Senan nodded. "Ye're wed, then, Donnie? Good for ye, lad. Stay here and keep yer wife and bairn safe, heal from yer injuries, and when ye're needed, we ken where tae find ye."
The young man, Donnie, smiled and nodded. He moved forward and Maeve noticed he had a noticeable limp. "If there's anythin' I can do, anythin' at all, then I'll be by me king's side in an instant."
The intensity in his voice made Maeve's heart flutter. This man believed in the McNair prince —the king, as he called him — with all of his being. Was this the heart of the rebellion? If it was, then Maeve could believe that one day they might even win.
"For now, just tell us where tae go," Senan said, patting Donnie's shoulder. "And stay loyal, lad."
They set out an hour later with instructions and a few supplies. It would be a few more days, Senan explained, before they reached the new location where the rebels were hiding.
"Ye ken what that means?" he asked her as their horses picked up the pace.
Maeve grinned. "More bruises tae be earned. But watch out, Senan, because they willnae all be mine."
Senan gave her a fierce smile in response. "I'm countin' on it."
6
Chapter Six
The little village was too small and poor to even have a name, and so the locals had taken to calling it Broken Windmill, after the destroyed structure that had once been the village's source of income. It had been abandoned and decrepit for as long as anyone could remember.
"I dinnae like that we're here," Cailean said for the thousandth time as he and Darren sat down together to eat that night in the little hut they'd set up just outside the village. "I dinnae like that we're imposin' on these people."
"We're hardly imposin'," Darren retorted, pointing idly with his knife toward Cailean. The bean pierced at the end of it threatened to fall off, but held in place. "They all but begged us tae set up camp here. The people of Broken Windmill are loyal tae the cause, and that's why we're here."
The cause. Cailean believed in protecting their freedom with all his heart, but he had to admit that it worried him to think about what these people really expected from him. He was glad that so few people knew his true identity, because he was sure that if they knewhewas the lost prince, they'd be dreadfully disappointed. Most of the people in the rebellion believed his name was Cailean McManus. There were rumors that he was the bastard son of one of the four councilmen, and that was why they were all so close. They knew he was someone of importance, he was sure, but they associated it with his close connection with the council members rather than any claim of his blood. Nobody dared confront the council to get to the truth, and Cailean was happy to perpetuate the rumors.
But never mind all of that. Regardless of who would become king, they all agreed that they needed to be rid of the pretender who was now on the throne. The loyalty and generosity of the Broken Windmill villagers, as well as those in the camp, was overwhelming. The village was so small and poor that they struggled with day to day life, but they were still willing to offer everything they had to help the cause. Cailean was extremely grateful, but he also couldn't help but feel guilty. How could they accept things that were offered from people who had so little?
"I ken that expression," Darren told him. He swallowed his bite of food and said, as pragmatically as ever, "What use is guilt?"
"I dinnae feel guilt because of itsuse," Cailean countered.
Darren snorted. "Clearly. But ye're nae thinkin' logically either. The people in the villagewanttae help us. Theywanttae be part of what we're doin' here, and it would be more condescendin' and insultin' tae refuse their help than it would be tae accept it. The whole company is sufferin' under the False King and English control. This is the only way we have tae help them."
Cailean knew that Darren was right, at least partly, but there was more depth to this than that. He opened his mouth to argue, but then they were interrupted by a knock at the door of the hut.
"Come in," he said, giving Darren a look that said that the conversation was not yet over.
It was Ferda, the same scout who had announced the news of Darach's death months before. She had a huge smile on her face and Cailean realized that for once they might be about to get some good news.
"What word, Cousin?" Darren asked her. Unable to resist teasing, he added, "Are ye finally gettin' wed?"
"I will before any woman looks at ye," Ferda shot back. Then she blushed and said, "Sorry, Cailean. Ye ken what he's like."
Cailean snorted. "I do ken. What's the news?"
"Senan is back," Ferda told him, the excitement in her voice palpable. "And he's got a lassie with him."
Joy filled Cailean at those words — joy and relief. He loved Senan like a father, just like the other council members, and these long months without seeing him had been stressful. Without any word for so long, Cailean had been beginning to worry that something had happened to the older man, so his heart lifted to hear that he was back.
"A lassie?" Darren asked. "Has the old man taken a wife, then? Even he's paired up before ye, Ferda."
"Enough teasin'," Cailean said as Ferda warmed up her retort. "Come. Let's go greet our friend and see what news he's brought us."
* * *
Cailean, Darren, and Ferda arrived after most of the camp had already gathered in curiosity around Senan and his new guest. The older man stood in the middle of a circle of inquiring minds, and behind him, still on her horse, sat a girl.
