"Are these…?" Neala whispered, unable to force a normal tone anymore. She reached in and drew out a small doll, a toy soldier that might have once belonged to a small boy. It was a little ragged and worn, but there were no burn marks on it, and otherwise it seemed fine.
"I found that one not far outside of the castle when I was a lad," Ansel told her. "I think it may have belonged tae one of the princes. Nae doubt he was carryin' it durin' their failed attempt tae flee."
Neala held the little doll close. "Why… why did ye bring it here?"
He paused. "Och, it's embarrasin' tae admit. I was a bairn still. I would have been heartbroken tae lose one of me toys. I thought, perhaps, I should bring it home. I'm nae sure why I've kept it with the rest of the things all these years. Ye can keep it if ye like, since ye seem tae like it so much. Perhaps one day ye can give it tae yer own son."
Her hand shaking, Neala tucked the little doll away inside her cloak. She returned her attention to the chest and reached inside again, this time drawing out a little book.
"These are mine, however," Ansel replied, smiling faintly. "Nae that they'd be any use tae ye. I dinnae ken why I kept all of these things, except that… well, they were beautiful. They tell me that me own mother loved bonny things, though I never kent her. They say she was kind, thoughtful, gentle… everythin' me father was nae. She died bringin' me intae this world for him,and yet he never speaks her name." He shook his head. "I think as a lad I wanted tae respect her memory, and so I kept them. And I kent it must be a secret. I couldnae bear me father learnin' of all of this and seein' it destroyed."
Neala was barely listening. Her fingers fumbled as she opened the little journal she was holding, and her eyes greedily drank in the slightly faded handwriting on its pages, written in unapologetic Scots.
…the bairn will arrive soon. Cailean was too young tae understand what was happenin' when Abigail was born, but he is fascinated now by this one. I ken that he and this youngest of me brood will have a special bond. Rabbie thinks that the bairn will be yet another lad, and he wishes tae call him Neal after an uncle. But a mother kens these things, and soon enough, I ken I will hold another wee lassie in me arms. I cannae wait tae meet ye, wee one—and nae just because I love tae prove me husband wrong!
It was too much. Neala's resolve crumbled, and all of her training fell away. She could not be the White Sparrow now, nor the noble princess. For the first time in her life, she felt like nothing but a lost little girl, clutching onto her mother's thoughts and words more desperately than any lifeline. Tears poured down her cheeks unchecked, and she stared, unseeing, at the pile of memories in the chest that should have been lost forever.
"Those journals belonged tae the queen," Ansel noted, sounding genuinely interested. "From what I can tell, Fiona McNair was a wise, thoughtful woman. It's a shame she had tae lose her life. I often wonder what we could have learned from the McNairs had me father chosen tae let them live on as prisoners."
She couldn't keep it in anymore. Neala tried to respond, but all that came out was a deep sob.
Ansel touched her arm and turned her around to face him, surprise and concern etched in equal measure across her face. "What— Abby? Why are ye cryin'? Are ye hurt?"
Neala couldn't speak. She sobbed harder, and when Ansel whispered something soothing, she hated herself for finding comfort in him—in the son of the man who had destroyed everything that could have been.
19
Cailean could see his home directly ahead of him, closer now than it had been in more than twenty years. The last time he had seen McNair Castle, it had been aflame. Now, it stood as tall and proud as it had once done in his memories. Here, in the pre-arranged spot where they had set up camp in the nearby forest, it was now so close that he could touch. His heart tore in his chest as he fought against the urge to simply run across the field toward it, half expecting to find his parents and siblings and even Morag just waiting for him inside.
Rain poured down heavily from above, and a rolling crash of thunder echoed through the trees, drawing Cailean away from his dreamlike state. He had already sent scouts out ahead, warning them to be careful and avoid the spots that Ferda indicated where Morag and Ann had been caught and Dina killed. The rest of the camp was hidden deeper in the forest, but Cailean had not been able to resist coming right out to the treeline to catch sight of his old home.
The familiar dream was in the back of his mind. The flames. The screaming. The panicked flight in Morag's arms. He felt his eyes prickle, and had to clear his throat to stop himself from getting lost in it.
A gentle hand on his arm distracted him from the dark thoughts. He looked down and saw Maeve standing there, staring up at him with concern in her eyes.
"I had a wee doll. Barry and Graham used tae mock me for it; they said I was too old for such things," Cailean told her roughly. "I had it in me hands when Morag helped me flee. I lost it somewhere as we rode away. Every time I have the dream, I remember that doll even more clearly than I do me own mother's face. Is that nae the silliest thing ye've ever heard?"
"It's nae silly," Maeve told him gently. "I often think of the books Bre and I would read together, or the rare times that Nessa would join us and play our games. These were the happy spots in a dark time. It's nae wonder ye remember it."
Cailean smiled at her and looked out toward the castle again. "It's so… strange tae see it like this. Standin' as if unblemished. Last time I saw it, it was on its way tae bein' a ruin."
"We'll rebuild all of it. Nae just the stones they've put back on the walls, but everythin' on the inside as well. We'll find the heart and soul inside again," Maeve promised. "We're almost there, me love. Just a little longer. And… and when Eoin and Breana return, we'll be able tae bring Neala home, as well."
Cailean's soul jolted at the thought, his whole body seeming to vibrate with longing and hope. His sister may be with him soon. His home might soon be his again. It was overwhelming, more than he could ever have imagined. He thought of Morag, currently trapped in Blackthorn Castle, the woman who had risked everything to save his life. He'd save her, too, and once they were reunited, they'd all come here and breathe life into their home again.
"We werenae allowed tae play in this forest often," he recalled. "But sometimes me father would bring me brothers out here. I wasnae old enough tae join them, though I did come once or twice. I always felt so honored."
Maeve smiled. "Aye?"
Cailean followed the memory. He remembered following the treeline to the east wall of the castle, near where the sewers were. He remembered his mother scolding the boys to stay away from there, and being completely ignored as soon as Barry was old enough to figure out how to sneak out. His eyes trailed in that direction, and the memory suddenly hit like lightning.
"There's a passage," he said. "An underground one that links intae the catacombs through which Morag helped me escape, and tyin' intae the secret corridors. It was a wee passage that me brothers used tae use when they played at hidin' and seekin'. If it's still there, we could sneak the army in small groups without bein' noticed—at least some of us."
Maeve chewed on her lip, studying the area toward which he was pointing. "Are ye certain?"
"I'm certain," he replied. "If ye trust me memory, that is."
Her expression relaxed into a smile. She took his hand, and pulled him slightly back toward the main camp. "I trust ye more than anythin'. Now let's get yer home back."
