Read Online Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) by Eliza Knight - Free Book Online
Authors: Eliza Knight
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if the condition of the land they’d been given wasn’t bad enough. For some had no food, no water, no shelter. Freedoms taken away. Basic needs for human life violently ripped from those who should have them.
Beatrice laughed. “Do not worry, lads,” she said, blatantly insulting them. “I’ll be sure the Bitch and the Bastard are taking up residence in a shallow grave well before the sun rises in the center of the stones.”
A stone circle—yet another thing they’d not yet seen.
“If not, we’ll be forced to inform the king.”
“Of what, you wastrels?” Beatrice spit out. “Were you not all a part of their crowning? Did you not all swear an oath to them? If you inform the king of any wrongdoing on my part, then best you tell him of your own contributions, for I will not falter in my telling of the tale.”
The threat in her voice sent an icy chill over Ceana’s spine. She’d known before the extent of Beatrice’s cruelty, but not that she would turn on her own council. Then again, they might turn on her—if she didn’t get rid of Ceana and Macrath.
The councilmen and Beatrice spoke a few moments longer regarding the missive they would send the king in which they would only make hints of being unhappy with the current prince and princess.
As soon as they were gone, Ceana and Macrath waited a few moments, eyes blazing as they stared at one another, and then silently, hand in hand, they stalked up the stairs to their master chamber, through the door and into the prince’s private library.
Chapter Six
HE’D not shaken like this since he was a child.
Not even when Letitia had abused him, nor when Beatrice had brought him into her torture chamber, chained him and molested him, or even during the games when fear had fueled his every move.
Perhaps it was because fear did not rule him at that moment. Nay, fury did.
Macrath was ready to tear the council from limb to limb. How dare they plot to steal the throne that he and Ceana had rightfully won? How dare the bastards plot to take his and Ceana’s lives after all they’d done to keep them? Day after bloody day they’d persevered. A bitter victory though it was, it had been theirs.
To the ruling council, he and Ceana were nothing more than pawns. Pieces to be played and discarded with a swipe of their fingers. The members of the council did not value human life. They did not respect the gift of breath.
He and Ceana were merely entrants in a contest where the rules were always changing according to the pleasure of five fucking arseholes.
Neither of them had been properly trained to play in this. Neither of them knew the right path to take and they could only trust each other.
“We will beat them,” Ceana said, her voice strangled with rage.
They’d entered their private library and stood there, staring out the narrow window, neither of them truly seeing what lay beyond that small gap in the rock.
Macrath glanced to his wife. Her profile was pinched—eyes squinted, lips pursed, jaw muscle clenched. Though she didn’t face him, her hand still clung to his. Tightly.
“We must,” he said, regarding her.
“How?” she asked. Slowly, she turned her head to face him. “They are strong and we are…”
“We are strong. Ceana, we are the ones who just fought to the death to win this position. Our victory is fresh, our pain still real. We are determined. We are the ones who rule here. Not them.” The words were easier to say than to believe.
Macrath briefly closed his eyes, flashes of swords clashing and flames assaulting him. Enough! He repeated the word, shouting it inside his mind. Enough!
The savage images faded in a cloud and then were gone. ’Twas then he realized Ceana was kissing his hand and murmuring calming words.
“They happen to me, too,” she said.
Her hand fell from his and she walked—floated—to the window, setting her palms down on the sill. Deceptive hands. They looked fragile and yet he knew how
Beatrice laughed. “Do not worry, lads,” she said, blatantly insulting them. “I’ll be sure the Bitch and the Bastard are taking up residence in a shallow grave well before the sun rises in the center of the stones.”
A stone circle—yet another thing they’d not yet seen.
“If not, we’ll be forced to inform the king.”
“Of what, you wastrels?” Beatrice spit out. “Were you not all a part of their crowning? Did you not all swear an oath to them? If you inform the king of any wrongdoing on my part, then best you tell him of your own contributions, for I will not falter in my telling of the tale.”
The threat in her voice sent an icy chill over Ceana’s spine. She’d known before the extent of Beatrice’s cruelty, but not that she would turn on her own council. Then again, they might turn on her—if she didn’t get rid of Ceana and Macrath.
The councilmen and Beatrice spoke a few moments longer regarding the missive they would send the king in which they would only make hints of being unhappy with the current prince and princess.
As soon as they were gone, Ceana and Macrath waited a few moments, eyes blazing as they stared at one another, and then silently, hand in hand, they stalked up the stairs to their master chamber, through the door and into the prince’s private library.
Chapter Six
HE’D not shaken like this since he was a child.
Not even when Letitia had abused him, nor when Beatrice had brought him into her torture chamber, chained him and molested him, or even during the games when fear had fueled his every move.
Perhaps it was because fear did not rule him at that moment. Nay, fury did.
Macrath was ready to tear the council from limb to limb. How dare they plot to steal the throne that he and Ceana had rightfully won? How dare the bastards plot to take his and Ceana’s lives after all they’d done to keep them? Day after bloody day they’d persevered. A bitter victory though it was, it had been theirs.
To the ruling council, he and Ceana were nothing more than pawns. Pieces to be played and discarded with a swipe of their fingers. The members of the council did not value human life. They did not respect the gift of breath.
He and Ceana were merely entrants in a contest where the rules were always changing according to the pleasure of five fucking arseholes.
Neither of them had been properly trained to play in this. Neither of them knew the right path to take and they could only trust each other.
“We will beat them,” Ceana said, her voice strangled with rage.
They’d entered their private library and stood there, staring out the narrow window, neither of them truly seeing what lay beyond that small gap in the rock.
Macrath glanced to his wife. Her profile was pinched—eyes squinted, lips pursed, jaw muscle clenched. Though she didn’t face him, her hand still clung to his. Tightly.
“We must,” he said, regarding her.
“How?” she asked. Slowly, she turned her head to face him. “They are strong and we are…”
“We are strong. Ceana, we are the ones who just fought to the death to win this position. Our victory is fresh, our pain still real. We are determined. We are the ones who rule here. Not them.” The words were easier to say than to believe.
Macrath briefly closed his eyes, flashes of swords clashing and flames assaulting him. Enough! He repeated the word, shouting it inside his mind. Enough!
The savage images faded in a cloud and then were gone. ’Twas then he realized Ceana was kissing his hand and murmuring calming words.
“They happen to me, too,” she said.
Her hand fell from his and she walked—floated—to the window, setting her palms down on the sill. Deceptive hands. They looked fragile and yet he knew how
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