Chapter 4 #2
Annoyed, Morag chased after him, then when he turned back, slowed to a stop so it looked like they just happened to be walking out of the door at the same time.
"Are ye gonnae follow me everywhere I go?" Murdoch asked. "Tae me rooms, maybe? Tae bathe? Tae the privy?"
"I'm still a laird's daughter. Watch what ye say," Morag replied. "I'm just goin' tae me own room. That's all. And for what it's worth, I dinnae believe a word ye say. Why would ye turn on the people who raised ye so suddenly?"
He snorted. "Says ye! Were ye not due tae wed Rolland Murray until a short time ago? Ye would have been on his side in an instant, and yer father too, if it would have benefited ye. And now here ye are, servin' as Campbell's spy."
The accusation stung because it was partly true: if she had married Rolland as planned, her father would have scorned Campbell because he went where the power was.
But now that it seemed that Campbell was going to emerge victorious, and since Morag was of no more use as a bargaining tool of a bride…
"I'm nae Campbell's anythin'," Morag replied fiercely.
Tension crackled between them even as she tried to keep her distance as they walked along the corridor.
"And I dinnae believe ye are either. Someone's gonnae find out why ye're here, play-actin' the savage, and I swear ye'd better hope it's me rather than Ian or someone else with blood on his mind. "
"Oh aye?" He sounded amused. "And what will ye do when ye catch me in me so-called crimes? Scold me tae death?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Taunt me all ye like. Ye're nothin' but a coward in fine clothin'. A chameleon with nae spine, here on some task I dinnae think ye even ken."
His grin faded. "And ye are a spoiled lass desperate for scraps of power wherever ye find them. Tell me, whose eye were ye tryin' tae catch in that dress? Mine? Ian's? Laird Campbell's himself?"
Blushing, Morag glanced down at herself. "And if I was? Am I tae be shamed, then, for usin' what power is left tae me? We cannae all be born intae favor by virtue of our sex, Murdoch."
Murdoch opened his mouth, no doubt to offer some other acerbic retort, but before he could speak Morag's gown snagged on a loose stone.
Caught by the sudden pull, she gasped, tripping and falling toward the ground.
Gasping, she threw out her hand to save herself, wincing in pain as it scraped against the wall but did nothing to slow her descent.
A pair of strong arms caught her in a second, one wrapped securely around her waist while the other steadied her elbow. Murdoch helped Morag back to her feet and lifted her now-bleeding hand, inspecting it with a frown.
"How did ye manage that?" he muttered, and Morag heard something in his voice that hadn't been there before. "Ye'll need tae get the healer tae look at it. It's deep. Here."
Before she could do or say anything, Murdoch had ripped a strip from his sleeve, apparently not bothering about the fact he'd ruined his fine shirt.
He wrapped her hand tightly, stopping the blood from running down her arm and making a mess.
His touch was so gentle that Morag's pulse raced beneath his fingertips, fluttering like the wings of a delicate butterfly in response to the softest touch. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
"It'll keep it secure until the healer tends tae it, but dinnae leave it too long or it will get infected," he told her.
Then he looked up and met her eyes, and a sudden look of guilt or confusion crossed his features. He tore his gaze away sharply, and Morag saw a tinge of red on his cheeks.
Her throat was dry and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. But Morag was not so easily won. Instead of simply giving in to it, she forced a sardonic smile onto her face.
"Careful, now, Murdoch," she said, pulling her hand away. "Yer gallantry is showin'. Ye best be more careful, or someone else might see."
With those words, she left him behind her, changing direction to head toward the infirmary, trying to pretend the dizziness in her head and the pounding of her heart were due to the injury. But all the while, she felt Murdoch's eyes on her back.
The Great Hall of the Murray Keep, so recently resplendent in its celebratory decor, had been transformed into the largest war council chamber that Arran had ever seen or imagined.
The Murrays, McKenzies, Kincaids, and their allies paced back and forth across the floors, examining maps, debating strategies, and trying to plan against a threat that suddenly seemed much, much greater than any of them had ever believed possible.
Arran sat at the central table at his father's side, his stomach clenched and his heart pained as he tried to understand what was going on and how he could convince the others that it wasn't what they thought.
Elsie squeezed his hand under the table.
His sister looked pale and frightened, though her expression shone with the determination of one who intended to prove her point.
On her other side was Rolland, his face set and grim.
Though many of the gathered allies were in other conversations, the core group sat around the table now—Arran and Elsie and their parents, Rolland and his own parents, Taryn and James, Oliver and Sorcha, Connor and Brid, Liam and his ward, Tavish, and Rolland's aunt Iona and uncle Finn.
Alexandra was there too, and even Rory, who was only just old enough to join them, sat at the table, his face a storm of emotion. Only two people were missing: Cassie, who was outside with Slaine and Kenna, and Christopher, who was the reason for this whole mess.
After thinking that, Arran felt guilty. He didn't want to blame Christopher, because he had a feeling that he was soon going to be one of the few left to defend him.
"It isnae what ye're thinkin'," Elsie insisted, her voice strong despite the terror on her face. "I ken it sounds bad, but—"
"He left his pin behind. The symbol of his family—yer family—so soon after ye told him where ye came from," Finn said gravely.
Arran flinched at the tired venom in Finn's voice. The moment the situation had been reported in full to Iona and Finn, the latter had already made up his mind on what it meant. "And then our scouts saw him headed toward Campbell land. What are we supposed tae think?"
"He didnae tell us anythin' either. He just snuck out, and in the middle of his sister's own wedding. I'd never leave if Alexandra was gettin' married," Rory added, shaking his head.
Arran glanced at Alexandra and saw her close her eyes in response, and he tried to ignore the jolt in his stomach.
"I ken ye dinnae want tae consider it, Elsie, but—"
Rolland shook his head. "Ye're bein' too hasty. There are many reasons, we just need tae think about it a bit more. Maybe Campbell took him."
"We saw him ridin', naebody with him, free and easy," Connor said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Rolland, Elsie, but it isnae lookin' good. He's turned on us."
Arran gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched as he tried to keep the words inside that he knew would ruin his entire life and possibly seal his brother's fate.
What he said here would follow him, and so he chose not to say anything at all.
He knew in his heart that Christopher did not deserve any of this suspicion, but there was no way, in this state, he would be able to explain that calmly.
He had no evidence of his belief, and if he tried to argue with Finn or Rory or Connor right now, he had the horrible feeling he would say something he could never take back.
"Things were bad enough when we were ourselves. Now ye've tied us tae the Kincaids, and it's brought not one but two bairns of Campbell blood intae the Murray Clan. How are we supposed tae defend ourselves?" Finn demanded.
Rolland's face darkened and he slammed his hand down on the table. "Have ye somethin' tae say about me marriage?" he demanded. "Uncle, I would watch yer tone."
"I willnae allow ye tae insult me daughter," Lachlan finally said gravely. "Or me son, for that matter."
Tempers flared around the table, and Arran abruptly got to his feet, his chair scraping along the stone floor with a loud screech. He didn't say anything to anyone, instead turning and storming out of the room, blindly hurrying away from saying something he might regret.
When cold air hit his face, he realized that he had stormed all the way through the corridors of the castle and emerged outside into the training yard.
He took a deep, steadying breath, then marched over to the weapons rack and grabbed one of the training swords, then took a few hard swings toward one of the training dummies.
His anger pulsed through him as he hit, over and over again, and his eyes stung as he cried out in fury.
How could Christopher just leave? How could the McKenzies and their other allies so easily think his brother a traitor?
Why wouldn't Christopher tell him what was going on?
He growled, swinging hard with the sword. Damn it, how could Christopher do this?
"Arran?"
He turned sharply at the sound of a woman's voice, tension thick and tight as ropes around him.
He relaxed slightly as he saw Alexandra there, watching him carefully, her hands folded in front of herself.
The sight of her, with her almond-shaped blue eyes and her long braided chestnut hair, was always calming to him.
She'd always been the friend who could keep him steady and remind him of where he stood and help him, and as they'd grown, she'd become so much more than that to him.
He didn't let his thoughts travel any further along that path; just like every time, he shut it off, knowing there was far too much else to think about.
He had his duties, and his brother was in trouble.
He didn't have time for this sort of thinking, no matter how much time he spent thinking of her.