Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) (4 page)

“I do not want to become like Gowp,” she muttered.

Macrath’s brows wrinkled. “Gowp?”

Ceana nodded toward the stone structure, a peaceful shell of hell. “The man who owned this croft.”

Macrath shook his head. “You could never be like him.”

She glanced back at her husband and swallowed hard around the knot in her throat. “But I have killed before. And I am going to kill again. Today.”

“You are not a murderer, Ceana. You have survived. You are meting out justice today to a man who tortured and killed innocent women and children. This is right.”

“We must make a sacrifice to the gods, Macrath. We must make them happy. We need their blessing, else we end up buried in the darkness of this land.”

“Aye, my love. We will give them Gowp. They will be proud of our gift.”

The last of the dirt was placed gently over Alice’s grave, and a final few words whispered to her. The prayer for the dead rang out in Ceana’s mind.

“
Blessings to those who have preceded us in passing;

Released from pain and dread;

Sleep now, and know we are not weeping;

For tears are best not wept for the dead;

Peace be forever now your everlasting;

And the gods protect you on this journey next led;

Through blessed moors and a castle for keeping
.”

While the prayer had once disturbed her so greatly, now she found comfort in its words. Alice was in a better place now; the gods would lead her on a new journey. And here on earth, where the waking still walked, Ceana and Macrath had a duty to this place, to the people, and she’d not let them down.

She ambled a little straighter. Her legs no longer shook. She unclenched her fists. She let the breeze wafting through the trees ruffle her hair and wash away the darkness. For today was a new day, the beginning of a new and wonderful era.

“Thank you,” Rhona said, coming up to walk beside her. “If I may say so.”

“’Tis our duty,” Ceana said plainly. “We need no thanks, only your loyalty.”

But Rhona shook her head. She briefly touched Ceana’s arm before yanking her hand away. “Nay, my lady. You misunderstand me. You will always have my loyalty, no matter what. But I wanted to thank you for winning. When word of how you and the prince fought and braved the guards and council spread through the land, I hoped. I just hoped…”

“What did you hope?”

“I had a vision, that one day in my lifetime, there would be a leader of Sìtheil, and all the land surrounding, that brought a purity to our lives. A prosperity. I’ve never believed it. There’s never been even a whisper of such a thing coming true, but now…”

“Do not make us out to be saints, Rhona, for nothing could be further from the truth. We are warriors. We believe in our oath. We believe in our rule.”

“And you will be followed, My Princess.”

Ceana nodded. “That is our wish.”

But even Ceana knew that wishes didn’t always come true. She and Macrath had forged their destiny. The only way to rise to the top was to believe in themselves.

Gods, protect me and help me to believe
.

Chapter Four

THE crowd that had gathered in the courtyard around the stocks parted as Macrath made his way toward the bastard nailed there. He wanted to nail his entire head to the wood, to crucify him, punish him for what he’d seen.

Ceana wasn’t aware, but as soon as they’d been a distance away, the guard he’d left was to burn the croft and all it held. The inside had been a disaster, smelling of bodily fluids and excrement. It the outside had been well maintained with an air of peace, the inside was Satan’s lair. The main room had functioned as any other normal croft. A table and chairs, a hearth, a trunk for supplies and a cabinet for the same. But it was the room in the back that had made Macrath shudder.

It was fashioned much like the one Beatrice had taken him to in the castle—the secret chamber where she’d chained him to the wall as she beat him.

A chamber he’d not yet been able to find but would make a priority as soon as he finished with this. Seeing the room in the croft had made him wonder though—had Gowp designed the one inside the castle?

The rush of blood in his ears drowned out the murmurs in the courtyard. His muscles clenched tight. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain Gowp had to have been the one to help Beatrice. That meant this man, blood running from his ear onto his cheek and neck, had been partially responsible for the torment Macrath had endured at the hands of the head councilwoman.

“Ceana,” he said, his voice strained, for he longed to growl and roar, but not at her. Nay, he wanted to bury himself in her hair, in her body, in her arms. To seek the comfort he knew she could provide. Aye, she was slight, but nonetheless, he felt safe in her embrace. “Please take the women inside. I shall deal with this filth.”

For a moment she looked like she would argue, but then she nodded once and turned her back, calling for the guards to carry the women inside.

The shite was still nailed to the left beam of the stocks. They had made him stand, which would be all the more painful on his ear as the day progressed and his legs became tired. When his eyes rolled toward Macrath, he must have seen the fury in him, must have felt his own demise, for his face drained of color and his teeth started to chatter. A puddle surrounded his feet and stank of urine. Soon the man would shite himself, too. Bloody fool cocksucker. He ought to let him be abused just as he’d done to the women. Just as Beatrice had done to Macrath. His only comfort was that Hades would drag him through his fiery flames, an iron spear through his arse for all eternity.

Macrath slapped his palm against the man’s forehead, pressing his head, hard, back against the beam and holding it there. He brought his face within an inch of the demon.

“We saw your croft,” Macrath said through gritted teeth.

Gowp’s mouth fell open but no words escaped, only a fetid puff of air.

Macrath ground his teeth, forcing himself not to punch the man in the gut, in the face, all over. “We rescued the lassies that we could, but there was one dead.”

Gowp rolled his eyes from side to side as if looking for an ally to help him, but he would find no one willing to help him here. To prove that point, Macrath let him go and turned to address the crowd.

“This demon dressed as a man has violated the laws of the gods!” Macrath scanned the crowd, watching them for any signs of retaliation. “This wolf has stolen lives. He has tortured and victimized the innocent. He is going to burn for it.”

A man standing near the stocks bent to his knee. Gripping his eating knife, he placed his hand over his heart. Macrath didn’t know the man, as he’d not yet been through the line of those stating their grievances. But he knew what it meant when someone bowed before him. Devotion.

“My Prince, you have my loyalty. I, Larrick, son of Owen, by the gods do swear my allegiance. ’Tis my oath that should I go against your rule, that with this blade, you shall pierce my heart.”

Within a breath, one by one, men, women and children knelt before Macrath, each murmuring their own oaths. Macrath stood stoically before them, his hands clenched at his sides, eyes roving over each and every one of them. It was a powerful, moving show of respect and loyalty. His heart thundered and his chest puffed with pride. He only wished Ceana could see it, that they would bow to her, too.

But then, there she was, staring down at him from the steep front steps of the castle, her chin jutted. A guard who stood slightly behind Ceana must have alerted her to what was happening. A goddess could not have looked more beautiful than she. The wind whipped in just the right way to ruffle the hem of her gown and make it look as though she floated. Her fiery hair swirled around her shoulders.

Several in the crowd caught his line of sight and swiveled on their knees to repeat their oath to her. And then all of the crowd was doing it.

When silence echoed in the filled courtyard, Ceana nodded to Macrath. “We, who have risen through the depth of shadows, despair and hatred, shall continue to ascend until we have ridded this place of all forms of evil. We will not rest until you, our people, can live in a world that is not filled with fear, but of hope.” She scanned the crowd, her eyes settling on Gowp. Even from his place at the stocks Macrath could see the chilling hatred simmering in their depths. “You shall never live with hope, but shall suffer for all the evil you have brought into this world.”

Macrath wanted to call her down, to stand beside her as they dispatched the first of their enemies, but he kept his silence. Their people didn’t need to know his weaknesses. Didn’t need to know that he needed her so damn much. That she was part of the reason his backbone was so straight.

They didn’t need to know that though he’d fought for his position as prince, he’d never truly believed it was a position that could or should be his. He knew he was better than his stepmother, Leticia, or his brother Victor, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a bastard. That he’d not been trained to rule. He was a warrior. A fighter. That was what he was good at.

He was a rescuer. A protector.

Then it dawned on him. That was what his people needed. They suffered for so long, and then he and Ceana had swooped in, and in the first official day of their rule had eradicated their lands of one evildoer.

“You, and you and you,” Macrath said, pointing to several sturdy-looking crofters. “Gather enough wood for a great fire.”

The men nodded solemnly and resolutely before heading to do his bidding.

A shimmer caught his eye and he saw that Beatrice had slipped from inside the castle to stand on the great stairs where she had so often looked down upon him. She stood battle ready, her hand on the hilt of her sword, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a challenge. He was taking away the builder of her torture chamber.

She would lose. In just a few hours, he and Ceana had garnered the loyalty of their people. The people of Sìtheil would not turn their backs on their saviors in favor of the royal council, who had never done anything to protect them.

Macrath smiled at Beatrice, a beaming
fuck you
.

She did not return his smile, and he wasn’t surprised, nor did he care.

From somewhere, the drummers began their beat, a slow and steady thumping that brought Macrath full swing back to the games. Their days and nights had been consumed with drumming. Consumed with horn blows.

His blood ran cold and he worked to keep his emotions under control. Slowly, he gazed up at Beatrice, and when he did, he wished he’d kept his eyes elsewhere, because now she was smiling.

A knowing, cold and calculated smile. The bitch was toying with him.

Rather than show her that she’d been able to move him at all with her order for the drums, Macrath kept his hard gaze on her. He wanted her to see the depth of his hatred, for when they were finally strong enough to battle the council, she would be the first to suffer.

“My Prince, will you not allow me to kneel and say my prayers to the gods?” Gowp whimpered from behind. “Let me make my peace.”

Macrath bared his teeth and faced the vile man. “Your time for peace-making has long since passed. You will not be forgiven. You will burn in Hades’ fires forever.”

Tears streamed down the man’s face but rather than feel sorry for him, Macrath could only feel rage. Visions of the bloodied linens, the bruised and starved women, the atrocities he was certain had been wrought on them, tormented him.

Macrath whispered into Gowp’s ear, “You took away their freedom. You took away their right to live. You took away every basic human need they required, and I’m going to do the same to you.”

Without another word he stepped down from the stocks, Gowp’s screams in his ear as he tugged at the nail, trying desperately to free himself.

“If he should get free, nail him back,” Macrath said to the guards. “The burning shall commence at sundown.”

THE walls of the castle vibrated with the beat of the drum. Ceana stood in the center of the washroom off the kitchen, her knees knocking together. She was dizzy. She was going to be sick.

Mary, Rhona and the three other lassies were all in separate tubs, each with a maid scrubbing away Gowp’s filth. Cook had set up a table in the same room with watered wine, bread, cheeses and a freshly roasted goose. Plain gowns and plaids had been gathered to clothe them.

“Drink this,” Cook said, pressing a warm metal cup into her hand.

“What is it?” Ceana sniffed at the dark liquid. Herbal, medicinal and a hint of whisky.

“A tincture to soothe your mood.”

Ceana studied the Cook, who tried hard to look as though she had no thoughts, but the worry was plainly etched into the lines of her face.

“Why?” Ceana asked.

“Because you’re not the first lass to come through the castle.”

“I suspect not, as you are a lass yourself,” Ceana teased.

Cook pursed her lips. “Many years have gone by since then. I’m an old crone now.”

Ceana took a small sip, letting the sweet herbal remedy slide down her throat, the whisky a nice after burn. “Hardly a crone. How many mistresses have you served?”

“At least half a dozen or more.”

Ceana took another sip—a larger one this time, liking the way the tincture was already calming her nerves. “Why have you not made this for me before now?”

Cook smiled. “I like to wait and see.”

“See what?”

“What kind of a mistress you are.”

Ceana liked this woman. She meant well. “And how have you found me?”

“Strong. You have a good heart. One of the best I’ve seen come through the doors of Sìtheil. I knew as much when Beatrice linked her name to yours. She’s got a black heart that one, and she’s always trying to steal the pure ones.”

“Did you know my mother? She came here once.”

Cook smiled but did not answer. Before Ceana could ask, the lassies started to climb from the tubs, their shivering bodies accompanied by whimpers.

“Need to get them some, too,” Cook said. Then added with a wink, “No need to see how they turned out. Anyone alive after Gowp’s ministrations deserves a good strong herbal.”

Cook hurried to scoop generous portions of the tincture into cups for the women and encouraged them to drink heartily—which they did.

A moment later, one smiled and another gave a little giggle.

“Theirs is a smidgen stronger than yours, mistress. Should I have a meal sent up to your room?”

“Thank you, Cook, for the tincture, for your kindness. I believe I am expected in the great hall again. Or the courtyard, I suppose,” she said, feeling a little weightless, and witless.

“Och, let the prince take care of the people. You need your rest. Not a woman’s place besides,” Cook said.

Cook’s words cleared some of the fog inside Ceana’s mind. “The prince and I rule together.”

Cook waved her hand dismissively and pursed her lips. “That’s what they all say. But ruling Sìtheil is for men. Women shouldn’t be burdened with such misery. Men can handle it better, that’s just the simple truth of it.”

Ceana handed back the cup, locking eyes with the old cook. “That is not my truth.”