It made Neala's blood run cold to ignore all of these people calling to her, but she kept her head down, moving forward, looking out only for Elspeth. She wanted to free everyone, but she couldn't do that alone. The only thing she could do for these prisoners now was to make her escape and help the White Sparrows and the rebellion to bring Ashkirk down once and for all. But first, she had to find…
"Neala?" an incredulous voice croaked as she entered a deeper, darker part of the dungeon. "Neala, lass, is that ye?"
She jumped, spinning on the spot to face the solitary cell that was kept away from the others. That voice was familiar… but it wasn't Elspeth.
"Morag?" she whispered, her voice fighting over a painful lump in her throat as she hurried over to the cell and held up the torch.
ItwasMorag. Against all odds, against all reason, the other leader of the White Sparrows stared out at Neala from the other side of the bars in the bowels of Blackthorn Castle. Laura's partner, the other woman who had raised Neala and the other Sparrows in training, the one who took the lead in directing most of the missions—she washere.
Another woman stirred in the back of the cell, and Neala angled the light to see a younger woman staring over at them, sitting with her back against the wall, looking thin and pale. Neala recognized her as a senior Sparrow: Ann. She looked likeshe had been beaten or had grown unwell, and she did not rise to approach the bars as Morag did.
"How are ye here?" Neala asked as Morag reached the front of the cell and put her hand through the bars. Neala grabbed it, holding it tight, feeling how the older woman's hand was cold. "What happened tae Ann? What happened tae ye?"
Morag sighed. "I didnae think Laura would allow ye tae come, nae after we went missin'. I had hoped ye might stay away. But perhaps… perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps only ye can do what needs tae be done. Believe me, Neala, I tried me best. All the decisions I made, I made with the right thing in mind. Even if I havenae always been correct."
She glanced over her shoulder at Ann.
"She was injured quite badly, but they're keepin' her alive," Morag continued. "I think they want her whole and healthy for whatever comes next. We were scoutin' near the old McNair Castle, tryin' tae find what we could, when we were attacked. Dina… Dina was killed." Her expression, usually so stoic, cracked, and Neala saw tears in the old woman's eyes for the first time in her life. "The other lass, the rebel scout, she fled."
"Ferda…" Ann muttered. "Run. Run!"
Morag's sorrow multiplied, and she turned from the cell doors to return to Ann's side for a moment, placing her hand on the young woman's forehead for a moment before shaking her head. She pulled a threadbare blanket higher over Ann's shoulders, tucking it around her as best she could, then returning to the bars where Neala was waiting.
Neala felt something tearing at her heart at the sight in front of her. She'd only met Dina a few times, but to know she was dead…
All the White Sparrows, even those training in the convent in relative safety, knew the dangers of their role. They knew thatit might end this way for them. But that didn't mean that they didn't all feel each loss like a stab to their own heart.
"I'll get ye out of here," she promised, her own eyes wet as she heard Ann's desperate, feverish mutterings. "Both of ye. Just give me a little time, and I'll find a way tae help ye escape."
Morag's hand tightened around Neala's. "Nay. Ye cannae. There's too much for ye tae do, Neala. It's too much of a risk. Ye cannae get me out, and with Ann in such a state, ye willnae be able tae free her without detection either. Ye must leave us—ye have greater things tae accomplish."
Neala's stomach churned as she stared into the eyes of the strong, powerful leader, whose hair was now loose and wild, and saw nothing there but determination. "But Ann could die."
"Ye think I would allow that?" Morag challenged. "We will be fine. Do what ye must do, Neala—it's the only way tae even think about freein' us. The only way tae free any of us."
The tears had escaped from Neala's eyes now, but though they were running freely down Neala's cheeks, she did not try to wipe them away. She was not sobbing, but neither was she ashamed of her own emotion, not now.
"I must tell ye what I've discovered. I dinnae ken what tae do," Neala whispered. "I think… I think the prince has set some sort of trap for the rebel leader. He seems confident that he can lead them intae it and destroy them. But I cannae even imagine what he might have tae taunt these people who have spent so long evadin' his father. I cannae understand…"
She trailed off as she saw Morag's eyes widen, then the old woman dropped her gaze, looking almost ashamed.
"Morag?"
Morag met her eyes again, but this time, there was remorse shining there, as well as a deep tiredness that Neala had never seen before. "Och, lass. I did wrong by ye both, I think. I thought I was doin' what was right, but I… now I dinnae ken."
Something prickled on the back of Neala's neck. "What?"
Morag swallowed. "Did ye ever wonder why Ashkirk decided tae rebuild McNair Castle for his trainin' grounds above all other options? It cost him gold and men, more than he had tae spare."
"Tae taunt us. Tae show us his power is absolute," Neala said immediately. It was one of the pieces of information that the Sparrows had received that had fueled her desire to start the mission immediately. She thought about it for a moment, then added, "Because of who the leader of the rebels is claimin' tae be—claimin' the McNair name. It's a direct insult. A challenge."
"Aye, and one far too clever for Edric Ashkirk tae come up with on his own. That's the mind of his devious son at play, and now ye've confirmed it," Morag replied. She dropped Neala's hand, curling her fingers around the bars instead. "And it could work, Neala. Itwillwork."
The prickle on Neala's neck grew stronger, spreading over her shoulders and down her spine. "I dinnae understand."
"I think ye do," Morag replied. She took a breath. "The lad isnae justclaimin'tae be Cailean McNair, Neala. HeisCailean. Yer brother. And now, the rightful king of Scotland."
The air rushed from Neala's lungs and she grew lightheaded. She staggered in place, grabbing the bars in front of her for support. She couldn't speak, couldn't move. All she could hear for a moment was a faint ringing in her ears.
