Dark fury whirled deep in Cailean's soul as he stood between Maeve and James O'Sullivan, the kind of insidious anger he'd gone his whole life trying to avoid. Maeve had almost died just seconds before, and knowing he'd only reached her on time by luck.
O'Sullivan glared darkly at him, blood running down his shirt from his shoulder wound, his eyes alight with frenzy. He was unsteady on his feet, and Cailean could tell that the blood loss was getting to him.
Cailean had the advantage. This pathetic man could no longer put up much of a fight. With one slice of his sword, Cailean could put an end to him once and for all. He'd kill him now, then he'd return to McKenzie Castle and slay Murtagh, and then…
Movement behind O'Sullivan distracted him, and he saw a figure turn and run, disappearing into the night. Nessa, Maeve's younger sister, the only one who was still a prisoner here.
Cailean had heard Maeve's words just a moment before.Ye were supposed tae be our father.And he was, wasn't he? The only parent that Maeve had left, the only connection to the childhood that had been robbed from her. He thought of Eoin, who he knew was still struggling from the death of a father he'd hated, and he knew then that he couldn't do it. He couldn't cause Maeve that kind of conflict or pain, no matter how much O'Sullivan might deserve it.
O'Sullivan stumbled, falling to his knees on the ground in front of Cailean, still clutching his bleeding arm. He stared up at Cailean with eyes filled with hatred.
"Do it!" O'Sullivan yelled, spittle forming around his mouth. "Kill me, then, Pretender Prince! The True King will kill ye all where ye stand! He'll slaughter yer rebellion, every last man. He'll be rid of me traitor daughters. And then, when ye've losteverythin', he'll kill ye as well."
Cailean set his jaw, then hit out with the blunt end of his sword, swiping the laird across the head. O'Sullivan fell to the ground, unconscious, but very much not dead.
He turned back to Maeve, but she was gone, already on her feet again. She'd gone scrambling into the now heaving crowd on the platform, retrieving her sword, and launched right back into the fighting. Nearby, Eoin and Darren were fighting fiercely too, and Cailean realized that he had no time to think about what he had just done.
There was still a fight to win.
Breana felt endlessly frustrated as she listened to the fighting break out just beyond the walls. Eoin had found her and Darren shortly after his attempted rescue of Cailean and explained the plan. But while Eoin had gone to find Maeve and Darren had pretended to be one of the guards, Breana, who had no combat training, was made to promise to stay away from the action. She had protested, but Eoin had pleaded with her, and she'd eventually given in—after all, if she were honest, she would be no help on the battlefield.
Instead, she'd stayed in the castle, the horrible place that had once been her home, and made her way to her father's study. She'd felt an intense fear as she entered the room, a place that had only ever been a den of punishment for her, so much so that she'd almost run away without getting what she'd come here for.
But she steeled herself. She might not be able to fight on a battlefield, but she remembered Eoin's words. Bravery came in many different forms, and facing her demons in this room was something she had to do. The information she could potentiallyretrieve from this study could turn the tide for the rebellion once and for all.
It took a little searching, but she soon found what she was looking for. A complicated map was rolled up in a little cache hidden behind her father's desk. She took it out and flattened it across the table, taking in the complex depiction of the Highlands and all of the clan lands. There were diagrams and icons all over, confusing to anyone who was not experienced in cartography, but to Breana, it was a goldmine of information.
O'Sullivan had laid it all out. The plans for the next few attacks. The allyships he had already secured and the ones he was targeting next, all in the name of the False King. This was information that could really sway the path for the rebels, information they would have had to fight a war for if not for Breana's help—because she alone could understand exactly what it meant. Exactly how they could use it to their advantage.
For the first time in a long, long time—maybe for the first time in forever—Breana felt a flood of pride in herself and her abilities. She couldn't bring the whole map with her, so she quickly copied down the relevant information into her own little book, then went searching for anything else she could find in the room that might help.
Breana put a few books and a few letters she uncovered into her bag, then froze as her fingers found something under her father's desk. A little hidden drawer popped out when she pressed it, and inside was a single letter.
Breana’s breath caught as she recognized the handwriting on the envelope.
With shaking hands, she drew out the paper and unfolded it, revealing to her what might possibly have been the last words that her mother ever wrote to her father.
My beloved James,
The end is drawing near for me. Our time is short, my love, and it's important you have the truth on paper about what you must do when I am gone.
Our daughter, Nessa, is my pride and joy. She has fulfilled everything that her sisters could not, and I want nothing more in my heart and soul than for her to carry on the legacy of our families. Find her a husband who can take on your title when we are both gone, one who will respect the name of O'Sullivan so that our bloodlines can continue to rule long after our bodies are buried.
As for the others—Darach seems pleased with his bride, and so at least our most troublesome daughter is in a place where she can no longer cause us any shame. Visit Maeve once a year and ensure that she remembers who her family is, and where her loyalty lies. Through her and the son she will one day have, we can maintain the power of Darach and a good portion of the Highlands for ourselves.
And finally, for Breana, the softhearted child who seems to have come from neither of us. I despair about what we are to do with this girl. She is pretty enough, but she does not have Maeve's extraordinary beauty, nor does she possess the wit and poise of our beloved Nessa. But she is our oldest daughter, and eyes are upon us, always. Find her a husband who is loyal to the throne, but act as though she is your greatest prize, your most priceless gem. Use her wisely, when the time is right.
And now to you, my husband. Forgive me, if you can, for never bearing you the son you so desired. Know that my dedication to the O'Sullivan name will carry long beyond this life. You are amongst the king's most trusted soldiers, and I go to my grave proud of you and all that you have done. We deserved the wealth and the power that has come to us, and I trust in you, my love, to do all that you can to maintain it, no matter the cost.
Let the country know that we are the ones who rule. Let them know our might.
Ensure our daughter follows in our footsteps, and that the other two can be used to find us favor in the eyes of the king. Live on, my laird, and remember what is truly important. Allow our name to soar. Allow our wealth to grow. And remember, always remember, who we are.
We are O'Sullivans. And this country is ours.
Yours, in life and death,
Rose
