"And if she needs tae be dealt with permanently?" Senan asked. His eyes were on Maeve, a strange expression there. "Could that lass I rescued from an inn do such a thing?"
"Nay," Maeve replied. "But a queen could. If she had tae." She took a breath, then looked to Cailean. "If it comes tae that, I will kill her meself. But first, we give her the chance tae live."
A small proud smile flickered on Senan's face, though Neala thought that she was the only one to notice it. Cailean, meanwhile, was studying Maeve's expression for a long time. Then he sighed, nodding.
"We get her out," he said. "And face what we must. It isnae even just about Nessa anymore—if this weddin' goes ahead, the False King's control of the O'Sullivan clan and their lands andallies will be solidified. We cannae allow that. Nessa is Lady O'Sullivan, and the clan is hers. We need tae make it ours."
"A plan, then," Hamish said. "What do ye suggest, Neala?"
Neala blinked in surprise as everyone turned to her. Her head was pounding, her eyes watering, and it took a few tries before she could speak. "Me?" she asked.
"Ye're the White Sparrow," Eoin told her. "Ye're the one who kens the art of subtlety much better than we do. This kind of task is best suited tae yer strategies. What do we do tae get Nessa away from them?"
Neala gulped. She tried desperately not to think of Ansel or of what they said he was doing. She could not meet either Maeve's or Breana's eyes. She glanced at the map and, voice shaking, said, "Darren, what's the fourth place? The one ye circled?"
Darren looked down at the map. "The most recent tae declare themselves for our cause. News will reach the False King soon enough—and I suspect that's where he will act next."
Senan balled his hands into fists. "Clan Macrae. Me people. Of course."
"Then we use it tae our advantage. We lure them out," Neala said. "I will reach out tae the Sparrows for help. We'll get her back."
"Aye," Cailean replied darkly. "And perhaps we'll rid ourselves of a monster in the process."
6
Ansel rarely spoke in the war room. He sat at his father's side, listening quietly as the advisors and warrior captains debated and jeered about their recent successes and future plans. Edric spoke proudly of the slaughter at Clan McIntyre and the bright promise it showed for the Ashkirks as the rightful kings of Scotland.
"Me son has slipped, but he hasnae faltered!" Edric exclaimed, poisonous triumph booming around the room. "See how he repays me for his follies at the Sloe Stronghold! See how he shows nae mercy tae the remains of the McNair vermin!"
The men cheered or shouted congratulations. Ansel accepted it in silence, his skin rippling with discontent. Sitting here and acting like he'd planned the massacre of Clan McIntyre to go the way it had… it felt more than wrong. He had no shame in his victory; he was proud of his strengths as a military commander. But the cost. Thecost.
He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and block his ears, but instead he sat up straight, his mask on tight, his expression unfaltering. He must do his duty. Nothing else mattered.
Across the table, Baldric caught his eye. Ansel's cousin was not cheering or celebrating. Instead, his dark blue eyes glintedwith understanding and even sympathy. Baldric alone had known the true aftermath of the attack on the McIntyre Clan. Only Baldric had witnessed Ansel's flaming rage at the men who had disobeyed Ansel's orders, and witnessed the secret that his father could never know.
Ansel tore his eyes away from his cousin. He could not allow his thoughts to dwell on any of this. It didn't matter. Things had gone the way they had gone, and Ansel needed to forget about it. No matter what, he was the prince—Edric's son—and this was his duty. The scar on his jaw burned with a phantom itch. He could not allow himself to fail. What was it his father had said?Ye will win, or ye will die.
"And so it comes tae the reason I've gathered ye here," Edric announced. "The next chance for me son tae make me proud. The next chance for our empire tae grow in its glory!"
One of the advisors stood, indicating a spot on the map before him. Ansel leaned forward, reading the map.
"Clan Macrae," he said, recalling the information he knew of them. Ansel had made a point over the years to remember as much as he could about any potential enemies or allies. "They're wee, but wealthy. The laird had a younger brother who disappeared more than twenty years ago. There are three sons, two of whom are ages with me."
"Well-remembered," Edric said approvingly. Ansel would never cease to be amazed at how different his father sounded when they were with other people as opposed to when they were alone. "Well, it seems that the brothers have reconnected. The younger has been runnin' with those treacherous rebels these twenty years, and now he's pulled the whole clan intae it. They've declared fully under the McNair banner. We must teach them a lesson. Ansel?"
A heavy weight settled on Ansel's shoulders. He felt a deep weariness flooding through him, and he wondered if it would bepossible to simply sink into the floor and disappear forever. Life was draining him in ways he had never known possible, and he was not sure how much he had left in him.
No. He could not allow himself to think this way. He had to remember who he was.
"Aye, Father," he replied. "I'm ready, of course."
Edric nodded. "Ye ken what must be done. Make an even greater example of these ones than the McIntyres. Make sure they ken exactly what it is tae stand against their king."
"Sire, the prince is due at wedding preparations with his bride this week," one of the advisors reminded them. "Should we cancel the events?"
"He has plenty of time for such things. There are still two months to go until they are wed—enough time tae make the event a celebration for everyone who is still loyal tae us," Edric replied. "Ensure ye take Nessa with ye again. This time, bring her closer. Yer men have informed me she is stayin' way back from the violence. Keep her safe, but ensure she stands close enough tae see the bloodshed."
Ansel stilled. He could still remember Nessa's face after he had returned to her last time, Baldric leading him, Ansel's own face and clothes covered in blood that was not his own. She'd kept her composure, but he'd seen the horror in her gaze. He wondered if her fear ever stopped.
