And the others? Deirdre, young Dirk, and all the rest—had they been warned in time to get out? Or had McKenzie dealt with them too?
Frustrated, Cailean forced himself to sit up, ignoring the agony that the movement sent lancing through his body. They had beaten him terribly, and he knew he'd be sore for some time, but while he was still alive, he would not give up. As he moved his leg, he felt something digging into his foot at the base of his boot.
The sudden realization flooded through him, a mix of wild relief and anticipation. He removed his boot and allowed the object to fall out—a small, sheathed knife.
In his mind's eye, he saw Maeve's smiling face, and heard the words over again."I'm givin' ye a blade, just as ye gave me one. May it guard ye as closely as yers has guarded me."
Cailean pressed his lips to the sheath of the knife. "I'll see ye soon, love," he whispered. Then he peeled the sheath from the knife and stuck it in his empty pocket, holding the little weapon's handle tight in his hand. He made his way across the cell, slowly and painfully but with purpose, and ran his hand across the cold metal of the bars until he found what he was looking for.
The lock.
It took him some time to work the system using the little knife, but soon enough, he heard the satisfyingclickthat meant he had been successful. The metal door screeched as it opened, and though Cailean froze in place, nobody came running.
He waited, then slowly walked out into the lit hallway. There were torches on brackets all along the walls, obviously lit to guide whoever threw the prisoners down the hall, but no guards in sight. One direction obviously led to the exit back into the castle, while the other led deep into dark tunnels, deeper into the dungeons.
Cailean longed for the simple route. He wanted nothing more than to exit through the easy path. But he knew that, if he went that way, all that probably waited was more guards and nothing but pain or maybe even death. Sighing, he took a torch from one of the brackets on the wall and turned toward that deep, dark tunnel.
He moved forward and tried not to let it feel like the darkness was swallowing him whole.
Cailean wasn't sure how long he'd been walking. The dungeons were dark and twisted, a maze beneath the surface, and he'd been taking turns at random. Every so often, he came across another cell, though most of them were empty. He had nothing on him but the rapidly dying torch, the small knife, and his instincts.
He took a left, and then all of a sudden, there was a sound other than his footsteps on the stone—the sound of someone else breathing.
"Who's there?" Cailean called, then cursed his own idiocy. He had lost the element of surprise, still foggy because of his head injury.
But what he hadn't expected was that the answer would come in an old woman's voice. "Just me. Same as always. What do ye want from me now?"
Surprised, Cailean walked toward the voice. He turned a corner and came across another cell, smaller and darker than the rest, far away from the rest of the castle. He held up the torch and could barely believe what he saw inside.
A woman stood there in a dirty dress, her hair white, long, and thin, her body so slim she looked like she would break in a slight breeze. She could have been fifty or eighty, it was impossible to tell, but there was still a defiant light shining in her eyes. Those eyes widened, though, as she saw Cailean come into view.
"It cannae be," she whispered.
"Who are ye, ma'am?" he asked. "Let me get ye out of here. Just wait."
"Cailean McNair? Is it truly ye?"
Cailean froze to hear his own name on the woman's lips. He studied her again, and suddenly, he felt a nagging familiarity clawing at his foggy mind. This was someone he knew from along, long time ago, someone he recognized from the childhood he had all but lost.
The old woman smiled, and as she did, it was clear that she wasn't as old as she looked. This time here in the dungeons had obviously aged her significantly, and it made Cailean shiver to think how long this poor lady had been down here.
"It is ye, then," she replied. "I ken ye wouldnae recognize me, lad, dinnae fear. Ye must have been four or five when I saw ye last, just a wee bairn."
"Ye…ye kent me as a bairn?" Cailean asked, his hands fumbling as he tried to work on the lock with his knife. "Ye ken who I am?"
"I kent all of ye. Yer brave mammy and daddy. Yer poor siblin's—Graham and Barry, Abigail and Neala, I remember them all. But I remember ye most of all. Ye climbed on me husband's lap and pulled on his beard and declared ye'd have an even grander one when ye were grown." The old lady smiled at the memory. "And look at ye now—grown indeed. And a king, if the whispers are true."
Naming of his siblings was like a physical blow, but not in a painful way. The impact was more like something had unlocked inside of him, something he had carefully locked away for a long time. The boys, his older brothers who he'd idolized, and his younger sisters who he'd wanted to protect with everything he had. Little Neala, the youngest, who had been his most beloved, and who had barely had a chance to breathe before the False King's attack had ended her life. They were all gone now, but hearing their names reminded Cailean what he was fighting for. It helped clear his head a little, and he focused more on what he was doing now.
"Who was yer husband?" he asked.
"Ye cannae guess?" The woman gave a fond, sad laugh. "Och. Me poor Grodric. I dinnae ken if I believe he left this world naturally, but I've been in these dungeons since he passed."
The memory clicked into place. "Ye're…ye're Flora McKenzie," Cailean replied in awe. "Ye and yer son…ye should have been the rightful heirs tae this clan after yer husband died."
Flora dropped her eyes. "Me son died. He was just an infant. They said it was a sudden death in his crib, but I… I have me doubts. It was just before Grodric uncovered the truth. His brother, feedin' information tae the False King's spies about the McNairs! He tried tae arrest Murtagh, tried tae bring him tae justice, but the loss of our son had weakened him, and instead, Murtagh had him killed." Her face twisted. "Too much of a coward tae even do the deed himself."
Cailean heard the lock click open, his mind racing with information. So Murtagh had betrayed his father, even back then. "So he seized control of the clan, and he locked ye up in here?"
