Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Traitorous mare!" Caindach howled.
He shoved Morag hard, and she stumbled back, hitting her back hard against the wooden door. Her head bounced off the iron-enforced oak, sending a splitting ache through her skull and a ringing in her ears. He stormed closer and grabbed the front of her dress, yanking her forward.
"All this time ye acted as though ye were servin' me, but the whole time, ye have been the spy. Nae Campbell's blood, but me own!"
He threw her backward again and she slammed against the door once more. Prepared for it this time, she was able to prevent hitting her head again, but the impact still hurt her sore muscles and it took everything she had not to cry out in pain.
"I should slay ye here and now," Caindach told her, his eyes wild.
He reached for her throat, his one hand easily circling her neck, though he did not press down with his fingers yet. Morag's legs gave out, but with his free hand, he yanked her upright.
"Give me a reason nae tae crush yer throat for yer betrayal."
Morag could not speak nor think nor breathe; everything in her was lost to panic and horror.
She did not think her father would truly kill her, but that would not stop him from hurting her in every way he knew how, and that possibility seemed worse somehow.
She almost wished he would act on his threat.
Death of the body would be quick, but living under his tyranny would destroy her soul.
His eyes, dark and merciless, bore into hers, and Morag saw no love, no sympathy there. Yes, he was going to hurt her, and very, very badly, unless she found an escape.
There was a way out. She could tell him a version of the truth.
She could explain that Christopher had been lying the whole time and that she had taken the map from him; she could expose that 'Murdoch Campbell' truly was there to destroy everything that Alistair Campbell was planning and she could claim she had only been trying to stop him.
But the thought of Christopher warmed her freezing blood and lessened the pain in the bruises that were blossoming over her skin.
She could still feel the gentle touch of his skin as he bandaged her hands, see the bright gleam in his eyes as they sparred, and hear the blissful sound of his laugh.
For a brief second, she imagined the scent of woodsmoke that seemed to follow him everywhere he went, and her lips tingled with the memory of his taste.
Not Murdoch. Christopher.
If she turned on him, she knew what Caindach and Campbell would do to Christopher.
She knew how they would hurt him, how they would torture him.
It wouldn't be as simple as killing him, oh no.
He would be made a public example, stripped of everything that made him who he was, physically, mentally, and emotionally broken to show the Kincaids, the Murrays, the McKenzies, and anyone else who dared stand against Campbell that there would be no mercy.
Morag understood then that she couldn't do it, no matter what it meant for her. She could not, would not, betray Christopher. She would never, even if she lost everything as a result.
A strange, warm courage filled her then, like an early spring breeze suddenly appearing in the darkest of winters.
She almost heard Christopher's voice in her ear and felt his strong arms around her waist, and she used that as courage to say the things that she'd been biting back for so long that she had almost denied their truth even to herself.
"It isnae a betrayal tae stand against a monster. It isnae a crime tae work against a cruel, greedy eejit who thinks himself a king among men when he's worth less than the dirt on the shoes of those he oppresses," Morag declared.
"When I thought I'd be wed tae Rolland Murray, I could stand it because at least the Murrays are decent people.
But every second spent in this place has drained me soul.
Alistair Campbell thinks he is strong, but he is weaker than the lowest creature.
He thinks he is powerful, but he is lesser than the smallest speck.
The only thing more pathetic than him is ye, Father. "
The slap was so sudden and so hard that it sent Morag tumbling to the ground.
Her bones jarred as she collapsed against the stone, her cheek burned where he had hit her, and she tasted blood from her split lip.
Morag swept her hair out of the way and glared up at him defiantly even as he towered over her.
"Beat me, then! Kill me if ye must. Destroy yer own daughter!" she shouted, her voice ringing with unexpected power. "Show the whole world what a woeful, weak puppet ye are!"
His foot connected with her stomach and she cried out in pain, unable to keep it in.
"Ye're nae worth the commotion that yer death would cause," he hissed.
"I willnae allow ye tae humiliate me and tarnish me name.
Enough of ye. Ye'll be sent back tae me castle tae rot in the dungeons where ye belong. "
A new fear washed over Morag at his words.
The Caindach dungeons. She'd seen them enough times, the dark cells where those whom her father deemed to have crossed him often wasted away until nothing but their soulless husks remained.
She'd been eight the first time someone she knew was lost in those depths; an old man named Caol who had once given her sweetmeats in the village.
He was thrown into the dungeons for his protest against the unfair extra tithe Laird Caindach demanded from the villagers.
Caindach had made an example of him. When Morag had seen Caol again a year later, it had been as the corpsemen took him away. He'd been pale, emaciated, and broken, his sightless eyes staring at the sky.
"Father—" she started.
"Ye're nae daughter of mine," he snarled, then stepped over her to leave the room.
The door slammed behind him, and she heard the turn of the heavy metal key in the lock.
Morag clambered to her feet, ignoring the pain in her bones, and pressed her ear against the door. Dimly, she heard Caindach ordering two of his men to stand guard outside her room at all times.
Desperation clawed at Morag's heart as she fully comprehended what she had done.
She sank to the ground once more, her back against the door.
There was a window on the opposite end of the room, large enough to get through, but to try to clamber down the slippery, wet, moss-covered stones from this height would be tantamount to suicide.
It was over.
In the courtyard of Murray Castle, Arran Kincaid could not stay still.
He hadn't slept properly in days, perhaps weeks—he couldn't keep track of time since Christopher had left.
The rumbles of dissent and distrust that surrounded his missing brother were tearing him apart.
Though he still had Elsie by his side and the support of his new brother-in-law, he desperately missed the rest of his family with every day that passed.
Rolland, as well as his parents, had been a massive comfort and help to both Arran and Elsie throughout this time. Elsie had managed to find some peace despite the chaos, but Arran could not rest knowing he had somehow failed to keep his brother safe.
The only solace he had found since that moment had been the company of Alexandra.
She had been his rock in the time that had passed, listening to his worries, soothing his fears, and offering balance when his emotions led him to the wildest conclusions.
Though Finn and Iona had left a few days before, Alexandra and Rory McKenzie had stayed behind to do what they could here, and Arran had never been more grateful for anything.
He liked Rory, seeing him almost as another little brother, but it was Alexandra who had kept him sane.
Just being around her calmed him in a way that nothing else ever could.
But now a new anxiety arose. Alexandra and Rory had delayed for long enough and their duty bid them to return to the McKenzie lands and their parents' sides.
Rory was the heir, and Alexandra would not let her brother travel without her, nor would she leave her mother alone.
Arran admired that about her, just as he admired almost everything about her, but he could not keep the disappointment at her leaving at bay.
More than that, though, a subtle worry clouded his thoughts when he thought of them traveling. Though he had offered a retinue, Alexandra and Rory had insisted on traveling only with each other.
"It's safer that way," Rory had explained. "We're less likely tae be seen as a small group than a whole parade. We'll take a few of our own guards and that will be enough."
He was right, but still, Arran worried. The last scouting group that they had sent out in the general direction of the McKenzie lands were overdue on returning by more than a week, and there were whispers now that they might never return at all.
He had told Alexandra this, but she had told him not to worry with the kind of finality that allowed no argument.
Elsie hugged Alexandra and Rory goodbye, and Rolland shook Rory's hand and kissed Alexandra's cheek in a courtly manner. The rest of the castle had already said their goodbyes, but Elsie had insisted on being by Arran's side as they bid the McKenzies farewell. Arran loved his sister for that.
Rory came over to Arran and held out a hand. "We'll be fine," he promised. "Dinnae look so fearful. I'm nae a bairn anymore."
Arran smiled at that. "Ye're eighteen. Ye cannae even grow a full beard. Ye're still a bairn tae me."
Rather than getting offended, Rory laughed at the brotherly teasing and their handshake turned into a hug. "It'll all work out. Ye'll see," Rory replied.
He moved off to mount his horse, and then Alexandra stood in his place.
"Ye look so fearful, but ye shouldnae. We've traveled these roads many times before," Alexandra told Arran softly, touching his cheek. "Ye carry too much on yer shoulders. Rory and I will return soon enough, and when we do, I'm sure we'll find Christopher here with ye. All will be well."
Arran wanted to turn his head and kiss her palm, but instead he put his hand over hers, gently holding it in place. He never wanted to let go.
"Ye speak so confidently, but I ken what this world can do. I dinnae want tae lose anyone else. Ye least of all."
She smiled at him so radiantly that it almost broke his heart. "Ye will never lose me," she swore. "And when we next meet… I think it's past time we had a long talk."
A pretty blush crossed her cheeks at those words, and Arran's heart swooped at the implication. He didn't dare dwell on it, not yet, but for a moment his worry vanished in a bright flash of hope.
"That's enough, the two of ye," Rory called over from his horse, breaking the moment. "Come, Allie. We dinnae want tae lose the sunlight."
Alexandra nodded and hugged Arran tightly. He held her for a moment, then let go, feeling her absence almost at once.
"Be safe," he urged. He turned to look at Rory. "Both of ye."
Rory grinned. "I'll keep her safe, never ye fear," he promised.
Alexandra mounted her own horse, and then, with a final smile and wave, the two McKenzies set out with their guards.
Elsie moved to Arran's side and put her arm around them as they watched the horses disappear over the horizon.
Rolland stood nearby, the kind of steady presence that made Arran glad his sister had found him.
"Let's go inside," Elsie said when the McKenzies had fully disappeared from view.
Arran nodded, and with one last wistful look, turned back to the castle. There was still so much work to be done.