"He's gone tae get Nessa," Breana whispered. "Is that right?"
Maeve and Cailean both nodded. "And bring her safely home," Maeve added.
Eoin squeezed Breana's hand. "Are ye all right?" he asked.
When she turned to him, her eyes were shining. "All right? Oh, Eoin. It seems we're nae done with miracles yet."
He beamed, elated by her joy. "Nae even close. And with ye by me side, me love, we never will be."
Nessa O'Sullivan stood at the edge of the churchyard, staring at the freshly turned patch of ground under which her father had been interred. She had never felt so lost, so unsure of what to do, and the world seemed to claw at her, refusing to let her breathe.
When Ansel Ashkirk's men had arrived days ago with the news that her father was dead, killed as a traitor to the throne, Nessa had simply refused to believe it. James O'Sullivan was many things. He was a cruel man to his vassals. A shrewd schemer and a clever manipulator. A strict teacher and controlling mentor to Nessa. But a traitor to the King? Never.
Everyone knew that O'Sullivan was one of Ashkirk's most loyal servants. For Nessa's whole memory, he had given everything in service for the king and to promote his own power under Ashkirk's rule. Her father had sent the king his money, his soldiers, his people, and at some points, if the rumors were to believed, his all-too-willing wife.
There were even whispers that Nessa herself had been born of her late mother's dalliances with the king. Though Nessa knew that was an impossibility—the year she had been conceived, as far as she knew, the King had been in England reporting to the English monarch—she also knew that her father had always turned a blind eye to the rumors, seeming to find pride in them rather than jealousy. It was as though he saw another connection to the King, even a false one, as just another strand of power.
He had always made sure that Nessa knew her place. While her sister Maeve was wilful and her sister Breana a dreamer, Nessa had known from birth that she was born to be perfect. She had quickly learned it was the only way to survive. Even as asmall child, she'd worked out that pleasing her father, regardless of her own thoughts and feelings, would help her escape the harsh punishments that were so often doled out to her older sisters.
And so, Nessa had practised hard to be exactly what James O'Sullivan and the King wanted her to be, locking her own emotions away, existing only to serve him. She did not have Maeve's strength nor Breana's gentleness. All she had was her wit, and she used it to remain loved, no matter what it took. It turned her sisters against her, and as she grew, it caused horrible gossip from the servants, but she had long since banished the part of her that might feel hurt from all of that. All that mattered was that her father cared for and protected her, and that the man he one day gave her to valued her as highly as her father had once valued her mother. That, as her mother had once whispered in her ear before she'd died, was the only way for a woman to survive in this world.
Yes, her father treasured her, because she'd worked hard to make it so. And so she'd known without a doubt that the news of his death must be a lie—until today, when the King's men had arrived with his body, already prepared for burial.
Nobody else attended the hasty funeral. Only Nessa stood in the churchyard, watching as the corpsemen loaded her father into the ground and an old priest mumbled some half-forgotten prayers that she knew would never reach any god. A few of the King's men stood by, ordered to keep watch until it was done. Nessa did not weep. She did not feel anything at all.
Except for the fear. The deep, unabiding horror that she had lost everything.
One of the King's men approached her when it was over, bowing his head.
"The royal family sends their condolences, Lady O'Sullivan," he said, "An' asks me tae ensure ye understand yer position as a ward of our gracious king."
How strange, Nessa thought fleetingly, that those who killed her father would pretend at sorrow for his passing. She pushed that thought away. "Lady O'Sullivan?" she asked carefully. "Are me father's lands nae to pass tae one of the King's many deservin' men? I have nae brothers, nae cousins."
The man nodded. "Under usual circumstances, aye. But the prince suggested, and His Majesty generously agreed, that ye be allowed tae keep yer land and title, rulin' as Lady in yer own right until such time as our king decides upon a husband for ye tae take over. Ye will show the clanspeople how good our king can be tae those who are loyal, even those who came from a traitor’s blood."
Nessa considered the magnitude of these words. A ward of the king. Bound to marry whohechose. That could mean anyone, from the king's own son to the oldest, cruelest laird loyal to the current throne. She had worked hard to please her father in hopes she might one day find a husband who was at least kind to her, but that hope had died with the man now buried in the ground.
Perhaps, though, she could still please the King.
"I am honored and humbled by His Majesty's generosity," Nessa replied. "What does he require from me? I am his tae command, as is all the might of the O'Sullivan clan."
The king's man smiled slightly and drew out a letter with the king's seal, already cracked open. She knew it would be the information he had already told her. He held it out, and she took it, though she did not read it. She knew that some men liked to pretend that even educated women were too silly for such things, and so she avoided showing that particular skill when possible.
"If either of yer sisters are ever spotted, ye are tae capture them at once. They are tae be sent tae the King to be dealt with."
Nessa's stomach clenched. She could imagine the horrors the King would inflict. But she simply smiled and said, "I have nae sisters. Only traitors who betrayed our King, which is somethin' I will never forgive."
Approvingly, the man nodded again and continued. "An' ye will publicly renounce yer father. Ye will speak tae yer clan and tae anyone who asks of the traitor he was, and the graciousness of our King for grantin' ye his forgiveness."
Nessa's eyes flicked to the grave. Her fingertips were numb with cold, and the ice around her heart grew thicker.
She looked back at the king's man. "Will ye have someone escort me back tae me keep, sir?" she asked. "I grow weary. An' please, if ye'd be so kind, inform the priest nae tae bother with the usual blessin's. I dinnae intend tae return tae this place."
"Oh?" the man asked.
Nessa nodded. "There's nothin' for me here. Only a traitor's grave, and a man I'd sooner forget."
With that, she walked out of the churchyard, away from the grave, away from her father, away from everything she'd ever worked to build.
And she did not look back.
