Neala had never seen Eoin freeze, but he did now, the color draining from his face. It was as though he couldn't even figure out how to react.
Pushing past him, Darren ducked inside the carriage and exited a moment later with a limp figure in his arms. The woman's complexion was grey, her hair lank and lifeless, and if it wasn't for the faint rise and fall of her chest, Neala would have mistaken her for dead.
Neala recognized her after a moment, and she let out a shuddering gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Ann!" Ferda shrieked in a wild mix of joy and fear and rage. She hurried to Darren's side. "Ann, my Ann, can ye hear me?"
"Come," Darren told his cousin quickly. "We need tae get her tae the healers. Help me."
The two of them hurried off without pause or word to the others, disappearing into the castle. Maeve let out a soft cry of shock and moved to Eoin's side, putting a hand on his arm.
"She's alive," Maeve said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. "She'll be all right. She's safe now, just like she saved me so long ago."
Iona nodded. "It was the False King's nephew," she told them. "Did ye ken he was workin' with us all this time? He helped us escape, him and a few guards. We could barely believe it."
The False King's nephew? Neala had seen him in passing a few times, mostly chatting with Ansel or playing cards with the soldiers. She hadn't taken much note of him—Laura had told her that Baldric Ashkirk was not a priority in her mission. And now, at last, she knew why. Her throat burned and her hands started to shake until she firmly clasped them together. What would Ansel do if he knew that his own cousin was a traitor?
"She's nae alone," Eoin said hoarsely.
"Ye're right." Iona peered into the carriage. "Come out now," she said.
Another woman stepped out of the carriage without help. She looked thin and ragged after her months of imprisonment, but she still wore that unmistakable pride and power that Neala had always admired. She took Iona's offered arm, stumbling only slightly, and observed them all in silence.
Neala's heart thudded hard. "Morag," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Morag, ye're safe. I'm so sorry I left ye. I'm so sorry I couldnae?—"
"Hush, lass," Morag soothed. Iona brought her closer to the group. "I'm here now. I gave ye a task, and oh! Look how well ye've completed it."
"I kent ye'd be back with us soon enough, ye tough old bird," Senan said gruffly. He moved forward, taking Morag's arm from Iona and giving her a swift but meaningful embrace. "Me oldest friend. Ye've looked better."
Morag laughed tiredly. "Still look better than ye, old man," she replied. She kissed his cheek, then hesitated.
Neala could scarcely believe it. She had never seen Morag hesitate before, not for anything. The excitement in her heart at seeing her friends again was clouding her thoughts, almost overwhelming her, so much that she could barely remember what she had been thinking about a moment before. How were they here? How were they safe? Was this a dream?
Morag at last turned toward all of the others who were gathered there. They all moved out of the way, parting until there was nobody standing between the head Sparrow and the king.
The world seemed to hold its breath. Eyes wide, Cailean took a few cautious steps toward Morag. There was a new, unfamiliar vulnerability on his face, and for the first time, he looked almost like an uncertain child. After what felt like an eternity, he reached her.
"Morag," Cailean said. "Ye're here. Ye really came back."
"More than twenty years too late, I ken," Morag told him tiredly. "Och, me wee lad. Look how ye've grown. Look what ye've achieved. Can ye forgive me? I thought I was doin' the right thing. I thought?—"
Cailean took two long strides and caught Morag in a tight embrace. He leaned into her like a boy hugging his mother, and the two of them held each other for a long time. A cheer rose up around them, and Neala, caught up in the jubilance of the moment, joined in.
When the two parted, both of their faces were wet with tears, and both were wearing broad smiles that shone with love. Morag wiped her face, then paused and reached into her inner cloak pocket, drawing something out and holding it out toward Cailean.
Neala's blood froze as she recognized it.
"Where did ye get this?" Cailean asked, his hands trembling as he accepted the gift. The little toy soldier was faded and a bit dirty, but otherwise no worse for wear than it had last been when Neala had last seen it. "Is it? It cannae be…?"
"It's yers," Morag told him. "Baldric said he found it in the castle many years ago. He gave it tae me tae return tae ye as a sign of goodwill. He said it was time thatallthe McNairs returned home."
Neala could barely breathe. The air seemed to grow too thick, almost suffocating, and her knees shook as they struggled to keep her upright. She had dropped that doll, and only one person could have found it. Only one person could have made sure it was returned.
She wanted to shout it out, scream it from the top of her lungs, but she knew she could not. She could not let anyone know thatsheyet knew that Ansel Ashkirk lived. After all, as far as the rebels were concerned, he was dying or already dead from poison. Even apart from that, nobody would take something as inconsequential as a doll as proof of…
Proof of what? Proof he was on their side? Neala was not naive enough to believe that. But it was proof hedidhave the heart she believed under all that darkness. This was more thanjust payment for what she had done for him, wasn't it? It had to be.
Before she could think more on it or decide what to do, Iona tapped her shoulder. Neala turned to see her friend looking a little uncertain.
