"I'm fine—" the other clan's messenger started to protest.
"I think ye'll find ye simply must eat," Ewan suggested with a small smile. "Go on, lad. Let us have our talk in private. We'll inform ye when it's done."
The young man reluctantly allowed himself to be led away, and only when the rebel group was fully alone did Cailean at last reach for the letter. Maeve stood by his side, gently placing her hand on his arm as she noticed that his fingers were shaking an infinitesimal amount. She knew how much this meant to him. To all of them.
They had spent the weeks since the downfall of Darach and the recapture of Bruce Castle trying desperately to gather allies. At first, they'd been filled with hope and excitement, buoyed by their success, but as time wound by, it took that hope with it. Feeling it draining away had been like torture to all of them, and Maeve knew that there had been hopeless murmurings amongst some of the men that it might very well all be over soon—that they would never find allies and that the might of the False King would overwhelm them after all, no matter what they did. It was only a matter of time, some of them had claimed. They still fought, but like Cailean until recently, it was only for survival, not because they still believed they could win.
A small minority, yes, but that minority was growing loud, and it was sowing dissent amongst the rest of the rebels. Maeve couldn't blame them; the shadow of the False King grew more and more oppressive with every day that passed. She often found herself thinking of the villagers of Broken Windmill and theother towns and villages that had been faithful to the rebellion over the years. She thought of how they'd suffered and were still suffering, and how much work they still had ahead before they would be able to make these good people and this beloved country thrive once more.
And that letter on the table, resting atop a huge map of the Highlands…it might finally be what they needed to spark that flame of hope once more.
Cailean lifted the parchment and unrolled it, opening it out to read the letter to everyone there. Maeve read it alongside him, her pulse beating in time with the words.
To the Lost Prince of McNair,
Twenty years ago, Clan McNair and Clan McKenzie were staunch allies. Before the fall of the Highlands and the rise of the False King, we stood firmly side by side. After the death of the King and Queen and your brothers and sisters, we believed that all was lost, and so the McKenzie clan went into hiding. We stayed hidden, biding our time, waiting for our moment. If we'd have known that you lived, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps we could have looked for you and restored the McNair name sooner. Perhaps our Highlands would have returned to their former glory already.
All of this is to say that, though we cannot change the past, we believe that the future is still very much within our grasp. Chief Murtaugh McKenzie wishes to liaise with you and yours in order to rebuild our old alliance and bring our clans back to our old closeness. Together, we can work to restore the throne and return the Highlands to where they should be.
Our Chieftain would like to formally invite you to the McKenzie stronghold to discuss the terms of our renewed alliance. We are committed to finding our place, our country's place, and helping you bring her back to her full strength. Send word with our messenger, and we will expect you soon.We would ask that you come personally so that we can show the kind of trust between us that we want to exemplify going ahead.
We look forward to seeing you there.
When Cailean finished reading, there was a long silence, then an outbreak of talking in the room, voices twisting over each other so much that it was hard to make out any of the individual words. Maeve saw the burning hope in Cailean's eyes as he surveyed the room, but her own stomach tightened with unease.
It was true that the McKenzies had once been allies of the McNairs, but where had they been in the country's darkest hour? Where had they been when not only the McNairs had fallen, but the Bruces, and so many other loyal clans as well? Where had they been for these twenty years while the rebellion had grown strong?
Why had someone written on behalf of the chieftain? That was another important question: what had stopped Murtaugh McKenzie from writing to Cailean himself? Had he thought himself too important for such a task? And, if so…what did that mean for their alliance?
And…why had the letter been written in such plain English? Maeve knew that it was becoming more and more popular to write in a standardized form of English rather than using Scots words and phrases, and it usually wouldn't have stood out to her at all, but coming on behalf of a great Scottish chieftain, it felt strange, to say the least.
Was Maeve overreacting? Maybe. But when Cailean turned and bid silence in the room, she knew that she would have to voice her concerns. After all, she had grown to know that this would always be a place where they would listen to what she had to say.
"I'll go," Cailean said when silence fell. "I'll take a small group with me and I'll go. We cannae let this opportunity pass us by, nae when we've been waitin' for it for so long."
"The McKenzies are a strong clan, and dinnae support the False King, from what I hear," Hamish said thoughtfully. "We could do with such a powerful ally."
"Nae tae mention that once we have someone strong publicly declared for us, others will come," Ewan followed up. "I think ye're right, Cailean—we must take advantage of this opportunity."
"Hmm," was all Senan said. He had been doing that more and more recently—taking a step back, leaving it to Cailean to make the ultimate decision unless he was actively asked for advice.
Kier said, "I think Maeve has somethin' tae say."
She jumped, then turned to see his intense gaze on her. Had he been watching her this whole time? She shook her head—no need to get overwhelmed or uncertain, not now. "I do," she confirmed. "I need tae make me thoughts kent, Cailean, before ye do this."
"Speak, love," Cailean encouraged.
Her heart squirmed with pleasure at the unexpected term of endearment in public, but she did not acknowledge it, determined to get her thoughts out. She expressed the issues she had thought of, adding, "This is a risk, Cailean. If ye go, we're placin' a lot at stake—yer life included. And though that's enough for me on its own, think what yer loss would do tae the rebellion."
"Ye're right, of course," Cailean told her. His eyes showed conflicting emotions; he seemed proud of her, and his voice was gentle, but he also looked troubled. He was as aware as she was of the uncertainties that lay ahead and of the burden of the choice that lay before him. "Ye're right, but… Maeve, everyone,we cannae pass up this chance. If we can indeed sway the McKenzies tae our side, it could tip the scales of power in our favor at last."
Their eyes met, and a wordless conversation flooded between them. Maeve knew then that there was no real choice, not for Cailean—and she knew that no matter what, she'd be by his side.
"All right, then," she said with a nod. "We go."
2
Cailean wished that the others had been as easy to communicate with as Maeve. The rest of the meeting did not go so smoothly, with much back and forth, debate and negotiation, and warring opinions in the room. However, it was eventually decided that they would indeed go. A party of twelve would leave for Clan McKenzie two days hence, led by Cailean. With him would be Darren, Fergus, and Maeve, along with eight others who had yet to be determined. He would select his most trusted warriors, as well as a scribe and a healer who had also been trained in fighting. They were also sending a few of their scouts out to liaise with the White Sparrows about the most recent events.
