He knew one thing, though. He was captured, but he'd never be defeated. Not by a man like this. Not by anyone.
10
When Murtagh McKenzie himself arrived at the cell, Cailean had rallied again. His body was weak and broken from the fresh beating, but his mind was sharp once more, and defiance radiated from his every pore. He would not give himself up to this pathetic man. He would die if he had to, but first, he would live, his every heartbeat and every last breath dedicated to this country that he loved.
McKenzie did not enter the cell, but when his face came into view through the bars, Cailean saw that the chieftain had changed. Gone was the cruel sardonic smile that had adorned his face, that perpetual amusement based on the fact he'd always believed he had the upper hand. That facade had broken to pieces now, and instead Murtagh's face was a mask of fury. His features were distorted with anger, with disgust, and with the kind of rage that Cailean knew meant that his blood must be pulsing hot in his veins.
A thrill of satisfaction went through Cailean at the sight. If McKenzie was this angry, that meant the guards had not been able to find Flora. Even if it was not a huge blow, he had managed to make this terrible man suffer, even from inside this dungeon. He was not a fan of torture—as no sane man wouldbe—but he believed in righteous vengeance when it had to be performed. And the fact that it had resulted in the freedom of an innocent woman—that was the best news of all.
"What have ye done?" Murtagh roared without any preamble, the noise of his voice almost shaking the walls. "Where is she? What have ye done?"
Cailean lifted his cold hand to his bruised face, wincing slightly as he examined the damage. He did not look at Murtagh directly, but he did answer. "Far from here, if she's wise. She may have been slow after all the years ye had her trapped in these dungeons, but her wit will see her through. Ye couldnae take her heart nor her mind, even after all this time."
Murtagh slammed his fist against the metal bars, causing them to shake on their hinges. "Yeworm!" he hissed. "Who do ye think we are? We'll find that old woman and put her back in her cage tae rot. She cannae harm me.Iam the one with the power here!"
Cailean finally flicked up his eyes and met Murtagh's gaze, portraying nothing but cool indifference as he did. "Men with true power dinnae need tae announce it. Me father always said that, and now that I hear ye talkin', I ken that his words were as wise as they were true."
McKenzie's face contorted. "To whom do ye think ye speak, dirt-king?" he demanded. "Yer father'swisdomsent him and his wife and bairns tae the grave. A place ye yerself will likely soon follow, and I will dance on the freshly-turned earth."
Cailean was not deterred by his threats or by the insults to his family. Meeting with Flora had changed something in him. He would not let this pathetic character cause him to lose himself in fury or pain. Instead, he smiled, even though the movement hurt the damaged skin on his face. "Ye dinnae seem the type tae dance, Murtagh," he said in a faux-friendly tone. "Perhaps whenI finally return tae the earth, it's more likely ye'll have gone long before me, no?"
Murtagh's fists clenched around the bars, causing his knuckles to pop white. He leaned his face closer, practically spitting as he replied. "Ye think yerself clever, do ye, lad? Ye think yerself better than me?"
"I think meself better than naebody. I ken, though, that God or man or whoever may judge us kens where people belong without me opinion." Cailean shrugged, ignoring the way that it made his muscles scream. "Have ye come here tae banter with me, Murtagh? Tae threaten me? Or simply tae peer at yer new pet since yer old one has so recently escaped?"
Murtagh spat on the ground. Cailean noted that the soldier before had done the same thing and wondered if all of the modern McKenzies were so disgusting. He knew enough of Grodric, and he'd learned enough of Flora in their brief interaction, to know that this kind of behavior was putting the true McKenzie name to shame.
"I could kill ye here and now, McNair. I could slaughter ye where ye stand, then send out me men tae recapture me sister-in-law and yer wee friends who escaped intae the forest. They cannae have gone far enough tae be free of the grasps of me men." The threat in Murtagh's voice was unmistakeable. "I could tear ye apart limb from limb and display yer remains as a warnin' tae the rest of yer pathetic rebellion."
Cailean knew it was true. If Murtagh decided to kill him now, there was no way that Cailean—now completely unarmed and physically hurt and exhausted—could resist. But he kept his expression neutral as he kept his eyes on the chieftain and said, "Do it, then."
"What?"
"Kill me. It willnae change anythin'." Cailean felt the hope rise within him even as he spoke. "If I die, the rebellion lives on."He believed it with all of his heart. Darren and Maeve would lead the way in his stead, not only gaining vengeance for his death. "So long as the light of hope burns on, so will the rebellion fight against the shadow of the False King."
"False King," Murtagh sneered. It was obvious that Cailean's indifference was simply making him angrier and angrier. "As if it matters what is true or false, who has the right to rule and who doesnae. Power exists for those whotakeit. I took this clan from me worthless brother. The king took his throne from yer pathetic father. There is nae true or false—only those who win, and those who die."
"Ye're the one who is pathetic. Ye have nae love for anythin'—nae yer family, nae yer country, nae nothin'. Even yer own daughter is nothin' but a tool for ye." Cailean shook his head sadly, though the movement sent a pulse of agony through his skull. "Ye have nae hope. Nae honor. Nae anythin'. Every victory ye have is hollow."
"How's this for hollow?" Murtagh demanded, venom dripping from his voice as it sunk to a furious near-whisper. "I willnae be the one tae kill ye. Ye're tae be a gift tae me greatest benefactor."
Cailean remembered the words.Ye're better as a livin' gift.So it was true, then—Murtagh was to use him as a pawn. Cailean found himself laughing, almost deliriously. "Ye've already lost one prisoner today—and now ye'll just hand another over as a way tae protect yer own skin!"
"Ye ken nothin'!" Murtagh shouted again. "Just because I'll nae kill ye doesnae mean I cannae hurt ye further. O'Sullivan just wants ye breathin'. Anythin' beyond that doesnae matter, nae tae me."
O'Sullivan?That gave Cailean pause more than anything else. James O'Sullivan, one of the greatest traitors to his father who had led to the demise of the McNair clan and the fall ofthe rightful Scottish kingdom. A traitor, a warlord, a tyrant—and beyond that, he was Maeve and Breana's terrible father. The man who had made their lives a living hell from their youth on, the man who had sold Maeve to a marriage that had almost destroyed her and then did the same with her sister.
Disgust flooded him at the thought of being given to that man. Cailean was not an executioner unless he had to be, but O'Sullivan was a man who deserved to die for his crimes against his country and its people.
If he got the chance, would he be able to do it, just as he had dealt with Kyle Darach? The thought of Eoin's struggle in the aftermath of Kyle's death gave him pause. Would Maeve be able to survive knowing that Cailean was the one to dispatch her father, even with all his crimes?
Then reality hit him like a falling stone from the ceiling. He was not a threat to anyone, not now. He was physically weakened, bruised and broken, weaponless and tied up. His friends were hopefully far away, and his love, his light, would be there to guide them now—which meant she could not be here with him. Even if he got face to face with O'Sullivan, he would have no chance of acting in any way.
Cailean was a prisoner, trapped and alone.
But then Flora's voice echoed in his mind."Be strong, lad! Ye're nae alone!"
The memory vitalized him, and he managed to look at Murtagh and speak to him with the same cool expression on his face and voice before. None of his fear or uncertainty showed on his face or sounded in his tone, and indeed it must have seemed to Murtagh like the declaration of O'Sullivan's name had not affected Cailean at all.
