Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dawn broke over the hills on the horizon, and as the night disappeared, it took Morag's peace with it.
She had packed the few things she needed into a bag the moment that Christopher left, and she'd spent the intervening hours alternately pacing her room and tossing and turning as she tried to sleep.
She'd thrown the window shutters open again about half an hour ago, anticipating his arrival, but when the first light of morning showed through the window, she knew that something was wrong.
Christopher had promised he'd be here before first light, and so she had no reason to doubt him.
Maybe he was running late? She hoped so, but something twisting in her stomach told her that this wasn't the case.
Nonetheless, she made herself wait as patiently as she could, hoping against hope that his face would be grinning at her from the window any moment.
But as the sun rose higher and there was no sight of him, the dwindling hope turned to fear, and Morag moved to the door. Had he been captured? The guards outside her room had been gossiping all night; maybe they would know something.
She leaned against the wood, her ear pressed against it, but there was nothing, not even the low murmur of voices or a footstep. Total silence met her on the other side. Frowning, Morag knocked hard against the door, but got no answer.
"Guards!" she shouted. "Guards, please, I've taken ill!"
There was still no response, and Morag realized that there was nobody there to hear her.
Confusion and fear danced through her. Why would her guards be gone?
Where was Christopher? Morag clenched her fists and, flinging her small bag over her shoulder, drew the dagger that Christopher had given her.
She would not just sit here. Not anymore.
She was tired of being passive—it was time to be free.
Many, many years ago, a traveling merchant had taught Morag a trick for opening locked doors with a blade.
Morag had been only a child then, dreaming of another life, and the merchant had taken pity on her.
Her father had punished the man for teaching her such things and then sent him away, but Morag had never forgotten his kindness.
She slid the dagger point-first in the small gap at the side of the door and then pushed up until it connected with the bolt on the other side.
It took some movement and a few tries, but at last she heard the telltale scrape of the lock coming free.
Relief washed over her and she pushed the door open, stumbling out into the empty hallway, her heart racing.
Now that she was free, Morag needed to figure out where to go, but with a sinking feeling she realized that Christopher could be anywhere.
She stood there, frozen outside of the room that had so recently been her prison, trying to work out her next move.
The dagger's hilt dug tightly into her hand, and she wished Christopher was with her now.
"Miss? God almighty, what are ye doin'?" a voice echoed along the corridor.
Morag whirled around and saw Mary standing only a few feet away, her eyes wide and face chalk white except for the dark circles that surrounded her eyes. The maid had clearly not slept, and Morag ran to her, embracing her after she'd tucked the dagger away safely.
"Thank ye for sendin' Christopher tae me," she said. "Ye're braver and more good than any woman I've ever kent. Ye must leave before me father learns I'm free, or ye'll be blamed."
Mary hugged her back, but her expression was grim when they separated. "I've naewhere tae go, Miss. I was born in the kitchens of Caindach Castle. Yer father has owned me for me whole life. I've nae family, nae friends."
"Ye've got me," Morag told her. "I'm sorry if I never acted like a friend as much as I should have. Ye've been the greatest companion a lass could wish for. Ye must flee now—go, before the guards return. Can ye ride?"
"A-aye…" Mary stammered. "But, Miss…"
"There's a dappled horse in the stable that belongs tae me father.
Take the creature and run, and dinnae stop until ye reach the Murray Clan.
Find a way intae the castle and tell Rolland Murray and his wife where ye've came from.
They're… good people. They'll protect ye," Morag said.
"Tell them… tell them ye're a friend of Christopher's. "
"Ye tell them, Miss. Ye must come with me. Ye arenae safe here," Mary replied, taking her hand.
But Morag shook her head. "Nay. Christopher is somewhere in this castle, and he might be in danger. I must find him or I cannae go anywhere."
Mary hesitated, chewing on her lip. "I… I overheard some of the other maids talkin', Miss. They say there's tae be an execution at any moment, right in the Grand Hall. They say someone is tae meet his end by the sword."
It was as though Morag's heart stopped beating entirely at the words and her ears rang as dizziness threatened to overwhelm her.
"Go," she ordered in a strangled voice. "Be safe."
Then, without another word, she turned and rushed down the corridor, running as fast as her feet could take her.
An execution.
She reached the stairs and dashed down them two at a time, grabbing at the walls to stop herself from falling but never slowing down.
Christopher was in danger, real danger, and she didn't know how to stop it.
How could Morag, barely trained and armed with only a dagger, take on a hall full of armed men?
She could not directly stop an execution, but she could make a big enough distraction to prevent it—something that would draw everyone's attention and let Christopher get away.
She swung around a corner and took another set of stairs then raced through the halls until she reached the war room and its library.
She bolted into the war room and through to the library where she'd lost her heart to Christopher without even knowing it.
Staring around the room for a wild second, she still felt the burning flame of that first kiss on her lips. Her eyes landed after a moment on the table, where an unrolled map lay beside one empty and one nearly full bottle of distilled spirits.
"Hold on, love," she whispered and grabbed the bottle.
She pulled off the lid in one movement and threw the alcohol at random, splashing every piece of paper she could reach, making sure the entire room was drenched in it.
Hands shaking, she dropped the bottle, letting it smash on the ground, and rushed back into the main war room and the smoky fireplace within. The fire was still slowly burning from the night, and she grabbed a torch from the wall and lit it before returning to the library.
All these maps. All these scrolls. Months and years of hard work, of knowledge, of the plans that Campbell had built. All fuel for the phoenix to be reborn.
She took a deep breath and lowered the torch to the first alcohol-soaked scroll.
It caught fire immediately in an explosion of heat and light so bright that Morag had to take a step back.
The flames devoured everything in their path, catching first the next scroll then the wood of the bookshelf itself, working their way up into something monstrous.
Coughing in the sudden smoke, Morag ran to the other side of the library and set another map alight, then another, until suddenly she stood in a vast ring of flame and smoke that was getting bigger and more ferocious with every passing second.
Coughing and spluttering, she threw the torch into a pile of books, then turned to run for the door before the fire overwhelmed her.
Before she could reach it, the door flew open. There, framed in the doorway with her fire creating deadly shadows across his face, stood Robert Caindach and two guards, murder in their eyes.
Christopher was numb. His mind felt encased in fog and, as he took the sword that Ian offered him, he couldn't feel his own fingertips.
Rory stared up at him from the floor, his face set and pale under the dark bruising.
Alexandra was openly weeping in fear, panic, and horror, while Ian smiled and the crowd watched in hushed, bloodthirsty anticipation.
"Christopher!" Alexandra shouted, her voice broken and desperate. "Christopher, please! How can ye have forgotten who ye are? This is Rory. Please!"
"Shut up, woman," Alistair growled.
Alexandra ignored him. "Please, dinnae hurt me brother. Remember how ye and Arran took him fishin' at the pond? Remember how—ah!"
Her words were cut off as Ian spun around and slapped her hard across the face. She fell to the ground with a scream of pain. Christopher's hand tightened around the heavy sword, pain shooting through him as he saw her agony.
"Dinnae touch her, bastard!" Rory screamed, fighting hard against his bonds. "I'll kill ye!"
Ian turned to face Christopher, fire in his eyes. "What are ye waitin' for?" he spat. "Prove yerself! Are ye me brother or not?"
This was it, Christopher realized.
This was the end.
There was no way out, no way forward. He would not hurt Rory, and when he refused, Ian or Alistair would kill him on the spot.
And though he could fight off a few people, the room was too full of enemies for any hope of survival.
He had expected fear, but all that came to him in that moment was regret.
He thought of Morag and that smile she'd given him when he promised to return and set her free. He wished he could see her one last time.
Suddenly, a horn blared throughout the castle, a loud warning signal that was impossible to ignore. Danger.
"An attack?" Alistair demanded.
Screaming started a moment later from the next room, and soon enough smoke was curling in the air.
Chaos erupted around them, people trying to flee in every direction, some trampled underfoot as others pushed them in their desperation to escape.
The word echoed around the hall, first in whispers then in shouts and screams.
Fire. Fire!