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

Soon the hall would be filled with the people of Sìtheil who’d come to pay their respects, their taxes and to place their grievances with the new leaders. Ceana had never sat in for the entire gathering when her brother or her father held court, but long enough that she had an idea of what went on.

Seated on the dais in a long row were the five ruling council members—Lady Beatrice and her four male counterparts. They were dressed in their finest and studied Ceana and Macrath as they entered the great hall, taking in every minute detail from their heads down to their toes.

She hated them all. If she’d the power of the gods, she’d strike them where they sat and watch as flames licked at their flesh.

A shudder passed through her. Rare was it that she thought so violently, but when it came to these five, there was no limit to the malice Ceana was capable of concocting. After what they’d put her and hundreds of others through, she was certain she could never look at any of them without wishing them a violent end. They were not the first of the royal council members, but they’d been for many years and meted out atrocity after atrocity to the people of Sìtheil and those who came to fight for their place to rule.

Beatrice caught her eye, and there was a flicker of something disturbing in their dark depths. This woman held many secrets, knew things about Ceana’s past that she did not share with her. Information regarding Ceana’s mother. One day, when she and Macrath had established their power and had the backing of an army, she’d take Beatrice in hand and demand the information.

That day would be very soon.

Ceana and Macrath ascended to the dais and stood before the two throne chairs in the center, just in front of the council. She would have to endure their close proximity for the whole of the day, as that was how long they expected the court proceedings to take.

Three clerks sat to the side of the raised dais, behind a table. They would collect taxes and record who had paid and what it was they’d given.

Lady Beatrice rose and waved to the guards, who stood before the closed doors of the great hall. One guard withdrew from inside his shirt a large iron key on a chain that hung around his neck. He nodded to his counterpart and they unlocked the doors.

Why was it the great hall had to be locked from the inside?

During the games this had not been the case. Was it because the people of Sìtheil could not be trusted? What exactly had they inherited from the previous rulers?

In the silence of the hall, the click of the lock echoed ominously.

The doors were pulled slowly open by the guards, the hinges wrenching loudly. Every sound seemed to reverberate off the rafters, exacerbating the noises. Ceana’s hands were cold, and she was certain her face was pale, but she kept her shoulders straight, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

At least she had no need to worry over the guard who’d been bent on abusing her during the games. The moment they’d been crowned, Macrath had seen to it that the man would never return.

“Bid them enter,” Lady Beatrice said, her voice strong.

Moments later, a line of people began filing into the hall. Men, women, children. Most of them looked ravaged and ill-used. The sight of them broke Ceana’s heart. Their clothes were threadbare, and with winter only weeks away, they had to have been frozen outside. In fact, several children’s teeth chattered, their tiny lips blue.

Dirt and bruises marred much of their flesh.

These people were not well cared for.

“Serfs,” Macrath mouthed to her.

Ceana nodded. How was it she’d not been aware that there were serfs? At home, they’d never had anyone bound to the land for their lifetime. They worked together as a clan, a family.

But that must be the difference between a clan that ruled themselves and a clan that was ruled by a cruel royal council. Her throat tightened with emotion, and she gestured to a waiting servant for a cup of wine. At least these people would not be serfs any longer. They would set them free.

The line stopped about fifteen paces from the dais, and the guards shouted a warning for all those outside to cease their process.

“This is the first royal court of the Prince and Princess of Sìtheil. Until now, we’ve not had a royal seat within this castle, nor one as your direct overlord. Bow to your prince and princess,” Lady Beatrice said.

Those in line quickly got to their knees, their heads bowed.

“Give them your loyalty and thou will not be punished for insolence,” said Beatrice.

The people trembled and nodded. None of them would make eye contact. They were terrified. That didn’t sit well with Ceana. She didn’t want to be that kind of leader. Clans were like family. They looked out for each other. If the majority of the people were afraid to even look her way, what kind of a family could they be?

Ceana straightened her spine and handed the wine back to the waiting servant. Beside her, she noticed that Macrath, too, had stiffened.

“State your—”

“Before the proceedings begin,” Macrath cut Beatrice off and Ceana had to press her lips hard together not to smile. The councilwoman had already overstepped her bounds, an obvious attempt at showing her power. “The princess and I would like to announce that you are all free. We have banished serfdom from Sìtheil. If you owe a debt you wish to repay, we will honor it. If you wish to return to your homeland, we will honor it. If you wish to stay, we welcome you with open arms.”

A collective gasp sounded in the great hall. Not one of them turned to leave. Did that mean they all wished to stay?

“Let us proceed.” Macrath nodded to the first crofter. “State your name and grievance.”

“That was a mistake,” Beatrice hissed behind Ceana, but she ignored her.

A man stepped forward and tugged his wife and three children—two older boys and a young girl—with him. They looked weary and as if they’d not eaten in several days.

“The name’s John, my laird, and this is my wife, Edna, and our three children. We give you our loyalty, my laird, and hope that you’ll allow us to state our grievances to you in whole.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Lady Beatrice, who most likely didn’t take kindly to the man’s words, though Ceana found no fault with them, as she suspected Macrath did not. Everyone had the right to be heard. Was it not the way at Sìtheil in the past?

“Proceed,” Macrath said.

“My laird, prior to the games, we were ruled by another male and female victor—”

“He knows this,” Beatrice cut in. “Get on with it, you imbecile, or else we’ll have you removed.”

From nowhere guards lined the hall, their weapons glinting in the light of the candles. Ceana whipped her gaze toward Macrath. Neither of them had ordered guards. This was clearly the council’s doing—a show that they still held influence here. Authority over Ceana and Macrath.

It only made Ceana boil with rage. Macrath shifted his hand on the armrest, his little finger brushing hers. Even that small touch was a reassurance. They were in this together.

“We are forbidden to hunt, my laird. Most of the fall’s harvest went to providing for—” He stopped himself mid-sentence and stared at Beatrice, his face growing pale. “We are starving, my laird. Our food supply is short, and our well in the village has dried up. We’ve nothing to survive on through the winter.” Tears pooled in the man’s eyes. “Our children are suffering.”

The two older boys looked on with pride, with anger, and Ceana could only imagine what their lives had been for the last five years—the years they could remember. The little girl stared up at them with fear, the bones of her face jutting.

They’d decided to take turns with each member of their new clan, and Macrath was to go first, but he paused, a sign he wanted her to take the lead.

“Who did your harvest provide for?” Ceana asked.

“This is preposterous,” Beatrice said from behind. “Every crofter must work and provide part of their harvest to the whole of the clan.”

Ceana ignored Beatrice. “Tell me.”

“The games. The council. The castle.”

She’d thought as much. “We shall lower the ban on hunting to two days a week per family. We shall also divide the food within our stores amongst you equally, given out in weekly rations. A new well will be dug.”

There was a thud behind her, like a fist being slammed onto an armrest. Likely Beatrice. Ceana could almost picture her face growing redder with rage, her lips in a snarl.

The thought made Ceana smile and she turned to the servants holding wine. “Please inform Cook that upon leaving, every clansmen in Sìtheil will require provisions.”

When the servant glanced behind Ceana at Beatrice, Macrath snarled, “Your princess has given you direction.”

The servant jumped and disappeared within the crowd toward the kitchen.

Macrath turned to Beatrice then, his eyes dark with rage. “I’ll thank you kindly to allow us to preside over our court.”

Ceana was certain her heart would stop, that Beatrice would stand up and order for them to be taken to the dungeon, and since they had no rapport with their people, no guards of their own, Beatrice’s will would be done.

Instead a peel of laughter escaped the female royal council member’s mouth. “Oh, Macrath, my you have a way with words. We’d never dream of interfering. Carry on.”

From the outside it appeared that Lady Beatrice was being kind, laughing off what could have been an ugly situation, but in truth, Ceana was even more frightened. This meant war with the council a hell of a lot earlier than she was prepared for.

“Do you have any additional grievances?” Macrath asked John.

The man, looking as though he was ready to bolt, simply shook his head.

“Pay your tax and go and get your provisions from the kitchen,” Macrath told the man and his family.

They took off, profusely muttering their thanks with their heads bowed. Ceana watched them pull a pewter cup, a roll of twine from a dirty sack followed by a single coin and hand it to the guard. The guard glared up at the man and his family. They’d not paid what they were supposed to. Her heart went out to them, and she tapped Macrath, leaning closer to him.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his attention turned toward the tax guards.

“Our people have suffered. Let us wave some of the tax until six months from now.”

He nodded. “Good idea.” Macrath stood. “The Princess and I have decided that only half of your usual tax will be due today. The remaining half we will collect at the end of spring.”

There was a collective disappointed sigh from the council, which they ignored.

The crowd cried out their thanks and turned around to tell the good news to those who stood in line behind them. A trice later, cries of gratitude rang out from the courtyard, floating in with the chill breeze.

“Please move forward and state your name and grievance,” Macrath advised the next family and as he did so his little finger brushed over hers once more and he winked.

Their first time holding court was off to a rocky start, but it appeared things were moving in the right direction. She hoped soon to have the support and loyalty of their people.

The next in line was a woman with a bruised and puffy face. Her wrists and ankles were covered in what looked to be rope bruising—she’d been held captive. Her eyes were so wide with fear, they nearly popped from her face.

Ceana’s stomach plummeted. What horrors had this woman endured?

And at the hands of whom?

Chapter Two

“MY name is Mary.”

“What has happened to you?” Macrath’s voice sounded strangled.

Mary glanced around fearfully, her eyes filling with tears. “I have much the same complaint as John and his brood.”

“You are without provisions?” Macrath asked.

“Aye.” She didn’t say anything about the mars on her flesh.

“Where is your family?”

Mary dropped to her knees. Her hands covered her face as her body shook with sobs.

Ceana stood from her chair and descended the dais, ignoring Beatrice’s warnings to stay where she was. Beatrice would have to learn that she held no power over Ceana any longer. If one of her people was in need of comforting and she was able to provide it, then she would.

Those in line stared at Ceana with shock, a few of them taking steps backward. Ceana placed a hand on Mary’s back and bent forward to whisper, “Hush now. You’re safe with us.”

Mary glanced up at Ceana, swiping at the tears on her face as she did so.

“Tell me why you’re crying,” Ceana said softly. “We’ll not judge you.”

The poor woman clutched at her heart. “My family is gone.”

“Where have they gone?” Ceana wondered if they’d entered into the games, but Mary didn’t look old enough to have a child who would be of age to enter.

“My husband was… He was thrown into the oubliette and my baby, she…died.”

Ceana’s heart lurched at the news. “The oubliette?” A dark hole where criminals were tossed and left to starve and die. She wasn’t aware there was one at Sìtheil, but she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. “Can you stand? I’m certain Prince Macrath will want to hear what you have to say.” It was the first time she’d used his title and it sounded odd to her ears.

Mary nodded, and Ceana helped her to stand.

“I’m going to return to my chair. Are you well enough to tell your story on your own?”

The woman straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Aye, my lady.”

Ceana smiled warmly and then returned to her chair. Macrath nodded his approval.

Mary smoothed her skirts and took a long, deep breath. “We were starving. Our share of the harvest was required for tax payments.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She kept her gaze toward the floor. “The only way for us to eat was for my husband to go and hunt.”

“Which was forbidden,” Macrath pointed out, though he kept his voice soft.

Mary nodded. “He returned with a rabbit, but while we prepared a stew, three guards from the castle arrived. They dragged him from the croft and began to beat him on the ground. They set our croft to flames. They raped me. When they were finished I rushed back in to get my baby, but…it was too late. My husband was gone, and I was alone, with no home and no family. He died in the oubliette they tossed him into.”

“When did this happen?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It has been many nights. Many weeks, I think.”

“Where have you been?”

Mary swayed on her feet. “I have been held prisoner.”

“By who?”

Again she shrugged. “I do not know.”

There was a loud grunt from someone in the line behind her. Ceana glanced over the line but could not figure out who had made the noise—or why.

“We offer you our sincerest condolences for the loss of your husband and your child,” Macrath said. “You should not have had to suffer their loss, nor the torture you’ve endured since.”

One of the male council members from behind cleared his throat, audibly irritated.

Ceana couldn’t help but wonder if he had something to do with her imprisonment. She didn’t dare look at him, as much as she wanted to. There was something incredibly wrong with the superiors at Sìtheil, as if the darkness of the land had seeped into their souls.

“My thanks, my laird,” Mary said.

“What is it you seek from us?” Macrath asked.

“I have no money to pay the tax. Nothing to my name.”

“We shall allow you time to earn your tax and we will provide you with shelter,” he said.

Mary started to tremble, her eyes widening with fear. Macrath shifted in his chair and glanced at Ceana, a flash of confusion in his countenance.

Ceana leaned forward. “Mary, we would not harm you, nor take away your freedom as you’ve had done before. The prince and I believe in a different type of rule. Did you not hear him say you all are free? You shall reside within the castle. The kitchen likely needs extra staff. You can begin as soon as you’ve been cleaned up.” Ceana gestured to the female servant who’d helped her that morning. “Please see that Mary is properly bathed and a new gown is found for her.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Ceana felt breath on the left side of her neck—Beatrice—and it sent chills racing along her limbs.

“Do you remember when I brought you inside? When I bathed you and clothed you?”

Ceana didn’t move, refused to respond. Beatrice’s words sank deep inside her chest and dredged up memories of the last ten days she would have been happy to never recall again.

Her struggle had been agony and life changing. It redefined her, and had left her scarred. Made her jump at every little noise. Caused her to question every person’s motivations and to wonder just how much longer she had on this earth.

“I took care of you. I could have left you in the mud. Could have let you die. I gave you this position. I made you who you are.”

She was wrong on that count. Ceana had been determined to win. She’d gotten to where she was with sheer willpower and with Macrath’s support. Beatrice had helped her a couple of times, but whether or not she’d been cleaned and given new garments had not determined her win. If anything it had caused her to suffer more. The councilwoman’s actions had heaped attention to Ceana from the other jealous entrants.

Needless brutality had been inflicted on her because of Beatrice’s
special
attention. The same could be said of Macrath. Beatrice had been drawn to him. It had been ugly and disgusting, and had stirred something deep and injured within him. The woman had tied him up, forced him to touch her.

They’d talked about it briefly one night during the games, but neither of them had spoken of it since. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but they’d been so exhausted. Too fatigued to talk about the past and they’d not yet even brushed on the future, save for their plans to vanquish the council, nor their plans for each other.

She worried that the problems with Sìtheil would overshadow their need to grow together as a man and wife.

For even though this marriage was required, she wanted it to last. Macrath, too, had told her it was for life. If they were going to remain together until death parted them, then they needed a good foundation.

Her mind wandered to a place well away from her tormenter to pleasant thoughts of a growing family only to be pulled back.

“This woman will suffer for what you’ve done,” Beatrice warned. “And not of my doing.”

Ceana gritted her teeth. So deep in thought was she, Macrath nudged her as a reminder it was time to make a judgment on the next crofter. Yet she’d not listened to anything the old man before her had said. Luckily, she’d paused long enough for Macrath to understand she was passing him the torch.

He dispensed with several more judgments while Ceana panicked about what would happen to poor Mary. Perhaps it was best to have her as a personal maid instead of working in the kitchens where anyone who wanted to abuse her would have better access.

When the next clansman stepped forward, he looked better off than the others. His garments did not hang on him, and his rounded belly pushed out from his shirt. He had a smirk on his face as he addressed them and proclaimed his loyalty. But he also refused to look at Ceana as he spoke.

“What is your grievance?” Ceana said.

The man shifted his gaze to her, frowning. She was fairly certain he did not respect women, nor truly feel the allegiance to her that he’d just proclaimed.

“I’ve lost my wife and wish to have another.” His lecherous grin widened and he boldly regarded her. “The lass, Mary, will do just fine.”

Ceana’s spine stiffened and she sat taller. She could almost feel Macrath’s rage beside her. He would not take kindly to this man’s words nor his behavior.

“Mary is not available to wed,” Ceana said coldly.

“Nay? She has no husband. No family. No home. I could provide for her.” But the way his eyes darkened, Ceana had an idea of how he would provide for the lass and it wouldn’t be pleasant in the least.

Gut instinct bade her to respond negatively. “We will not give you permission to marry. Not Mary, nor any other lass.”

The man’s mouth fell open in outrage. He blustered, spittle on his lips. “You can’t do that!”

“I can.”

“You bitch!”

Before he’d even finished his vile words, Macrath was out of his chair, his hand around the man’s throat.

“Watch your tongue. No one speaks about my wife that way, and ’tis no way to regard your sovereign.”

Ceana shivered, glad for Macrath’s protection and also fearful for what was going on with this disturbed, soulless man. How could he lash out at her like that? It had been obvious from the beginning that he had no respect for women. What evils had he crafted?

Ceana stared vacantly at the man’s purpling face. Gurgling noises came from his throat.

“Bow before her and beg her forgiveness. Then you will accept your punishment like a man.”

BURNING rage filled Macrath’s chest. It took every ounce of his self-control not to kill the man where he stood.

He forced himself to uncurl his fingers from the man’s throat, but gripped the back of his neck, pushing him down to his knees.

“Speak,” he growled.

“My humble apologies, my lady.” His voice cracked.

“Not good enough,” Macrath said, squeezing the back of the man’s neck harder.

“Please, My Princess, please forgive me. I spoke out of turn. I am but a lonely man in need of a wife to comfort me, just as you comfort his lordship.”

Macrath’s fingers ached to squeeze harder, but he did not. “Whether or not my wife comforts me is of no concern to you.”

Macrath lifted his gaze to Ceana, who sat stoically in her chair, not even a flicker of emotion on her face.

“Take this man outside,” she said. “Nail him to the beam on the stocks. There you shall sit until you free yourself.”

A nail through the ear, and no one to help him out of it. Macrath raised a brow, impressed. ’Twas a shame this man was forcing them to punish someone when they’d barely made a dent in the line of grievances.

“Wait!” the man begged. “Please don’t do this.”

Macrath was about to tell him to take his punishment like a warrior, when Ceana spoke.

“We will not waver in our judgments. You stated your grievance, but in doing so, you told us much more. You are a cruel and unjust man. One who has not starved while the rest of your clan has. We have been lenient in allowing you only an afternoon of minor punishment. But, we will not tolerate your begging. The prince and I are fair rulers, and I believe the people will find us to be much more accommodating than any of your past overlords. Be gone with you.”

The man clamped his lips closed, more afraid of Ceana giving him a harsher punishment than Macrath’s of hand on his neck.

Macrath grinned. He was exceedingly proud of his wife, and he agreed—this man was hiding something. How was it that nearly all in line were flesh and bones and yet he prospered with a belly as round as a barrel?

“Where is your croft?” Macrath asked.

The man trembled. “Just outside the walls in the forest beyond.”

“I know where it is,” volunteered a young girl nearly ten people down the line. “I will show you.”

Macrath nodded. “When you’ve finished stating your grievances, wait in the kitchens, and we shall follow you.”

He gestured to the guards and two stepped forward to take the man outside.

“A nail through the ear only,” Macrath warned, knowing that these guards had been used to many years of violence. Who knew what they’d done to people who’d required punishment before?

The man was half dragged from the hall; though he tried to walk, he kept tripping over his feet.

The next several clansmen and women stated their grievances quickly. Much the same—no access to water, no food, no coin or provisions to pay their taxes. Still none asked to leave the land—a sure sign they had hope of improvement at Sìtheil. They came to the girl who’d volunteered to show them where the lecherous clansman lived.

“My name is Rhona.”

Macrath quickly looked at his wife, watching her grow pale. Rhona had been the name of the woman she’d killed during the knife-fighting game. Rhona had been from his clan, and he’d promised to protect her if he could, but there had been nothing he could do, and nothing Ceana could do. It was either kill or be killed. Even without a choice, she still struggled, the memory of her actions so fresh in her mind. Barely a week had passed. He worried about the guilt and shame eating away at her mind.