An excerpt from Chapter One of Highland Sacrifice book two in the Highland Wars series...
IN less than a week, over
one hundred warriors vying for the titles of Prince and Princess of Sìtheil
were dead.
In
less than two weeks, Ceana MacRae had gone from being the sister to a laird, to
a mourning sister, laird herself and now princess of the realm.
In
less than a day, she would be known as either a potential good ruler or a weak
one.
An
enormous amount of change in such short time. She’d not yet become accustomed
to any of it. The only steady, solid pillar she had was the man standing beside
her, and even he was new. She glanced at him from the side, taking in the
strong, square cut of his jaw, the crispness of his shirt and the pleat of his
plaid. His dark hair curled at the base of his neck, the ends still damp from
bathing. He was impressive, handsome and only she knew that inside the hulking
muscles and fierce warrior was a man with a heart.
Macrath’s
dark blue gaze flicked to hers, confidence in their depths.
They
entered the great hall through the small stair that led specifically up to the
main chambers on the floor above. The carved double doors to the mighty hall were
not yet opened to those outside. Two guards stood, weapons in hand before their
wood-and-iron height.
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.”
Want to read more of Highland Sacrifice?
~~~
Have you read book one--Highland Hunger?
