Chapter 1 #2
She'd spent the following days until the bruise had healed with carefully applied rouge covering her cheek, not that any of the Campbell men had paid her any attention.
She thought that Ian, Campbell's heir, had leered at her a few times, but she'd never managed to catch him in the act. At least she was safe from him.
As her father reminded her with scorn at every opportunity, she'd ruined any chance she had of securing a marriage to the likes of Ian Campbell, or any northern laird, by being spurned by Rolland.
She knew he was right, and so the only option left to her was to play the dutiful daughter, locking any part of her that disdained her father's approach away deep in her heart.
Though the dizzying smoke was making it far too easy for Morag's mind to wander, she was drawn sharply back to the present as Alistair Campbell moved into the light, the shadows cast violently on his face highlighting every line and crag.
His beauty had faded long before Morag had been born, she supposed, though its remnants only made him seem more horrifying to her.
The man who stood in the center of the room now, grim and gaunt and vibrating with hate, was like a ghoul left behind in the world long after the soul had left.
Ever since Campbell had returned from his foray into Murray lands, his black temper had cast a dark plague upon the castle.
The men who had escaped alongside him had been threatened with death if they revealed the truth of whatever had happened there, and certainly none were likely to tell Morag regardless, but rumors had a way of spreading.
There were whispers that the missing Campbell children had surfaced at last, but they had sided with the Murrays, ready to destroy their own father.
To lend credence to the rumors, Campbell was now rushing their war plans, determined that death could not come to the already-hated Murrays soon enough.
Desperate for scraps of truth, Morag had played the statue, listening hard wherever she could, her complicated feelings toward the Murrays tearing a contradictory fissure in her heart.
She truly had cared for Rolland—not loved him, not at all, but it had bothered her that she'd been unable to break through her own icy armor to perhaps one day befriend him.
Before the accusations, Flora and Seamus had been nothing but kind to her, even when she was aloof and cold.
Until Elsie had arrived, Morag had slowly been trying to soften, though that had all shattered when she'd seen the way Rolland looked at the horse girl.
She regretted how she'd acted, and perhaps, given more time, she might have repaired it.
But now, her father had thrown his lot in with Campbell, and that meant that Morag must put all of that aside and do the same, no matter what her heart said.
"The Murray Clan is made of vermin," Alistair Campbell spat with no preamble, and the low murmuring around the room fell to abrupt silence as everyone paid him immediate attention.
"And what do we do whenever vermin enter the castle?
We stomp it out before it can destroy everythin' we hold dear.
We will burn them, poison them, swallow them whole if we must. Me brother should have slain every single one when he had the chance! "
He roared the last word and snatched a bottle of expensive aqua vitae from the table, throwing it violently across the room.
Morag flinched away as the distilled alcohol hit the fire pit with a loud pop and a flare of flames that caused those nearby to rush backward to avoid getting burned.
She was far from the fire, but she still felt the heat rise in the room.
The only person who did not move was the man sitting by Alistair's side while the father paced back and forth in fury. Ian Campbell perched at the edge of his seat, his eyes cold and alert, his body held with a predator's stillness as he took in the events.
As a child, when she had first met Ian, Morag had thought him quite handsome, retaining all the looks his father had lost and taking more from his mother.
She'd assumed she'd marry him one day, enjoying his tall stature and dark blonde curls, enchanted by his hazel eyes.
But his beauty was overwhelmed by his menace, and as they'd grown, Morag had avoided him as a deer avoided any sign of a wolf in the woods, knowing that he could easily make her his next meal.
Robert cleared his throat into the short silence that followed the small explosion. "Would that we could set them aflame as easily, me Laird," he growled. "I'd watch every Murray torn apart in front of me and smile."
Morag wished she could vanish as all eyes, including Alistair's and Ian's, turned to the Caindachs. Nevertheless, she sat proud and tall, knowing she'd be punished harshly for any sign of disagreement with her father's words.
Alistair's lips uncurled in a malicious grin. "Nice tae see ye're finally loyal, Robert. Yer blood gave us nothin', but at least we have yer bloody conviction."
A few men chuckled, but Robert did not even react to the implicit mockery. Instead, he gave an earnest nod. "Bloody and well-earned. The only Murray who lies dead is Gregor, who at least saw sense. The animals saw nae reason nae tae slay their own kin. They need tae be put down."
"Gregor Murray was nothin' but a rabid hound. He'd served his purpose," Alistair snorted. "But nevertheless—"
He cut off as the doors burst open and one of Alistair's men rushed in. Morag recognized him as one of the leaders of the guard, though she did not know his name. The guard was pale and wide-eyed, and he rushed to Alistair's side and whispered something in his ear.
Alistair stilled, so much that he was as frozen as his son, and Morag caught herself as she leaned forward, her stomach tightening with unease at what could possibly have happened.
"Ye're sure?" Alistair barked. The guard said something else, and Alistair clenched his fists. "And he came willingly? Alone?"
The guard nodded.
"Bring him. Now!" Alistair howled, his voice raised like a man unhinged.
Morag held her breath as the guard left again, then returned a moment later with three other uniformed guards.
Between them, the four Campbell men escorted a tall man with hair the color of dark honey harvested at the beginning of winter.
His resemblance to Ian was immediately clear, though the sharpness of his features was less prominent, and his eyes, though clearly the same hazel, did not hold the same coldness.
Morag could not help but stare at this young man, stricken by both his handsomeness and the eerie sense of familiarity she felt.
She knew it must be because of his resemblance to the Campbell heir, but something else nagged at the back of her mind.
The newcomer remained surrounded by the guards, so Morag could not see properly how he was dressed or make out any details beyond his face.
Alistair moved forward toward the man. Ian's eyes narrowed slightly, but it was his only movement. When the elder Campbell reached the guards, they parted to let him through, and the newcomer swept into a deep, formal bow.
"Lad," the Laird said in a deceptively soft tone. "Ye've come awfully far tae be slain."
"If slayin' me would aid yer cause, then do it," the man said softly. He straightened up, meeting Alistair's gaze steadily. "But I hope that isnae the route we take, me Laird. Father."
The room exploded in murmurs at the final word, but Alistair let out a wordless yell and silence fell again.
The tightness in Morag's stomach grew almost painful and she clenched her fists, digging her nails into her hands as she stared at the scene in front of her, the strange recognition drumming so loudly at her head she could barely focus.
"I am Murdoch Campbell, the youngest son of Alistair and the brother of Ian!
I was stolen away from me family as a bairn and torn from the bloodright that was meant for me!
" the newcomer declared with a reverberating boom.
"Nae more will I allow me life tae be led by inferiors.
I am here tae find me family. Tae reclaim me name.
Tae swear loyalty tae me father!" He bowed his head to Alistair again, then straightened once more.
"I'm here tae finally reclaim the blood that made me. Nae matter what."
At a gesture from Alistair, the guards moved away, leaving the man who claimed to be Murdoch Campbell alone with their laird.
As they did, Morag saw the dirtied but still clear colors on his tartan and bit her lip hard to smother her gasp.
She knew those colors—the colors of the Kincaids.
And all of a sudden, she knew how she recognized this stranger.
He reminded her of Elsie Kincaid. Here he was, to upheave Morag's life just as Elsie had done. And there was nothing she could do about it. Still and stiff, it was all Morag could do to not dissolve into terror.