"That's why we fight, is it nae? So that the true king can one day take his rightful place and save us all?" Maeve asked.
Complicated emotion wrestled on Cailean's face. "We fight tae survive. Ye ken that better than anyone." He sighed. "Ye still lied tae us, Maeve. I dinnae ken if we can ever trust ye again."
"Ye can trust me. I fled tae lead the men away from the camp. I fought with ye. Doesnae that mean somethin'?" Maeve asked.
"I trusted Mary," Cailean told her quietly. "I dinnae even ken who Maeve is. Ye tell me the reasons ye fled, but isnae it just as likely that ye ran off tae save yer own skin? That ye fought because ye realized ye had nae way of gettin' away alive?"
Despite knowing it was reasonable that he would be suspicious of her, Maeve still rankled at the unfairness of the accusation. "Ye dinnae believe that. It doesnae make sense. Surely if I was runnin' tae save meself I would have run in the other direction. Surely if I meant ye harm, I would have acted long before now."
Cailean didn't answer. He moved toward his horse and patted the creature's neck, his back turned to Maeve for a long time. Maeve looked around at the farmland that surrounded them, her eyes hot and prickling, though she did not allow any actual tears to fall. Only a few hours ago, life had seemed the closest to perfect that she'd ever experienced, closer to true joy than she'd ever expected. And now… now it might all be over, forever. In some ways, this felt even worse than when she'd faced certain death in the dungeons of Darach Castle. At least then she'd known.
"Let's go," he said. "Take yer horse. We ride back tae camp."
"I can come back?" she asked, scarcely able to believe it.
"I'm takin' ye back," he corrected. "Ye'll be taken before the council and judged. It isnae up tae me what we do with ye. It's for the elders tae decide."
A new coldness settled in Maeve's stomach. The council. Gruff but fatherly, Kier. The dedicated, strong Ewan and the kind but firm Hamish. And…
"Senan," she whispered. Her mentor. Her friend.
Cailean glanced at her, then looked away. "We all bear our own burdens," he said. "Especially when we create them for ourselves. This is the price."
"Then I'll pay it," Maeve said resolutely. She turned to find her horse and froze in her tracks.
There, in the doorway of the farmhouse, stood an old woman holding a candle and staring into the night. And from the look on the woman's face, she could see everything.
16
Chapter Sixteen
There was something intense about the way the old woman stared across the field, as though even in the darkness of night the whole world and all of its secrets were clear to her. Maeve's heart stuttered erratically as a hush fell down over the field. Even the horses seemed to still. Both Cailean and Maeve turned to watch the old woman approaching them, her solitary candle held high in front of her wrinkled face.
The closer she got, the more Maeve could make out the expression on the woman's face. She was staring, Maeve saw now, not at them both but only at Cailean. As she got closer, the old woman's dark eyes grew wider and wider, her papery skin turning paler. She walked right up to Cailean, and when she spoke, the silence shattered around them.
"Ye, lad. Ye've got his face, but those are her eyes. I cannae believe ye're here."
Maeve didn't understand, but she saw the way that Cailean's expression flickered, almost as though he were in a panic.
"I dinnae suppose ye'd recognize me. It's been so long. But I kent ye'd be here, one day," the woman went on.
"Ye have me mistaken for someone else, Grandmother," Cailean said in a polite but gruff voice. "We're sorry tae invade yer farm. We'll just take our horses and go."
The old woman's expression didn't budge. She was staring at Cailean with nothing short of wonder. "My mistake," she said after a long moment. "Ye reminded me of a young lad I kent once, long ago. I worked in his father's kitchens, twenty years or so ago, before I came out here with me son tae rebuild our lives on this farm."
Maeve could not understand the depth in the woman's tone or the look of fervency in her eyes, but she could see that Cailean was growing… what? Impatient? Uncomfortable? Maeve cleared her throat and said, "Forgive me, but we are expected elsewhere."
The old woman turned to her and smiled faintly. "Aye, I expect ye are. Off with ye, then. And take care of each other." She paused, then said, "What of these horses?"
Seeing the other horses gathered in the field — their masters now laying dead in the woods — made Maeve feel sick. She couldn't speak, so she averted her gaze to the ground.
Cailean replied. "Keep them tae raise or sell as ye like. We need only our own two."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Ye're sure? That's a fine profit ye're turnin' away."
"Then make that profit with our blessin'," Cailean replied. "Peace upon ye, Grandmother."
"And ye, lad," the woman replied. "And ye both."
