THE HIGHLAND KING’S SHADOW
PROLOGUE
Castle Blackthorn had spiritually risen from the ashes of Castle McNair twenty years before, built about twenty miles from the razed royal residence, and now it loomed over the landscape like a dark mark against the horizon. The King, Edric Ashkirk, had commanded it to be built from ashen rock, determined to make sure that the people never forgot the strength with which he had wrested power from the weak former king. He had deliberately moved the seat of power, choosing to let all acknowledge that his era of Scotland was an entirely new beginning.
Many of those who had previously been part of Clan McNair chose to live far from the castle, often near the previous stronghold of the late king, which Edric had repurposed for other uses. Their pathetic show of loyalty did little but amuse Edric. He let the smallfolk do as they would—so long as they paid their high taxes, farmed his fields, and sent their sons as soldiers. And if they did not, well then, Edric was never afraid to make an example of them.
An eerie quiet echoed through the halls of Castle Blackthorn, except for the low voice of the groveling James O'Sullivan, fallen entirely from his grace, who was now recounting the recentmovements of the pathetic rebellion that had risen in the name of the so-called lost prince.
"I… he overwhelmed me, but he let me live. I cannae understand why, except that–except that it may be part of some greater plan," O'Sullivan explained half-stammering, his eyes low on the ground, his knee bent. "The others… many of the others who had gathered… they've given their banners over tae McNair. Traitors, each and every one. They've followed him tae his base, and they intend tae raise their colors in his name."
Edric scowled, slamming his hand against the arm of his throne in frustration, staring down at the map of the Highlands in front of him with nothing short of pure fury. The McNair pretender had turned too many heads and incited too much talk. News of the rebellion and O'Sullivan's defeat had spread too far already, and Edric knew that he needed to act to quash the whispers before the sparks turned into an all-out uncontrollable inferno. That O'Sullivan was here groveling before him just made him more angry.
"Dinnae use that name!" he boomed. "This worm is nae McNair, nae matter what he may claim. I wiped that name from the world, burned it from the map, twenty years ago, did I nae?"
O'Sullivan flinched. "Apologies, Yer Majesty. The prin—the pretender who wears the name of the prince, however, is nae backin' down. He already reclaimed Darach, and?—"
"And ye have failed tae stop him! Ye have let him flee tae spare yer own pathetic life, and take nae one but two of yer daughters with him!" Edric shook his head. "Those lassies could have served their place here at the castle, and instead ye have failed tae control them, tae control yerpeople. EvenMcKenziedid his job more thoroughly than ye."
"Yer Majesty, please, I…"
Thepleasejust infuriated Edric further. He did not tolerate weakness in his throne room. "Have I nae done me best for thiscountry, O'Sullivan? Have I nae dedicated me life tae purgin' Scotland of the old disease of the Celts, playin' the gardener of God and pluckin' the stranglin' weed from our garden? Have I nae tried harder than any ruler before me?"
O'Sullivan's voice shook. "I–ye have, sire. Ye've done wonders these twenty years."
Edric sat back on his throne. He remembered the day he wiped the McNairs from the world. The day he showed them the people they'd put their trust in had turned, the day he'd wiped the dirt and filth of Robert McNair from the world. The English King had supported Edric's mission, and Edric had felt the divinity of heaven on his side as he'd rid the world of them one by one, killing as many of McNair's supporters as he could before eradicating McNair and his children entirely.
Except… except now the world claimed to be rallying around another.
No. It couldn't be. Edric snarled, "Let him come, then, this false prince. Let Bruce and his puppet try tae face me. I scattered the ashes of the McNairs tae the wind, each and every one. There's nae way that name will rise again. This 'prince', whoever he might be… he is nae king. Only a corpse awaitin' the strength of me blade."
Contemptuously, he slammed his hand on the table, sending the map markers flying. In the corner of the room, a carafe fell to the ground, the sound of shattered glass echoing around the hall, and Edric looked away from his pathetic vassal to see a young maid scrambling on the floor to clean up her mess.
He got to his feet, approaching the girl, enjoying the way she shrank back as he loomed over her. He liked his maids to feel his presence, liked them to know their place. He didn't recall ever calling this girl to his bed like he had so many others, but he noted her pretty dark hair and the freckles on her nose as shelooked up at him with striking dark eyes that widened the closer he approached.
"Lass," he said, "Are ye fearful of me?"
The girl's eyes darted up to him, then down again to the shattered carafe. "Nae, Yer Majesty. Forgive me. I am only… only fearful of what this accursed rebellion may bring upon us."
Edric smiled, crouching down and languidly lifting the girl's chin to make her look him dead in the eye. She was pretty enough to momentarily distract him from his anger. Yes, he would take her to bed soon, once he had exhausted his current fancy. Or perhaps he would instead present this lass as a gift to Ansel, his son, who watched silently from the seat beside his own. "Fear not, bonny thing," he told her. "What's yer name?"
"Abby, Yer Majesty," she said, her voice wavering in a way he enjoyed. He always reveled in their fear. "Forgive me."
He tapped her cheek almost affectionately. "Fear not," he repeated. "I will pluck every weed from me garden and burn it. Stay true, and ye can watch as we dance in the ashes. Can ye do that,Abby?"
The girl swallowed, then nodded, her eyes darting away again.
Edric laughed and straightened up. "Ye're dismissed. Go. But dinnae stray too far. Stay in the room while I prove me dedication tae riddin' this world of traitors. Leave the carafe—ye can clean it after the show is done."
The girl nodded shakily and vanished into the shadows at the back of the room. Edric had already forgotten about her as he returned to his throne and surveyed the messed-up map once more. He glanced at his son, then turned his full attention back to O'Sullivan.
"Well?" he said. "Do ye nae think, as king, I have a duty tae do what I swore tae that maid, O'Sullivan? Should I purge this landof traitors? Or do ye believe I should show mercy tae those who were once loyal tae me?"
O'Sullivan looked up, his eyes wide, his face drawn. "I… if it comes tae it, sire, then me daughters must be put tae the sword. Family or not, they have betrayed ye. I–I dinnae believe that there is any redemption for them. So long as my Nessa lives, kennin' she has always been loyal."
"Nessa will live on, at least until I have figured what tae do with her," Edric agreed pleasantly. "And I am glad tae hear ye say that. I will start dealin' with the blight immediately. Are ye agreeable tae this, James?"
O'Sullivan looked startled to be addressed by his first name, but he didn't dare question it, much to Edric's satisfaction. "A–aye, sire."
