But Eoin shook his head. "We ken the rebel plans better than the Sparrows do. And if ye think I'm ever leavin' yer side again tae let ye ride intae danger, ye're very wrong."
"Good," Laura said abruptly. "The lassies will show ye tae yer things and tae the horses. We will send a contingent tae Bruce Castle tae deal with the rest. Now go. Ye've nae a moment tae waste."
They redid Eoin's bandages one more time, then he and Breana were rushed out to the stables. Their faithful horses waited for them, and soon they were mounted and on their way, with a bag of supplies each amongst them.
As they rode away from the monastery, Breana said, "Eoin. Are ye sure we can make it?"
"It doesnae matter if we can," he replied. He leaned forward, spurring his horse to move faster, and heard Breana do the same just behind him. "Only that we must."
There was as long ride ahead of them to make it to McNair Castle in time, and the chances were that Cailean and Maeve would already be on the march. Eoin knew that they were taking a gamble against odds that were almost impossible.
But he also knew they had no other choice.
18
The morning of the third day brought a sunrise tinged with red, and Neala tried desperately not to see it as an omen. She knew in her heart that it was almost over, and she cursed herself for not yet having found anything that could prevent the oncoming slaughter. She felt hopeless, useless, and trapped in this beautiful gilded room where Ansel was keeping her like a little doll. He had been to visit a few times, shown her some plans, and everything he had mentioned had filled her with deeper horror. It seemed he had thought of everything that the rebels might throw at them, and Neala was beginning to sincerely doubt there was any way that Cailean would survive this trap at all.
She'd snuck out of the room a few times, exploring the castle as best she could without being seen under the cover of darkness, but all she'd managed to find in her searches were pain. Her heart felt like she should know these corridors, her soul felt like she should be at home here in this castle where she had been born, but everything was cold and unfamiliar wherever she looked. There was no sign of the McNair legacy anywhere that she looked. All tapestries bore the crest of the False King. All statues and carvings that may have once portrayed the McNairlegacy had been burned or destroyed, replaced with those that gloried the Ashkirk name.
Ansel did not come to join her for breakfast that morning, which was a surprise to her, though a relief as well. She did not know that she could maintain her facade this morning, not when her nerves were so frayed and fear was pulsing through her veins.
She knew that she should wait in her room until he arrived. It might be her last chance to learn his plans—her last chance to formulate some sort of way out of this for the rebel group. She needed to stay where she was.
But by the time the sun's rays had fully reached the corners of her room, Neala was already dressed and pushing open the door. She had never dared explore the castle during the daytime before, but since Ansel had not come for her this morning, now felt like the time to risk it.
Nobody bothered her as she made her way through the stone hallways. Perhaps they did not notice her, assuming that she was just another maid, or perhaps they simply didn't care. The atmosphere in the whole castle was highly focused, tension in the air, a frenetic excitement saturating the world around them. The training soldiers and the experienced alike were obviously preparing for something big, and it made a stone settle deep in Neala's stomach as the anticipation kept on building.
Soon, the pressure from the blank walls that had been scrubbed of all of her family's memory was too much, and she found herself gasping as she burst out of a side door and into one of the outdoor areas of the castle. The oppressive feeling of the False King's grip on this castle was poisoning it, and Neala didn't understand how any life could survive within.
She blinked, looking around her as she stepped outside, realizing that she was in a small garden of some kind. Laura had told her that the gardens of McNair Castle had once beenvibrant, filled with flowers and plants from all over, tended lovingly by the queen and her gardeners. Now, though, the grass was cut low, and there was no color in sight. Everything was uniform and cold, all personality scraped away. Perhaps it was just that it had all been destroyed in the flames that had claimed her family, but Neala felt it somehow more likely that the flowers simply refused to grow in this land where Ashkirk's shadow darkened the soil.
Neala walked slowly along the winding path, trying to imagine what this garden might have once been. Had her older brothers ever staged a play battle here? Had her sister perhaps taken her first steps? Had her parents perhaps lost themselves in an embrace, content in the knowledge that they were in a loving home?
She glanced up at the sky. Despite the bright sunrise, the weather had quickly taken a turn. It was gray and dull, the clouds heavy with rain that was yet to fall, and there were none of the sun's rays in sight. Some of the swirling clouds had grown an angry dark that was almost black, and Neala wondered if there might not be thunder approaching—a portent of things to come. She hoped that the rebels could use it as a cover, or perhaps even take the warning and turn back before it was too late.
The path twisted and ended at an archway, and she followed it, not even thinking about where she was going. Morag had once told her a story about how Barry and Graham had once, before Neala was born, gathered stones and painted them with bright dyes, casting them out over the gardens. Their mother hadn't scolded them; instead, she and their father had also painted a stone each and placed it out, and even helped the two younger ones fingerpaint their own. When Neala was born a few years later, they had placed her colorful tiny handprints on the stones and placed them out to join the wild decorations.
Had it been this garden? There were stones dotted everywhere amongst the grass, but Neala saw only gray and brown amongst them. It had been the start of a family tradition, but that had been wiped from the world now, just as her family had been taken away long ago.
Except… except Cailean. Cailean was still alive. Neala could still barely wrap her head around it. Did he know about the stones? About the secret writing his brothers had done on the wall until Morag had caught them? About the time little Abby had fallen in a garden pond and returned, grinning, with a bright-green stone in her hand, scooped out by a panicking Laura?
Did he know anything about their family at all?
And if he fell into Ansel's trap, would he ever have the chance to learn?
Distressed by the thought, Neala stared down at the ground as she walked through the archway. To the left was a small staircase twisting up inside a thin arch tower. Something pulled Neala in that direction, and she ducked back inside, heading up the stairs, then exiting back outside again atop some of the battlements.
Taking a breath, she kept going, striding along the castle walls. She frowned as she noticed some of the newly installed weapons there, shivering at the thought of the damage that they could do. Had her father ever had such defenses? Probably not. If he had…
She wrenched her eyes away, continuing to pace along the battlements. She didn't look over the edge and out over the countryside. She wasn't sure she could bear whatever she might find there.
As she walked, she heard voices ahead, distant, organized noises that reminded her of training back at the convent. Her curiosity took over, and she headed toward the noise, takinga few steps down onto a secondary wall and turning a corner. Neala walked a little further until she was peering down to a square training space below.
Soldiers were sparring with one another, while others were practicing fist combat against stuffed bags. Some were performing exercises under the watchful eye of the training leader. As Neala descended yet another set of steps until her feet touched the grass of the training grounds, she realized that it was Ansel who stood there in the middle, directing the training soldiers and offering instruction.
She hesitated at the bottom of the steps, hidden partially out of sight. One set of soldiers was sparring fiercely, getting so spirited that several of the others stopped what they were doing to watch.
"Come on, Tam!" Ansel called out, his attention drawn to them as well. "I taught ye how tae avoid this!"
