Chapter 10 #2
There was the Morag she had been, yes, but now she knew the Morag she wanted to be, and there was no turning back.
They never kissed nor even embraced again that night, but the intimacy of the time they spent together was beyond anything Morag had ever known was possible.
The truths they shared, the smiles they exchanged, and the trust that forged between them as they sparred revealed a part of both their souls that had been locked away for far, far too long.
Morag hadn't known it was possible to feel this close to another person, to take in so much of them that you wanted nothing more than to give them all of yourself. Now that she had, she knew that there was nobody else she would ever trust this way.
Neither of them spoke of what was happening between them, though she was sure that they both felt it.
Morag was not ready to examine this new feeling or what it might mean.
She wasn't yet prepared to face how everything was going to change.
But every time she met his eyes or his fingers brushed against hers, Morag knew at last what it felt like to be safe, even as danger unfolded before her more strongly than ever.
It was still a little before sunrise by the time her already-raw hands were screaming in protest too much to continue.
The wounds were bleeding once more, and they ached, but she barely noticed until Christopher suggested they stop.
When they did, they sat together on a stone bench and he held her hands in his, gently cleaning and rebandaging them until they felt better than they ever had despite the pain.
"Thank you," she whispered when he was done.
"Thank you," he replied.
She did not ask what he meant.
Neither one of them wanted this moment to end, just sitting together hand in hand in this secret place, but when the first birdsong cut through the rising dawn, Morag knew it was time to go. Reluctantly, she stood, not yet dropping his hand.
"I have to get back tae me room before I'm missed," she explained. "Mary checks on me every mornin', and nae doubt me father will be by as well."
"I understand," he replied. "Take care of yerself. I will see ye this evenin', as well."
She smiled and turned to go, pulling away at last. She'd only taken a few steps away, though, before she turned back to look at him once more.
"Promise me ye willnae do anythin' daft while I'm gone."
Christopher grinned. "I never make promises I cannae keep."
Morag stuck out her tongue, then giggled at her own unexpected childish reaction. "Be serious. I need ye tae promise me that ye'll nae do anythin' too stupid while I'm nae around, Christopher."
The way he shivered when she said his real name made her own body shudder with delight. His grin softened into a genuine smile. "Only if ye promise tae come back."
"I guess we'll both see if we keep those promises tonight, then," she teased, and then, with one final look, she hurried inside, her mind and heart fuller than they'd ever been in her life.
Morag hummed to herself as she opened her bedroom door, but the music died on her lips the moment she saw what was waiting for her inside. Her father stood there, tall, dark, and imposing, his expression twisted with a dark fury the likes of which she'd only seen a few times in her life.
Terror washed through her, the child in her screaming and retreating even when she remained calm on the outside.
She entered the room and closed the door, glad she had thought to put on her gloves over her bandages, careful not to make any sudden sounds or movements. Her father watched her the whole time.
Once the door was closed, he spoke. One word in a deadly, threatening tone. "Morag."
Her name sounded like a death knell. At once, horrifying flashbacks to her childhood filled her mind, dark memories she'd worked hard to forget or ignore.
A bleeding lip. A broken arm. Night after night spent crying, screaming, begging behind a locked door, too young to understand, but already knowing that nobody was coming to comfort her.
Nausea swooped in her stomach and her muscles grew tight. Her lungs suddenly seemed incapable of retaining air, and her blood grew cold beneath her skin. Swallowing a few times, lips dry, she turned to face him.
"Father?"
Caindach's furious silence broke and suddenly he was shouting. He crossed the room in a few raging bounds and brandished something in her face.
"Traitor!" he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "I kent ye were a useless whore, but now I find ye're a viper as well!"
The pain of her father referring to her with such words bounced off Morag, drowned into inconsequentiality as her eyes focused on what he was waving in front of her eyes.
The large paper, the intricate plotting, and the worn edges flashed in front of her, and as she realized what she was looking for, her knees almost gave way.
It was the map she had covered and hastily snuck away the night she caught Christopher snooping in the war room library. She had stashed it under her bed, always intending to return it when she got a chance.
But now her father had found it. He grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her close, his fingers digging painfully into her arm.
"Why do ye have this?" he snarled. "Choose yer next words carefully."
But there were no words to be chosen. It was over.