Chapter 7 #2
"Deirdre, ye're bonny, but I'm afraid ye'll nae find company with me," Christopher replied.
He wanted to tell her to leave, to wait for a man who would treat her well, but he knew that he couldn't say any of that.
"The wine has gone tae me head."
Deirdre glanced at his full goblet with a quizzical look. "Is that so?"
"Never mind," Ian said cheerfully from beside Christopher. "How about I take ye for a walk, lass? Have ye ever seen the upper towers?"
The girl's puzzled expression transformed into the giggling flirtation once again. She fluttered her eyelashes and giggled, then curtsied.
"I'd be honored, Master Campbell."
Ian nudged Christopher. "Wake up, brother," he said. "Ye'll miss the whole celebration if ye dinnae."
He winked, then made his way around the table and offered Deirdre his arm. Christopher stayed in his seat and watched as Ian and Deirdre walked through the hall and disappeared out of a side door.
Another hour passed, then another, and more and more of the guests filtered out and more and more wine poured in.
Christopher observed the room carefully, but there was very little to see except men getting drunker and drunker and women keeping to themselves.
He tried to catch sight of Morag at the women's table, but he could not see her.
Perhaps that was for the best. Every time he thought of her, it felt more troubling.
Alistair Campbell's face was bright red from the wine, his nose practically glowing and his voice slurring. He slammed his fist on the table and got to his feet, swaying slightly as he did. Christopher stayed where he was, watching.
"Vengeance!" Campbell announced. "We'll have it soon, me friends!"
A cheer went up in the room.
"Me legacy, our legacy, shall be restored day by day.
We've won a great victory today, and torn yet another potential ally from the Murrays.
Soon enough, we'll slaughter all of them and get our revenge!
" Alistair gestured drunkenly toward Christopher.
"Look! I have me son back. Me daughter has betrayed us for the Murrays, but nae matter.
If she wishes tae have their name, she can drown in her blood with the rest of them. "
Another cheer followed, while Christopher tried his best to hide his horror behind a facade of calm.
The image of Elsie, cold and pale in a pool of her own blood, was too strong in his mind, and he had to fight the panic that threatened to overtake him.
He battled to keep his breathing steady and his expression neutral, hoping that at least the image of Murdoch remained even if he'd completely lost the protective armor that had kept him safe so far.
"And once we've slaughtered the Murrays, we'll go for the Kincaids," Alistair declared, slamming his fist down once more.
"Those self-righteous bastards who stole me son and daughter from me.
We'll tear them apart, piece by piece, all but the young daughter.
We'll take that lassie and give her tae me son as soon as she's old enough—we'll breed them out of existence forever! "
Howling laughter and applause sounded around them while Christopher sat frozen in horror.
Cassie—his beloved little Cassie—who was only twelve, only a child, had just been directly threatened.
His instinct was to retaliate, but instead he had to sit there with an expression of calm, trying hard not to let the nausea in his stomach overwhelm him entirely.
He wasn't strong enough. Thinking of Cassie broke him more than anything had so far, and his chair scraped as he got to his feet and blindly stormed away from the table.
He had no idea where he was going, but, thankfully, the others seemed to be so drunk and distracted by Alistair's ranting that nobody took notice of him.
He had almost reached the exit at the far end of the hall when a woman in a fine dress appeared before him.
Christopher froze when he looked up and met Morag's eyes.
Her bright-green eyes burned into his for a moment, and his skin felt both cold and hot at once as gooseflesh prickled all over him.
The anxiety in his heart magnified tenfold, his pulse pounding and his throat tightening.
His thoughts bounced off each other in frantic contradiction.
Cassie. Elsie. Arran. Morag.
He clenched his fists together and fought to keep his face calm as he nodded briefly at her.
Suddenly, Morag cried out and fell forward.
To anyone watching, it would seem as though she had tripped over the hem of her dress, but Christopher saw the way she deliberately lost balance.
Nonetheless, he put out his arms to catch her, unable to let her fall to the floor.
His hands uncurled as he caught her arm and helped her back to her feet, and she placed her own hand in his palm to help steady herself.
"Forgive me," she murmured quietly, then moved on, not looking back at him even once.
Christopher closed his hand again, feeling a scrap of paper there, but not daring to look at it.
He furtively glanced around the room, but to his relief, nobody seemed to have taken any notice of what had just passed between them.
Taking a breath to try to steady himself, he stiffly finished the walk across the room and out of the door.
As soon as he was alone in the hallway, he broke into a sprint.
He didn't know where he was running, but he raced as quickly as he could away from the Great Hall and the celebrations, his hand tight around the paper Morag had slipped him.
He didn't stop running until he reached the gardens, bursting out into the cold night air.
The rain had stopped, but the wind still whistled chillingly through the space, rustling the leaves on the trees and attacking the petals on the flowers.
Christopher shivered but leaned against the outer wall out of view of any of the windows.
A dim torch lit the area around him. He sank down to the ground, the weight of the world on his shoulders, not caring that his clothes got soaked by the damp grass almost instantly.
Leaning his back hard against the wall, he took a few deep steadying breaths, then uncrumpled and unfolded the little note in his hand.
Meet me in the secret courtyard at midnight. Don’t be late. I'll be waiting.
He stared at the paper, knowing he should just crumple it up and throw it in the fire. The safest thing he could do was pretend that he had never seen it. Christopher sat there for some time, letting the cold air rouse him and his breath return to normal, then he stood.
With another glance at the paper, he turned and headed inside, walking directly toward his room to get ready for his secret meeting.