The forest abruptly opened up onto a grassy field right at a cliff's edge. As they moved forward, Breana could hear the rushing waves of the North Sea far below them, and she knew that if she looked out over the cliff during the day, she'd see nothing but the great ocean for miles. It felt like she was at the edge of the world.
A small collection of buildings lay in the center of the field against the backdrop of the cliffs. One was a smallstable, another looked to be a simple glasshouse for growing and protecting plants in the Scottish winter. But dominating the scene, imposing and grand and seemingly ancient, was the convent. The grand stone building, modest and yet powerful, had clearly stood and been maintained for hundreds of years, and though the nuns were long since gone, the spiritual power still crackled in the air around it. Breana felt small and humble and remained silent as the women led her right to the grand entrance door.
The door opened as they approached, and an older woman appeared, casting her eyes over them. She had clearly known they were approaching, perhaps having watched from one of the towers above, or maybe the spirits of the women long past had whispered the secrets on the wind. This woman looked dignified, powerful, and Breana felt that whatever the woman said would change the course of her life.
"Laura," Ciara said in a low voice which Breana wasn't sure if she was supposed to overhear, "This lass says she is lookin' for Neala."
"She says that the rebel leaderreally isCailean McNair. That he's alive!" Iona burst out. "She says?—"
Laura turned sharply to Iona, then her eyes focused on Breana, a penetrating gaze that made Breana feel more seen than she ever had in her life.
Breana tried to speak, but the words would not come. She tried to explain who she was. She longed to describe how she'd known to come here, how she knew Cailean, how they had learned the secret of Neala being alive. She knew there was so much she needed to say for her own sake and for the sake of the rebellion. But when she opened her mouth, the only thing that managed to escape was, "Please help me friend. He'll die if ye dinnae."
The older woman looked away at last, focusing on Eoin's still body atop the horse. She moved forward, examining him.
"She says his name is Eoin," Iona said. "She says he's Cailean's friend—that they both are. How can any of this be true?"
"Many things are true, Catriona," Laura said quietly. "Many impossible things. Come with me while I take this lass inside and check that wound on her head. Fetch her somethin' tae eat."
Breana raised a hand dully to her hair. She hadn't realized before, but she felt the back of her head matted with blood. She'd obviously been hurt worse than she'd thought when she fell. "Does this mean… does this mean ye'll help?"
Laura didn't answer her. "Ciara, fetch some of the other older lassies and bring the carryin' frame. Ye can manage?"
Ciara nodded tersely. "We'll take him tae the infirmary," she confirmed.
"Iona, take the horses tae the stables," Laura finished. Then, her orders given, she moved to Breana's side and gently took her by the arm. "Come, lass. It seems we have much tae talk about."
15
It took around five or six hours to reach the reconstructed training ground which Neala had heard the guards referring to as the Sloe Stronghold, named for the fruit of the Blackthorn. It sickened Neala to hear them refer to the castle—McNair Castle,herhome—by such a name. They had stopped briefly several times during the long ride, sheltering from pelting rain and allowing many of the men to drink wine and laugh over their coming victory. In that whole time, Neala stayed close to Ansel, but he scarcely even glanced her way. He did not talk to her once, and though Neala was partly glad for it as it gave her time to think, she could not understand why he had brought her along at all.
Her body ached from the journey, but she barely noticed. Had Elspeth been able to get the message out? The convent was far from Blackthorn Castle, but the Sparrows had a network of spies that allowed them to pass messages quickly. If Elspeth had been able to act quickly, Laura would be aware of the whole situation in a day or two. Would that be quickly enough to intervene before the rebels arrived? If Sparrows came heredirectly from the convent, it would take maybe three or four days in total, assuming the message had been sent immediately.Could Neala stall for that long? Would the rebels mount their attack before then? She could only hope that they did not.
The morning sun had fully emerged from the horizon as they reached the castle, and Neala's heart almost stopped in her chest at the sight. The rain had stopped, and the white clouds above floated over something that to her had once only existed in her mind.
The castle had been reconstructed using more modern materials than those with which it had been originally built, though the stone had obviously been carefully selected to be as close to the ruin as possible. Neala could see patches where the ruined parts of the building had been built over with the new. She knew that much of the old castle exterior had survived the attacks even though the insides would have been burned away, but even the broken and destroyed parts that had once been claimed by flames now stood like new.
"The king wanted tae raze the place and build anew," one of the warriors said loudly to another. "But the prince convinced him tae keep it as close tae McNair Castle as they could. He said that it would be more of a taunt tae the rebels."
Neala knew that should make her angry, but her heart was too full of too many complex emotions to even consider any more. She could barely think, barely speak, as she dismounted her horse on a guard's orders and started shakily following Ansel toward the massive castle doors that led into the stronghold.
It felt wrong that she had no memories of this place beyond those she had seen in images or those which Morag and Laura had described to her. But she'd dreamed of McNair Castle so often in her life that, as the doors creaked open, she felt like she was coming home.
Her mother had once stood here, perhaps holding Graham's hand while she taught him to walk or scolding Barry for childish misbehavior. Her father had once entered through thesedoors, maybe carrying little Abigail on his shoulders—the same daughter, the samesister, whose name Neala carried now as protection.
Neala had been here, a babe in arms, perhaps carried through these very doors tens or even hundreds of times—by her mother, by her father, or even by Laura herself, who had cared for her even back then. Cailean had played here, driving Morag to madness as he tried to emulate his older brothers—and he'd run through these grounds, hand in hand with Morag, as they'd fled the attack that had killed the rest of their family.
King Robert and Queen Fiona McNair were long dead. The Crown Prince, Barry, and the prince and princess, Graham and Abigail, had been buried long ago. But Neala, the youngest of the McNair children, had lived against all odds, and now she knew that her brother, Cailean, had survived as well.
And now, despite all odds, despite everything in the world saying it would never happen again, Neala was coming home.
As she stepped through the doors, she understood one thing as clearly as crystal. She would never relent. She would never allow her home to be taken from her, not now that she had found it again. She would find her brother, somehow, and together, they would rebuild their family.
No matter what it took.
"Stay with the prince. He wants ye close," a guard hissed at her, pushing her forward and breaking the spell.
Neala stumbled and almost fell, her hands going out to prevent her fall and accidentally pressing against the hard muscles of Ansel's back. He glanced back at her, but otherwise did not react. Embarrassed, she hastily straightened herself up, ignoring the snorting laughter of some of the warriors nearby.
