The courtyard was full of soldiers in battle, and just beyond the closed gate, more of Cailean's army were loudly trying to batter their way in. As Ansel walked into the center, Cailean and Maeve following behind them, the battlefield momentarily stilled.
Ansel led Neala to the tied horses near the gates, and Cailean watched in horror as his sister climbed onto the mount without argument. Ansel mounted behind her and smoothly commanded, "Open the gates."
"But, Yer Highness—" the gateman stammered.
"Do it!" Ansel insisted, his voice a whip crack. He signaled to a man who was clearly one of his commanders. The man hurried over, and Ansel gave him a quiet order. Then he turned his head and gave Cailean one final searching look
The commander looked baffled, but did not question his orders. "Men!" he shouted. "Follow yer prince!"
As the gates opened, the rebel army spilled in, colliding with the Ashkirk forces who were surging out of the gate after theprince. The courtyard descended into total chaos in the blink of an eye—men shouting, errant swords swinging, and slowly but surely the droves of the False King leaving.
Maeve set to work, grabbing nearby rebels and enemy soldiers alike to ensure that Ansel's order was relayed. She made sure the word spread far and wide to all residents of the castle that they were commanded by their own prince to leave and that the rebels were to stand down and let them go. As the chaotic desperation swirled around him, though, Cailean could only stand stock still, staring at the horizon.
He kept watching until the army of loyalists disappeared into the horizon. He watched until the horse carrying Ansel Ashkirk was gone from his sight—taking Neala with him.
23
The wind and rain whipped painfully against Neala's face as she rode in front of Ansel, feeling his chest pressed against her back. She closed her eyes against it, and when she did, all she could see was Cailean. Her eyelids screwed shut, she tried to burn that image into her mind forever—the brother she'd believed dead for so long, the proof that, despite all odds, her family was going to survive after all.
Would she die? She didn't know. She didn't believe that Ansel would kill her, no matter his threats and the obvious, very real danger he presented. But she also believed he was too loyal to his evil father not to hand her over. She might be tortured, killed, or even worse, knowing the sickening tastes of the False King. Would she have a chance to at least be reunited with Morag and Ann once more before her fate was decided? It was the only hope that remained to her, but it was a thin, fleeting one.
The sorrow ran so deep in her soul that she wanted to weep, but she found strength within her as she focused on the image of Cailean. By choosing to make this sacrifice, she had saved him. She had given him back their home, and she had kept him safe. That was all that could matter to her now. Cailean was safe, andthe rebellion now would stand stronger than ever. Even those who had doubted would no longer be able to deny the truth—that the True King had returned.
Her only regret was that she hadn't had just a little time to talk to him. Just a few moments to learn a little about her lost brother, and to tell him about herself in turn. Just a few seconds to embrace her family and be secure in the fact their legacy lived on. Neala knew that she would never be given the chance to see Cailean again, and she had to accept it. She hoped that the woman who had spoken so bravely at her brother's side took care of him. She prayed that the rebellion's success brought them peace at last.
They'd been riding for some time. Perhaps an hour, possibly longer, had passed in dead silence, punctuated only by the rain and the wind and Neala's bleeding heart. She opened her eyes and looked back, but Ansel had driven their horse so far ahead of his troops that she could not even see them. Would he stop at all before they got to Blackthorn Castle? Or would he push the horse onward until the creature could not race anymore?
Neala had to make peace with her decision. And so she breathed out, releasing her pain to the sky, and leaned back against Ansel's chest.
Unexpectedly, he jerked violently at the movement, then swore. A second later, he pulled hard on the reins, bringing the horse to an abrupt whinnying halt, so suddenly that Neala almost tumbled off.
"Get off the horse," he commanded roughly in her ear. "Now."
Neala knew better than to protest. She didn't understand what was happening, but she slid off the animal's back and stood, shivering, at the side of the road. Ansel dismounted a moment later, a haunted look in his eyes.
"I've never run from a fight before," he told her in a voice that mingled with the swirling wind. "Ye've ruined me, Neala McNair."
Neala just watched his face, unable to respond. The rain drummed against her shoulders, creating an atmospheric cloak that seemed to shelter them both from the world outside. Right now, there were only the two of them and the horse now docilely grazing nearby.
Ansel raised a hand and cupped her cheek. Without even thinking about it, Neala leaned into the touch. "How are ye showin' nae fear?"
"I dinnae fear ye, Ansel," she told him quietly. "Oh, ye're fearsome. But it's a terror I can handle. Perhaps I may die, but it's the worst that will happen. Ye told me yerself, ye'd never force a woman tae yer bed. And ye'll never kill an enemy without a weapon in their hand."
In answer, Ansel put his hand in his pocket and drew out her knife. He held it out expectantly.
Neala's breath caught, but she took it, allowing the weapon to hang loosely at her side. Ansel moved closer, his other hand still holding her face. He applied a very gentle pressure, tilting her head up to look at him.
"Ye're tae be me father's prisoner," he said. "Nae mine. Ye ken that."
"Then I'll bear it," Neala replied staunchly, staring up into his eyes. Her body leaned toward him, his heat drawing her in against the cold weather around them. "Because me brother's safe. Because ye did the right thing and let him live."
"The right thing?" Ansel shook his head. "I did a foolish thing, Neala. I trusted ye."
Neala's pulse quickened. Ansel's face moved downward toward hers, and Neala closed her eyes, feeling his breath moving close to her lips.
But then the heat shifted, and his lips were next to her ear, the hand on her cheek sliding back and tangling in her hair, drawing her close.
"A foolish thing," he repeated. "And now I'll pay for it."
