Chapter 6 #2
"A casual ride, is it?" Murdoch asked, raising an eyebrow. "There's a storm brewin'."
Ian winked then moved into the center of the chaos, immediately barking orders to the servants and soldiers who were dashing around.
Murdoch watched him, not even denying that he admired his brother's military precision and command of his men.
At the same time, though, unease curled in his stomach as he glanced behind him and saw Alistair watching with approval.
Where were they headed? They were clearly ready for a fight; who were they going to attack? Murdoch clenched his jaw at the thought, wishing once again he'd managed to make his way into the meeting.
After a bit of time, the soldiers moved to mount their horses, and Alistair patted Murdoch's shoulder on the way past. Ian returned to Murdoch's side.
"Dinnae look so down, brother," Ian said, patting his shoulder in the same place that Alistair had. "Just a wee while longer of provin' yerself, and ye'll be welcome tae join us."
Murdoch huffed and folded his arms. "I could be useful. I ken more about the Murrays and their allies than anyone."
"Ye've nae idea where we're even goin'!" Ian laughed. "Nay, Murdoch, ye'll stay here at the castle this time. Father insists, and we dinnae go against Father. Anyway, we dinnae need yer knowledge. We're headed for the Barclay Clan."
Frowning, Murdoch said, "The Barclays? They're a neutral clan. They've declared it over and over."
"Aye, well, we're gonnae go and ask again," Ian replied, raising his eyebrows and grinning. "Wish us luck."
Murdoch took in the battle-ready horses and the armor the men were wearing and his stomach knotted tight.
He knew exactly what kind of persuasion Alistair Campbell intended if Laird Barclay didn't agree to his terms. He briefly considered appealing to Ian, asking him to go gently on the Barclays or perhaps use their resources in another way, but he held his tongue.
No matter how well his unusual bond with Ian was building, Murdoch knew that he could not reveal himself too early or show any weakness—not if there was any chance that Alistair might overhear, and not until he was sure that Ian could be trusted.
He bid Ian good luck and fair travels, then waited until the last of the horses disappeared through the gates before turning and heading back into the castle. As he entered through the large front entrance doors, the clouds split open and the rain thundered down.
It was hard to cling to Murdoch when he was alone, but he held tight to the identity like a shield as the day went on.
He could not—would not—allow himself to think of the women and children of the Barclay Clan who might suffer if the "conversation" did not go the way that Alistair wished.
Murdoch Campbell didn't feel sympathy or fear, and so he tried hard to remain that way as the day passed achingly slowly, trying hard to pretend that every minute that passed was not another minute spent stewing in dread.
Don't feel. Don't be yourself. Wear the mask well. He repeated that mantra over and over as he trained in the yard, checked on Beatha, ate a meal, and did anything he could to distract himself.
Don't feel.
He knew Laird Barclay personally. He was a young Laird, only twenty-one or twenty-two, who had been left in charge of his clan from the age of fifteen when both parents had died.
Don't be yourself.
He'd married a young woman and had a child recently, and, though it had been a blow, nobody had been surprised when he'd declared neutrality as a way to protect his family. The Kincaids had been at his wedding, and Murdoch—Christopher—had danced with the bride.
Wear the mask well.
The Barclays wouldn't stand a chance if Campbell decided to attack.
Frustrated, Murdoch slammed his fist into the stone wall of his bedroom, ignoring the pain that shot through his knuckles and down his arm.
He cried out, wondering what the point in all of this was if he was just going to sit back and let more people suffer.
The mask might be protecting him, but what good had it done so far?
He was here, trapped and useless, while Campbell set out to do more damage upon the world.
It was still raining outside, though the storm had not come as strong or dangerous as Murdoch had expected.
The sun was setting and dusk was settling upon the land.
Almost the whole day had passed since Murdoch had seen the army off in the courtyard, and he felt worse than useless to know that it was another whole day wasted.
The mask was not helping. And so, while Alistair and Ian were away, no matter how much it might hurt to release the shield that was protecting his heart, he needed to let it go. Murdoch could do nothing now. But Christopher could.
It hurt to take a breath of air as a Kincaid again and allow his carefully trained thoughts and feelings to rush free, but Christopher let that breath fill his lungs gladly.
He would take whatever pain he needed to if it meant that nobody else needed to suffer the way that the Barclays no doubt would before the day was over.
He thought of Greg and Maggie Barclay and their bairn, Joe, and prayed to whoever would listen that the family and the wider clan made it through the day safe.
He moved to the mirror and glanced at himself.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.
By becoming Christopher again, he felt like he was looking at a different man in the looking glass than he had earlier that day.
This was the man whose sister had helped save the Murray clan.
This was the man whose family had fought over and over again for the freedom of the people of Scotland.
And Christopher would not let them down.
As though it had just been waiting for his mask to lift, Christopher's instinct suddenly twinged in his mind.
He did not need to sit back and do nothing.
He was in the middle of Campbell Castle, given unprecedented freedom to go almost anywhere he liked without supervision. Why was he wasting his time?
With a nod to himself in the mirror, he turned and strode purposefully out of the room, his head held high.
Though there was no need to stay hidden, part of Christopher could not help but feel like he would be spotted instantly if anyone caught sight of him.
He felt so different from his Murdoch persona on the inside that he felt strangely sure that any of the castle guards would be able to spot that on the outside with just one look.
He stuck to the quieter corridors, slipping through side doors and taking the longer route as he headed down toward the war room, keeping his purpose as hidden as he could.
"Murdoch?"
He looked up in alarm but relaxed when he saw Kier, who he had often trained with since that first day.
"Ye're nae out with the others?" Christopher asked, hoping that the man couldn't hear the difference in his voice.
Kier shrugged. "Me mam was a Barclay. Ian suddenly needed me tae take care of things here at the castle. He's a clever lad."
Was Christopher imagining the low anger in Kier's tone? He thought he must have been, because when he looked at the other man's face, he was smiling once more.
"Clever indeed," Christopher agreed. "He's left me behind so I cannae steal all his glory."
Kier barked a laugh. "Watch he doesnae hear ye say that," he said. "I'll see ye later."