Cailean didn't answer that, because he knew that Maeve did not need words or doubts about Nessa right now. She and Breana had spent a lot of the last few days discussing their interactions with their younger sister, and Cailean could hear the longing and hope in Maeve's voice now as she spoke of it. He didn't know if they'd ever be able to pull the third O'Sullivan sister from their evil father's grasp, but he knew that Maeve would do whatever she could to try.
He pressed her hands lightly. "I ken we can do whatever we need tae, so long as we're together." He met her eyes, and love flooded him, pure and simple and true. "Ye've given me everythin', Maeve. Me sense of purpose. The courage I needed tae reclaim me name and take me place as a leader of this rebellion and the future of our country. Ye've made me feel like there's a hope for a bright future once we make it through the chaos."
Maeve smiled at him, that special soft smile she saved only for Cailean. It made his heart leap just as much now as it had the first time he saw it. "There's a lot of chaos tae get through first," she warned him, though he heard the lightheartedness in her voice too. "There'll be many challenges."
"Many triumphs, too," Cailean answered, more sure of that than he'd ever been. "Whatever happens, I'll always come back tae ye. Ye're me home. Me only love."
"Whatever comes," Maeve assured him. "We'll find our way tae each other. And we'll give our people back their home."
The convent was ancient, though well-maintained, and the young women who called it home often thought of the sprawling stone building as a remnant of a much older Scotland. It stood deep within a forest, hidden from the rest of the world, once the hidden home of a secret order of holy women and now the nest of the hardworking Sparrows.
In its small kitchen, deep in the basement, a young woman sat crushing nuts in a bowl, setting about her daily duties as she always did. The girl was around three and twenty, with pretty waves of blonde hair that travelled halfway down her back and a pair of curious dark eyes. Her two friends, close as sisters, sat around her—Iona, who was sixteen, and little Catriona, just fourteen, chattering away to her as they always did.
It had always been like this with Iona and Cat. As long as Neala could remember, she had protected the two younger orphans, helping them through their training as Sparrows and through their day-to-day duties as well. They adored her, and she loved them in turn. She had been too young to remember the family that had been taken from her, though she knew she'd once had a blood sister and three brothers. She felt their loss every day, and she hoped deep in her heart that the way she cared for Iona and Cat would at least make up for the fact she had never been able to protect her birth family.
A silly way to think about it, Laura always said, as Neala had only been a baby when her parents and siblings were murdered. Nevertheless, Neala always felt a deep guilt about being the only one to survive, though she was determined to use that gift in any way that she could. She knew that, of all her siblings, she looked most like their father—she had his hair, as all of her siblings had,but also his eyes. Part of her wished she'd inherited the grey eyes of her mother so that she could carry them both with her. She knew, though, that both her parents were watching over her.
"Do ye think it's true, then? That the rebellion has made moves?" Iona asked excitedly. "I heard they even faced off against Laird O'Sullivan."
"Where did ye hear that? Have ye been listenin' in on the meetin's again?" Cat demanded. "That isnae fair! Ye should take me with ye!"
As the two girls bickered, Neala wondered about the rebellion. She had only heard murmurings here and there. She knew that the Sparrows had been deeply involved in it over the years, following the enigmatic Kier Bruce and several other men in the council. Morag, who Neala rarely saw, always spoke highly of them, and several other Sparrows had taken on important roles in feeding them information.
Something had changed recently, but Neala didn't know what. The Sparrows worked on a need-to-know basis, except for their highest leaders—Laura, Morag, and a few of the more experienced Sparrows like Ann. It was for their safety so that no Sparrow could give too much information if captured, but though Neala understood this, she found it very frustrating sometimes.
But if things were changing on the outside, then it was time for things to change here too. Neala was the last of the McNairs, the only remnant of the true king's bloodline, and she would no longer sit back in safety while others led the rebellion.
"Whatareye doin' with all those walnuts?" Cat asked, growing bored of her playful argument and turning her attention back to Neala. "Are ye makin' a paste?"
"Aye, but it isnae for eatin', so keep yer fingers away," Neala warned her. "It's for darkenin' me hair."
"Yer hair!" Iona protested. "Ye cannae!"
"Why would ye damage those lovely golden locks? Ye simply mustnae. I willnae allow it," Cat added. "It'll make them all muddy brown, like mine."
"Yer hair isnaemuddy," Neala scolded her. "It's brown like tree bark. Bonny."
"Butyersis like sunlight," Iona argued. "Ye must leave it be."
Neala sighed. It was difficult for her to argue, because if she was truly honest, she was reluctant to do this too. She was not particularly vain, but her hair had always meant a lot to her—the physical sign that tied her to all of her lost family. She had one tiny portrait of them, faded over time, that Laura had snuck out of the castle the day she'd saved Neala's life. Her father, Robert McNair, tall and blonde and proud with the same striking dark eyes as Neala. Her lovely mother, Fiona, whose own hair had been like cornsilk. And the children, so small, ranging in age down to Neala who had scarcely been able to walk, each with their mother's grey eyes and their father's golden hair.
That picture was Neala's proudest possession, and her hair was the last reminder she had of who she truly was.
But things needed to be done.
"Hush, the pair of ye. It's for the mission," Neala told them.
The younger girls instantly fell silent, almost awestruck by the mere mention of it. They were both coming close to the end of their training, and both would soon be sent on missions of their own—though neither would be attempting anything as dangerous as what she was about to do.
"I cannae take any risk, nae matter how small, that I may be discovered. I ken it would be hard tae recognize me now from the bairn I was, but if anyone is reminded of me father when they look at me, all could be lost." She closed her eyes for a moment, the gravity of the missions settling on her shoulders. "I've been trainin' and preparin' for too long tae let a silly thing like me hair ruin it all."
Iona and Cat nodded solemnly.
Just then, the door to the kitchen opened, and an older woman walked in, her long dark hair flecked with grey. She surveyed them all for a moment, then made a small gesture. At the sign, the two younger girls instantly got up and left, obeying one of the two leaders of the White Sparrows without any argument.
When they were alone, Neala said, "I hope ye arenae here tae try tae dissuade me."
Laura closed the gap between them, taking the seat that Iona had just vacated, and replied, "Ye ken, nae many of the lassies dare talk tae me so frankly."
