Cailean stepped forward and raised a hand to touch her cheek. Maeve stood still as he gently wiped a smear of blood away from under her eye. Despite everything, his touch was very soft and warm, and she longed to lean into it.
But then he shook his head, his voice still cold. "Ye should have told us the truth from the beginnin'. We could have helped ye."
"I didnae ken who Senan was. For all I kent, he would have delivered me right tae the Darachs. And then when I got here, would ye have harbored a woman ye thought a murderer in cold blood? Even if she'd killed yer enemy?"
Cailean stepped back and sighed. "Ye say Kyle Darach was the one who killed Malcolm and presumably set ye up tae take the blame. Very well, let's say I believe ye. How would the man's advisor get intae his bedchambers so late at night? Malcolm was renowned for his paranoia."
"Aye," Maeve replied. "But Kyle didnae enter the room as his advisor, he went as Malcolm's lover."
She watched as this revelation played out on Cailean's face. At first, he seemed shocked, then it seemed as though a piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place for him. After a long moment, Cailean shook his head.
"They're all monsters," he growled. "What sort of man would murder his own lover?"
"A man whose only true love is power and kennin' he gets tae wield it," Maeve replied steadily. "The kind of man whose own son would plot against him. Eoin is a good man. He's the one who warned me about his father."
Cailean's disgust didn't waver. "Every time I think one of the False King's men has sunk as low as a person can go, they do somethin' else tae prove me wrong."
"That's why we fight, is it nae? So that the true king can one day take his rightful place and save us all?" Maeve asked.
Complicated emotion wrestled on Cailean's face. "We fight tae survive. Ye ken that better than anyone." He sighed. "Ye still lied tae us, Maeve. I dinnae ken if we can ever trust ye again."
"Ye can trust me. I fled tae lead the men away from the camp. I fought with ye. Doesnae that mean somethin'?" Maeve asked.
"I trusted Mary," Cailean told her quietly. "I dinnae even ken who Maeve is. Ye tell me the reasons ye fled, but isnae it just as likely that ye ran off tae save yer own skin? That ye fought because ye realized ye had nae way of gettin' away alive?"
Despite knowing it was reasonable that he would be suspicious of her, Maeve still rankled at the unfairness of the accusation. "Ye dinnae believe that. It doesnae make sense. Surely if I was runnin' tae save meself I would have run in the other direction. Surely if I meant ye harm, I would have acted long before now."
Cailean didn't answer. He moved toward his horse and patted the creature's neck, his back turned to Maeve for a long time. Maeve looked around at the farmland that surrounded them, her eyes hot and prickling, though she did not allow any actual tears to fall. Only a few hours ago, life had seemed the closest to perfect that she'd ever experienced, closer to true joy than she'd ever expected. And now… now it might all be over, forever. In some ways, this felt even worse than when she'd faced certain death in the dungeons of Darach Castle. At least then she'd known.
"Let's go," he said. "Take yer horse. We ride back tae camp."
"I can come back?" she asked, scarcely able to believe it.
"I'm takin' ye back," he corrected. "Ye'll be taken before the council and judged. It isnae up tae me what we do with ye. It's for the elders tae decide."
A new coldness settled in Maeve's stomach. The council. Gruff but fatherly, Kier. The dedicated, strong Ewan and the kind but firm Hamish. And…
"Senan," she whispered. Her mentor. Her friend.
Cailean glanced at her, then looked away. "We all bear our own burdens," he said. "Especially when we create them for ourselves. This is the price."
"Then I'll pay it," Maeve said resolutely. She turned to find her horse and froze in her tracks.
There, in the doorway of the farmhouse, stood an old woman holding a candle and staring into the night. And from the look on the woman's face, she could see everything.
16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There was something intense about the way the old woman stared across the field, as though even in the darkness of night the whole world and all of its secrets were clear to her. Maeve's heart stuttered erratically as a hush fell down over the field. Even the horses seemed to still. Both Cailean and Maeve turned to watch the old woman approaching them, her solitary candle held high in front of her wrinkled face.
The closer she got, the more Maeve could make out the expression on the woman's face. She was staring, Maeve saw now, not at them both but only at Cailean. As she got closer, the old woman's dark eyes grew wider and wider, her papery skin turning paler. She walked right up to Cailean, and when she spoke, the silence shattered around them.
"Ye, lad. Ye've got his face, but those are her eyes. I cannae believe ye're here."
Maeve didn't understand, but she saw the way that Cailean's expression flickered, almost as though he were in a panic.
"I dinnae suppose ye'd recognize me. It's been so long. But I kent ye'd be here, one day," the woman went on.
