today, I offer her this same boon as a reward for herfaithfulness and steadfastness. Nessa, would ye have me spare this traitor tae the crown?"
Just as it had ten years before, the whole area seemed to hold its breath. Maeve, too, found herself lacking air as she stared at her sister, waiting.
Nessa opened her mouth—then closed it again. She looked out over the crowd, and though her eyes brushed over Maeve, Maeve got a strong feeling that Nessa knew that she was still here.
"Father," Nessa said after a moment. "Forgive me, but I have taken ill. May I be excused?"
O'Sullivan's eyes narrowed, but he forced a smile on his face a moment later. "Of course, daughter. The whims of a woman, me friends! Too tenderhearted."
Nessa was led away, and O'Sullivan turned back to the crowd.
"But this is why we must make the country safe. For our tenderhearted, soft women who cannot fight for themselves. And now, we'll finish off the threat once and for all."
With a triumphant flourish, O'Sullivan reached for the hood. Maeve gasped, realizing that the moment had come. She needed to act now, no matter what the cost. She surged forward, ready to make a run for the stage—then stopped as she felt a hand on the small of her back, urging her to stop.
"Wait," Eoin's voice whispered in her ear. "Just wait for me signal."
"Eoin—what?—"
Eoin nodded toward the platform, and Maeve turned just in time to see O'Sullivan pull the hood from Cailean's head. His blond hair tumbled out, and Maeve saw that burning determination in his grey eyes—the fire of rebellion, of determination, of truth. She froze, caught in the memory, horrified by what she was sure was about to happen.
And then Caileanmoved.
In one swift movement, he unbound his tied hands, which Maeve now saw had always been loose. Eoin nodded to Maeve, and the two of them surged forward toward the stage. Cailean hit out with his hand, and Maeve saw it there—the small knife she had given to protect him, now being used to save his life.
The knife caught her father in the shoulder, and he howled in pain, stumbling back and clutching the injury. One of the guards turned to attack Cailean as the crowd kicked into a frenzy, but the other guard was quicker, parrying his blow. The second guard's own hood fell away, revealing Darren, a wild grin on his face as he engaged the true guard in combat. Eoin jumped up onto the platform and joined the fight, protecting Cailean as more guards approached.
Maeve stayed on the ground level, keeping a watchful eye on the confused crowd who were loud but stunned, not acting yet, but a dangerous boiling pot that might explode for or against them. She remained close, ready to protect Cailean if she needed to, but knowing that someone needed to be taking care of this situation from all angles. She knew that if she got close to her father now…
Cailean moved forward to the front of the platform. As he did, a strange silence fell across the entire area—a different silence than before. This one was like a pause, an anticipation, as the whole world seemed to teeter waiting for what came next.
"Ye all ken who I am," Cailean announced in a booming voice. It was the most beautiful sound that Maeve had ever heard. "Or ye suspect ye do. Let me be clear once and for all. I am Cailean McNair, the last living heir to the McNair family name. Me father was Robert McNair, and he and his wife—me mother—Fiona McNair were yer king and queen. They, along with me siblings, Graham, Barry, Abigail, and Neala, were killed at the hands of the False King, but their legacy lives on through me. Throughallof us."
A low murmuring broke out around them. Maeve heard doubt there, but she could not tell if it was doubt in Cailean's words or doubt against the lies they'd been fed so far.
"My family is nae dead. Their legacy is strong, and their memory even stronger. They dreamed of and worked for a better Scotland, a united andfreeScotland. Nae this control, thistyranny, under which our country has been livin' for twenty years." Cailean gestured behind him to O'Sullivan, who was watching him with wide eyes. "This man is the true traitor. This man is the one who betrayed the oaths he and his kind made tae me own family, made tae our country."
Maeve risked a glance at him, and her heart flooded with love and admiration at the strong, powerful man—theking—she saw standing there. She would not move, would not interfere, until he had said his piece. She knew in her heart that only he could reach them now, and she believed that he would do it.
Cailean locked eyes with the clan chiefs in the crowd, one after the other, as he spoke. "I ken many of ye, by reputation or by name. Many of ye kent me as a bairn, or our fathers or grandfathers were friends. Have ye forgotten all of that, in these decades that have passed? Have ye forgotten what the McNair name once meant?"
A wave of something rippled through the gathered crowd at those words.
"They say that capercaillie once led me ancestor from the woods against all odds. The rebellion found me and led me from the brink, too, when I should have died with me family. I have tae believe that there's a reason for that. A reason that I lived when they did not."
Cailean finally caught Maeve's eyes at that, and he gave her such a warm smile that she felt for a moment that there was nothing wrong left in the world.
"This country is me reason.Ye,from the mightiest clan chief tae the most hardworkin' villager—yeare me reason. It's reason enough for me and for me fellow rebels tae fight and live against whatever the False King may throw at us. Enough tae be worth whatever hardships we may fight. Enough tae live for, and enough tae die for." Cailean took a breath. "What dae ye live for, me friends? Do ye remember the oaths ye and yer families took tae the McNair name, the promises ye made tae this country? Where are those promises now? What do those oaths mean, deep in yer hearts?"
Maeve saw it as their enemies within the crowd rallied, ready to fight. But she saw something else, too. She saw so many of them—clan chiefs, warriors, villagers, all of them—reacting to Cailean's words, their eyes alight, their whispering voices turning upwards in a tone that might even have been hope. There was a long, tense moment, a moment that seemed to last for an eternity, and Maeve realized that this was it—the last moments before this particular battle was all over, one way or another.
Her father recovered enough from his injury to move forward, still clutching at his injured shoulder, his face contorted in anger. "What are ye waitin' for?" he demanded. "Ye heard him. He's a self-confessed traitor. Seize him!Killhim!"
