Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Deirdre could not understand what she was seeing. The man at the head of the Brennan army as they pushed forward with the attack was not Laird Brennan, nor was it Ciaran—it was Rabbie, the soldier and her savior, the man she'd half-believed to be dead. And the attack they pressed was not upon the McFergusons, not at all. Because when the swords fell and the screams began, the Brennan men were attacking Bram's army!

"Fight!" Rabbie cried out over the noise and clamor and screams of surprise and fury. "Fight as our Laird has bid us! For Clan Brennan!"

The disorientation that Deirdre felt made her feel unsteady. What was happening? Why would Laird Brennan command this? Bram was screaming orders to his men, and a few seconds later James shouted a command and the McFerguson army surged forward, joining the battle, Brennans and McFergusons side by side.

Then there was the rapid sound of approaching hoofbeats, and there was Ciaran, approaching from the castle and launching himself into the fray, sword to sword with Bram himself. The rallying cry that went up from his men as they saw him arrive was overwhelming, and some of the McFergusons were cheering too before they fell further into the fight.

Deirdre ran out into the open, passing Lachlan and James as they fought four men back to back in what was clearly a practiced maneuver, past Jocelyn, who was defending herself more than ably with a flurry of clever knife tricks, and past Blair, who was proving quite talented with a thin, finely crafted sword of her own.

Around her, men fell from both sides, blood spraying on the green grass, weapons flying from their owner's hands as they fought and parried and warred. Deirdre hurried through it all in a trance until she reached the very center of the battle and cried out, "Stop!"

She'd expected it would make no difference, but Ciaran turned his head and caught her eye. An indescribable look crossed his face, and then he held up a hand.

"Enough," he commanded, not a shout, but a deep demand that echoed nonetheless. As one, his men put an end to the fighting, disarming or disabling their opponents. Ciaran himself grabbed Bram, roughly knocking him to the ground.

And just as quickly as it started, the bloody, terrible, confusing battle was over. Men lay wounded and others rushed to help them, those who had just moments before been ready to die now more than ready to live.

More hoofbeats, and Deirdre turned her eyes in time to see Aoife arrive on her horse, with Agatha just behind. Everyone was silent as Aoife and Agatha dismounted, and Aoife moved to Deirdre's side without a word.

Silence ruled the battlefield, silence except for the Highland winds whistling through the trees. Then, Ciaran grabbed Bram by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him across the ground, past Deirdre, right to where James now stood by Blair.

"This is yers," Ciaran said, with a respectful bow of his head. "I want no further part of it."

"Let go of me, ye bastard!" Bram howled, suddenly finding his voice. "I killed yer father and made ye Laird! I was goin' tae give ye the whore! And this is how ye repay me!"

Ciaran kicked him to shut him up, but Deirdre gasped loudly at the words. Laird Brennan, Ciaran's father, was dead ? So then, when Rabbie had cried out in support of his Laird, he'd meant…

Deirdre spoke up. "Ye got me letter."

James grabbed Bram, and Ciaran turned to face Deirdre. His eyes were no raging storm now, but instead the gentle blue-grey of the sea when the typhoon had ended. On his lips, despite the scene around him, at last sat a soft smile.

"I got yer letter," he replied. "But, me Deirdre of the Sorrows, let's put an end to all of this before we talk."

Deirdre reached out and felt Aoife's hand there. The sisters gripped each other as they watched the end of the war, the true end, unfold before them.

"What will ye do with him, Me Laird?" Ciaran asked, not hiding the disgust in his voice at all as he referred to Bram. He turned back to James, his whole tone polite and respectful despite his distaste for the subject. "Shall I dispatch him for ye, or do ye wish the pleasure?"

James turned to Lachlan, who was looming at his side. The two friends, close as brothers, had a silent conversation for a few moments. Then Lachlan nodded and James spoke.

"Me wife, Lady McFerguson, shall be the one tae decide Bram's fate," he declared. He glanced at Blair and said, "Me Lady?"

Blair didn't look surprised or upset. She simply stepped forward and looked down at her cousin, an expression almost like sympathy on her impossibly kind face. "Och, wee pup, how far ye've fallen," she said, so quietly that Deirdre had to strain to hear it. "It didnae have tae be this way."

Bram growled, but James's grip upon him was tight, and he said nothing.

"Ye believed we were cursed, Bram," Blair went on, louder now. "It drove ye tae madness, just as it did both of our fathers. Our family has seen too much blood shed by its own members to one another. An uncle set tae slay his nephews. A fever that took yer siblings. A brother killin' a brother. And a son killin' his own father."

"Do not try tae turn this on me, witch," Bram snarled. "I ken the prophecy. I ken ye wanted me dead, all of ye."

"That was never the prophecy." Agatha's thin, reedy voice was like the wind itself, spreading from her across the gathered men like magic. "Yer uncle, these girls' father, was slain by his brother, and then ye slew yer father in turn, Bram. The two wolves are long dead."

Bram's eyes were wild with madness, spittle forming on his lips as he turned to her. "And the pups? Who killed the pups? These lassies are here tae kill me, overthrow me!"

" Ye killed the pups, Bram," Jocelyn said, moving into sight. "Ye and yer father both. Me sisters and I lost our childhood because of yer ruthlessness. We were slaughtered even as we lived. And yer brothers, those poor, dead bairns, might still have lived if the family had not already been so consumed by death that they could not protect against a fever. The prophecy was complete long, long ago."

Bram's jaw worked, but no sound came out.

Blair nodded, commanding everyone's attention again. "There is no curse. No prophecy. Only me, one of the four true heirs to my father's seat—to Clan McMillan—offering ye a chance. End this madness, Bram McMillan. Allow me tae send ye tae exile. We will secure ye enough funds tae build a new anonymous life on an island, set ye with some sheep. Perhaps ye'll even find a woman, in time, and happiness can come tae ye."

Deirdre moved closer, so close she could almost touch them now. She wasn't sure how she felt about this. Part of her wanted Bram gone from this world, gone from the very existence that until a few moments before she thought would end at his or even at Ciaran's hand. Part of her wanted him to bleed for every drop of blood he and his men had spilled, to suffer for the days and hours and years she'd lost because of him and his madness.

But she glanced at Ciaran, who was watching her, and realized something important. There had been enough blood spilled, enough pain felt. Ciaran's brother and now his father were both gone. She herself had lost her parents before she even knew them, and some of the men here currently being tended by their field healers were men she knew and even cared for. She'd almost lost her sisters, and almost lost herself.

No more death. No more fear.

When she looked up, she saw Blair watching her, and she gave a slight nod. Blair beamed in response and then spoke to Bram again.

"What say ye, cousin?" Blair asked, holding out a hand.

Bram seemed to shrink into himself and reached out his own hand. James let go of him, and Bram took a step forward toward Blair…then let out a loud, angry cry and turned on his heel, barrelling toward Deirdre.

Deirdre cried out, throwing up her hands as Bram raised a wicked knife as if from nowhere, coming at such speed nobody would be able to stop him.

"Die!" he screamed, and lunged.

Deirdre screwed her eyes shut and felt the hot splatter of blood on her skin, but no pain. A moment passed, then she opened her eyes again.

Ciaran stood before her, and between them was Bram's body, crumpled now at his feet. Ciaran's expression was grim, and a thin trickle of blood dripped from his sword. He turned to Blair and bowed his head once more.

"Forgive me, me Lady," he said. "I had no choice."

Agatha's voice echoed around them again, almost mystically. "And so it is done. The lone wolf is carrion for the crow," she declared. "This war is over. For good."

A cheer rose up around them, from McMillan men and McFerguson and Brennan alike. It was over, truly over. Deirdre opened her mouth to speak to Ciaran, but before she could, her sisters all rushed forward, all four of them getting lost together in a tight hug that was filled with joy and tears.

When at long last they separated, the soldiers on the field had somewhat dispersed. Lachlan, James, and Ciaran were the only ones who still remained very close.

Deirdre took a step toward Ciaran, and her sisters moved back. Simultaneously, James and Lachlan moved a little further away, though still close enough to be protective if needed. Though, of course, Deirdre knew she would not need their protection. Not now. Not from him.

"Ye got me letter," she repeated, and suddenly it felt like there was only her and Ciaran left in this world.

"I did," he agreed, "But it didn't matter tae me, Deirdre. None of it did. I'd have died before I fought against ye and yer family, long before I got yer words."

"I don't understand."

"I let ye go," Ciaran admitted. "I had Marjorie and Rabbie help me. I made sure tae make it look like an accident, so me father—" He cut off, a pained look crossing his face.

"I'm sorry about yer father," Deirdre said, though she wasn't sure she was being truthful as much as she would like to be.

Ciaran laughed sadly. "Aye. He was a terrible man, awful. I'm not sad he's gone, not really, though I didn't wish him dead. Perhaps it's best for all of us. It's just…he was the only thing resemblin' a family I had left." He sighed, shaking his head. "Nevertheless, what's done is done."

"But why didn't ye tell me? Ye could have sent me a letter, a sign, anythin'. I thought… I thought…"

"Ye thought what I needed ye tae think, Deirdre," he told her, his voice low and soft. "I needed everyone tae think I was completely won over tae Bram's side. I needed them tae think that I despised ye and wanted nothin' more than tae destroy ye and all ye held dear. It was the only way I could get him tae trust me."

They both paused and looked at the body on the ground. Again, the combination of emotions was so confusing that Deirdre hardly knew what to think.

"Ye saved me life," she whispered.

"Ye saved mine," he replied. "Ye changed me from a scoundrel with nothin' tae a man with hope in his heart. Ye've transformed every dark, disgustin' thing I thought I knew about the world and replaced it with life and love and the idea that I could be happy again." He pushed his hair back on his forehead and looked over at James. "Me Laird, I ken that this is neither the time nor place, with Bram just slain and men tae tend to, but I must ask ye."

James smiled, a lightness about him now that Deirdre did not remember in a long time. "I think ye've earned a boon, sir. Or should I call ye Laird Brennan?"

Ciaran smiled faintly in return. "I suppose that would be accurate. Though I'd rather ye call me Ciaran. I'd like us tae be friends—family. I ken that regardless of me reparations today I have things to make up for with yer family, but even so, me heart longs for what it needs, and that is Deirdre. Would ye see fit tae consider allowin' me tae ask her tae be me wife?"

A loud ringing sounded in Deirdre's ears as she thought about the words. She watched as James made to answer, but her heart was pounding too hard, her cheeks too flushed, her mind too focused to wait.

"Yes!" she blurted. She grabbed Ciaran's hand in her own, still as warm as it had been when he'd soothed her to sleep. "Yes, yes, yes, I'll marry ye."

A small chuckle sounded from one of the observers nearby.

James cleared his throat. "Ye didn't let me ask, Deirdre."

"Well, I've answered." She blushed a little, embarrassed by her own enthusiasm, but refusing to back down. "I will marry Ciaran and I will return tae Brennan keep, not as its prisoner but as its Lady. And I will bring back the life it has been missin'."

Ciaran smiled down at her, his beautiful eyes hypnotizing. "Ye'll be the light that revives me clan, just as ye've done for me. I love ye."

"And I ye," Deirdre replied.

Ciaran leaned down and kissed her softly, and Deirdre closed her eyes, enjoying the blissful little moment of paradise. She leaned into it a little, pressing against him more insistently, until someone pointedly coughed, and the two broke apart.

"Are ye done?" Blair teased. "But of course ye shall be wed. After we have buried the dead and healed the livin', there will be a grand celebration."

James nodded. "Ye're welcomed to our family, Laird Brennan. Ciaran. And may this be a sign of the peace to come for all of us."

A cheer rose up around them, a truly happy one, from Brennans and McMillans and McFergusons alike. The three clans, so recently enemies, joined together to celebrate the end of the death and bloodshed, the end of the pointless war, and the beginning of something new.

Bram's funeral was a short, solemn event, attended only by the four sisters and their men. The true miracle of it all was that Bram was one of only a few fatal casualties of that short, bloody battle; most men had escaped with injuries, though of course not all. Each individual fallen soldier had been honored, and James and Ciaran had both made sure that money from their respective clans' coffers had gone to support their widows and children.

And now it was Bram's turn. Deirdre felt very strange saying goodbye to him, but it had felt stranger to just bury his body in a nameless grave. He had been evil, but he had also been sad, broken—and beyond that, the only part of their family that had been left outside of each other. None of the McMillan sisters felt any love for him or any sorrow at his passing, but it only felt right to draw a line under it all for good.

They would borrow a tradition from the north for this, a way to send Bram out of their lives forever and cleanse his spirit from them once and for all. A bonfire flickered nearby in the dead of night. The eight people who stood on the side of the water.

"I still can't really believe it's over," Aoife said quietly as they set the little paper boat in the water. Bram's body was already long gone, burned on the pyre, and his ashes now rested on this little boat, ready to float out to their final resting point in the North somewhere. "Me whole life has been hidin' from me uncle or runnin' from Bram. And now…"

"Now our lives are our own," Deirdre said, glancing up at Ciaran beside her, who was holding her hand. "We've spent our whole existence searchin' for freedom, and now we've found it."

She picked up the small torch and lit it on the waiting flame, then handed it to Aoife, who also dipped it in the fire. Aoife handed it over to Jocelyn.

"Bram, our father, our uncle…their lives were consumed and eventually taken by prophecy," Jocelyn said. "But I ken Agatha. I ken the words she said, the visions she saw. The prophecies may have been real or not real, but they were neither evil nor good. Destiny is what man makes of it." She gave her husband a loving look. "Lachlan and I, we both learned that long ago. It's a pity Bram could not."

She dipped the torch in the fire, then handed it to Blair.

Blair took it, and in the firelight, Deirdre saw her sister's hand shaking a little. Blair glanced down at the little boat bobbing in the water and sighed, then spoke directly to it. "I will not forgive ye, Bram McMillan, because ye never sought forgiveness. Until yer last moment, ye were certain that ye were right. But I will pity ye, and the person ye could have been. And may ye spend yer afterlife kennin' the truth—that Clan McMillan will rise again."

She placed the torch to the boat, and after a few seconds, the paper started to curdle under the heat. Using the torch, she pushed it out, and the boat floated out into the loch as the fire caught and it burned.

They watched the flames, all four sisters together, until at last they petered out to nothing, the curdling smoke carrying what had been Bram far away forever.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Aoife said, "Come. We must return tae the castle if we're tae get any sleep before the journey tomorrow."

Blair nodded. "She's right. And it wouldn't do to have our blushin' bride sleepless."

Deirdre grinned. At sunrise, the sisters and their families, including the children, would travel to the land owned by the merchant McLeod, where Aoife would be married. She'd told them all the story of Liam's cautious deception, and how he'd apologized endlessly, and how she'd forgiven him in an instant. The two of them loved each other under any name, that much was more than clear, and Aoife was at last, in a different form than she'd ever expected, going to have her happily ever after with her prince.

As they walked back, Deirdre moved to Aoife's side. "I'll miss ye," she told her softly.

Aoife smiled. "I'll be back soon enough, for yer weddin'," she said. "All four of us married off! Can ye believe it?"

Ciaran, still holding Deirdre's hand, laughed. "Heaven help us men tryin' tae hold our own against the four of ye," he teased.

Aoife moved off ahead, leaving Ciaran and Deirdre walking alone.

"It's finally over," Ciaran told her. "Are ye happy?"

"It's not over," Deirdre corrected. "It's just beginnin'."

Even in the darkness, she could see a smile on Ciaran's face. "Aye? And what comes next, me beloved Deirdre?"

She didn't need to think. She held his hand tighter and spoke with soft confidence. "What comes next, me love? Freedom. For us all."