THE RISE OF THE HIGHLAND KING
PROLOGUE
Bodies littered the ground as they went through a twisted labyrinth of passages, some the main part of McNair Castle, others secret hallways that nobody else knew about.
Cailean stumbled, and Morag didn't pause. She swept him up into her arms and carried him as though he were still a baby, and for once, Cailean didn't object. Every so often, they ran into someone alive—a servant, or a guard, or someone else who lived there—who would tell Morag to turn this way or that to avoid them.
"Who's them?" Cailean asked into her ear. "Who are we avoidin'? Why are they nae comin' with us?"
"They're shieldin' us," Morag replied, still holding him securely. She paused before the final turn, which Cailean knew led the way out of the castle. "Come, close yer eyes. Ye dinnae need tae see this."
Cailean hid his head against her chest as he'd been ordered, and Morag took a step out into the fresh air. The sudden impact of sound and noise was overwhelming, and Cailean could smell blood as well as fire.
"Please, Morag, where is me family?" he begged, sobbing against her chest. "Please, please, take me tae me mammy."
"Ye'll survive, Cailean," she told him in his ear. Her voice was thick and full of pain. "We're under attack, and these traitors caught us unaware, but ye'll survive. The McNair name will live nae matter what. I'll keep ye safe, I promise."
After that, it was a blur as Morag broke out into a run. At some point, Cailean lost his grip on his soldier toy, and he cried out to go back for it, but she didn't hear him. He twisted in her arms, looking around, and what he saw made him forget about the doll entirely.
His home was burning. The castle was aflame, and people were fighting and dying.
They reached a horse, and Morag placed him on the saddle before hopping on herself. She held him with one arm, clinging to the reins with the other, and they desperately fled the crumbling world behind.
Cailean knew as he watched his home be devoured by the flames that his family was still there. His name, his world, his life was burning, and soon there'd be nothing left but ash. He pulled away, running back toward the castle, hoping he could somehow make a difference.
And then the world seemed to spin around him, and there was no horse, no Morag. Cailean was not a five-year-old anymore, but a grown man standing in the midst of fire and flame. The castle before him was not his childhood home, but Bruce Castle—no, he realized with a jolt as he saw the banners flying high above them, this was Darach Castle.
Horror flooded through Cailean's veins as he looked around him, desperate to understand how he'd ended up there. There were screams and shouts, louder now, and he stood right in the courtyard as fighting broke out around him. He'd been dreaming before, that same familiar dream of his childhood trauma, but now the cutting air felt so icy, the burning flamesso hot, the dying screams so loud, that he was struggling to believe that he was not back there again.
"Cailean! Get it together!" Darren's voice yelled out over the noise. Cailean turned to see his friend nearby, battling off two men at once, blood soaking his clothes and hair. His enemies' blood? His own? "We need ye!"
Cailean shook himself and tightened his grip around his sword, but as he tried to move toward Darren, something held him back. There was a tightness around his wrists and ankles, like heavy ropes, but when he looked down, there were no restraints in sight. Grunting, he pulled harder, but the invisible bonds just tightened, cutting painfully into him, causing him to cry out in surprise and pain.
"Cailean!" Darren called again.
Cailean looked up and his stomach dropped. Five men now descended upon Darren, all with murderous intent blazing from them. He looked wildly around, trying to find someone else to come and help Darren, but there were only bodies littering the ground. Kier, pale and bloodless, his eyes wide and empty, lay a few feet away.
"No…no…" Nausea lurched inside Cailean, and he almost vomited. Kier couldn't be dead. Not Kier.
"Cailean, help m—" Darren shouted, then his words were cut out with a gurgled scream. Cailean whipped his head back around to see the shining sword rammed through his friend's guts.
"No!" Cailean howled, struggling harder against his bonds, desperate to get to his friend, but he was stuck. In slow motion, he watched as Darren's eyes widened, and he let out a final, shuddering breath. His eyes found Cailean's once more, then, as the sword withdrew, his lifeless body fell to the ground. Cailean cried out as Darren's killer simply moved on to thenext victim, and he fought hard to get to his friend. "Darren. Darren! Please!"
The weight of the bonds got stronger, and Cailean was forced to his knees. As he did, he saw the way the Darachs and the forces of the False King were bearing down, winning each battle, chopping down his friends one by one. His family was bleeding on the stone of Darach Castle while he was forced to watch. Senan, pinned against a tree with his throat cut. Ewan and Hamish, killed together by the same spear. Little Dirk Bruce, his body trampled underfoot. More and more of them, dead or dying, men and women who had given their lives and hope to follow him and were now being destroyed before his eyes as he just stayed in one place doing nothing at all about it.
Bleeding welts appeared on Cailean's wrists and ankles as he fought to get to them, his face now hot with blood and sweat and tears as he tried to get to them, tried to get to anyone, tried to do anything to stop this. Another family gone, another life gone up in blood and fire and smoke, and another time that he could do nothing but watch. Another time that he had failed.
"Cailean…"
That voice.
He slowly turned his head, time running at a snail's pace as he did, the world almost coming to a stop as he sought her out—as he tried to find her.
"Maeve," he called out. "Maeve!"
And there she was, surrounded by soldiers, screaming as she was dragged away from him and into the castle—into the darkness where he could not follow.
"No! Maeve!"
