Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Let go of me!" Morag demanded, but though she fought as hard as she could, her father's men held her in an iron grip.
Both men held one of her arms, and they'd half-dragged her through the castle, ignoring her kicking and shouting, all the way from the burning war room. Her father had rushed ahead, never once stopping to see if his men and his daughter were alive, only interested in escaping his own demise.
"Let go!"
They burst out onto the front gardens of the castle, where most of the castle's residents and visitors were now gathered in a chaotic muddle, shouts, accusations, and panic flooding the air as heavily as the smoke.
Some people were desperately trying to find each other, others arguing, and others still simply sobbing.
A heady feeling threatened to overwhelm Morag as she realized that she had done this.
She had set the fire which was gutting Campbell Castle.
It was unlikely that anyone had died due to it, for which she was glad—she would rather not be responsible for the deaths of innocent servants—but the sense of power she felt as she watched the smoke was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
She whipped her head around as the guards and her father dragged her through the courtyard, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Christopher.
There was no sign, which was unsurprising but which still made her heart ache.
Surely he wasn't still inside? Surely he wasn't in any danger now?
She hoped desperately that her distraction hadn't been too late.
A hand in her hair distracted her from her thoughts, and she cried out in shocked pain as her father dragged her by the hair away from the guards. He pulled her close to him, wild-eyed with bared teeth, and she saw it in his expression: her father was more than willing to kill her.
"Demon whore!" he snarled at her, spittle hitting her face. In his other hand, he drew a knife, and in a blink, he held it to her throat. "I told ye already that ye're nae daughter of mine. Now I see ye're a witch. A devil!"
Morag felt the blade on her throat, but rather than fear, a cold calmness washed over her. She met her father's eyes, unblinking and even.
"I'm none of those. I'll tell ye what I am if ye really want tae ken."
He narrowed his eyes.
So she answered as the castle burned behind them.
"I am the fire, destroyin' everythin' ye've worked for.
I am the flames, burnin' away the curse ye've placed on me for me whole life, ready to be reborn from the ash.
I am the smoke, risin' in the air, whirlin' free.
Ye cannae capture me. Ye cannae tame me.
Because ye ken, fire spreads. It grows. And it leaves its mark, nae matter how ye try tae quench it. Do as ye will, Father. It's over."
Caindach's face contorted with rage, purpling in the cheeks, and he roared. She closed her eyes, surely he was going to kill her then and there. A painful yank on her scalp made her eyes shoot open again and she lost her footing as her father dragged her by her hair through the crowd.
She cried out in pain, but he ignored her, his burly guards close behind to make sure she couldn't react. Christopher's dagger was still hidden on her person, but she had no way of reaching it, no way of getting herself free.
Suddenly, he threw her down on the grass.
She landed hard, her knee whacking off a small rock sticking out of the ground, sending a dull pain vibrating through her bones.
When she managed to look up, she saw Alistair Campbell standing there with his eyes boring into her, a deadly expression on his face.
"What is this, Caindach?" he demanded. "I dinnae need yer whore daughter now. Me castle is burnin'!"
"Because of her!" Caindach responded. "Because of this witch who claims tae be me blood but is surely a changelin' of the darkest kind. She is the traitor, M’Laird. She is the one who set the flames. She stole yer maps!"
Alistair's face contorted. "Who are ye workin' for?" he demanded. "The Murrays? The Kincaids?"
Still feeling that eerie calm, Morag looked up into the monstrous laird's eyes. "I work only for meself. It's taken me whole life tae gain that right."
"Yer whole life," Alistair asked, laughing cruelly. "Is that so? A short life it has been, lass. Who were ye takin' the information tae? Answer me truthfully and ye may yet live. Lie, and ye'll burn as ye've burned me castle!"
Morag smiled. They didn't suspect Christopher. Maybe he'd escaped. She wished she'd seen him one last time, but at least she'd die knowing he was free. "Kill me then, Campbell. And I'll be waitin' for ye in hell when ye arrive. I promise, it willnae be long."
One of her father's soldiers grabbed her and pulled her roughly to her feet. At a nod from Campbell, one of his men moved forward with his sword drawn. Morag's bravado broke then, but she allowed the adrenaline to carry her through.
"Nae brave enough tae kill me yerself, M’Laird?" she snapped at Campbell. "Nor ye, Father?"
"Ye're nae worth bloodyin' me sword. Kill her and be done with it!" Campbell commanded.
The soldier raised the sword.
Suddenly, new screams echoed around them, accompanied by the thundering of hooves. People dived off to the side as a rough path cleared through the gathered crowd, making way as a beautiful horse galloped directly toward where Morag stood.
Morag turned her head and gasped as she saw the rider, his blond hair golden in the morning sun, his bow drawn and an arrow aimed directly behind her at Alistair Campbell's head.
"Stop!" Christopher demanded in a deep, commanding tone that made something deep within Morag shiver. "Touch her and yer Laird dies, soldier. And ye'll soon follow."
The Campbell man dropped his sword immediately, stumbling back a few paces, his eyes wide as he stared at the avenging Highlander on horseback. The Caindach guard holding Morag did not retreat, but she felt his muscles tighten in fear.
"Coward!" Caindach announced. There was madness in his tone, and he spoke as though he didn't even see Christopher and the arrow. "Kill her!"
Alistair, though, was staring at Christopher, his face pale, his eyes wide, his mouth half open. "Murdoch," he breathed. "It's ye. Me own son!"
"I'm warnin' ye, Campbell. I will kill ye if any harm befalls her," Christopher replied.
With a dark laugh, Alistair snapped, "So this is what it comes tae!
I've given ye everythin'! Power, wealth, a brother, a second chance tae be me son.
I've given ye back everythin' yer mother stole from ye all those years ago.
I've given ye a chance tae live a whole new life, a whole new legacy of power.
And now ye throw it all away! And for what, Murdoch? A woman?"
Christopher sat up straighter. "Dinnae call me that name anymore.
I'm nae yer son Murdoch. Me birth mother, Fenella, freed me from that curse long ago.
I am nae Campbell, and I have never been yer son.
Me name is Christopher Kincaid. I already have parents, a brother, and sisters who love me.
I'm already part of a legacy that will live long after ye and I are gone. "
"Have it yer way, then! If ye will reject the blood that flows through yer veins, then I will spill it!" Alistair howled. "Guards!"
Morag tensed, but just as Alistair shouted, a loud boom sounded from the castle.
People cried out in alarm as a ball of flame and heat escaped from a window, and stone fragments flew in all directions.
Many of the Campbell men scattered, while those remaining ran to either aid the evacuation or deal with the fire.
Morag saw her own father taking the opportunity to flee.
Only the Caindach soldier holding Morag and a single Campbell man at Alistair's side remained.
Christopher's horse reared up, but at one soothing word from him, she calmed in a moment.
Christopher had not moved the arrow he had pointed at the laird. "Let. Her. Go."
"I'll make you watch them all die, bastard," Alistair hissed. "I'll kill yer sisters and yer brother. I'll kill yer so-called parents. And I'll kill this lover of yers here and now!"
Morag shivered as the guard holding her tightened his grip.
"Last warning, Campbell," Christopher said calmly.
Alistair grinned, his eyes wide and wild, his voice manic. "Shall I take her first, Murdoch? Shall I claim yer woman before I make ye watch her bleed?" It was obvious he thought his son a spineless coward.
Christopher's expression darkened, then, without another word, he released the hand that was holding the string. The arrow flew in a perfect straight line, slicing through the air and plunging directly into Alistair's eye.
Morag's hands flew to her mouth.
The world froze for a second as Alistair, his expression frozen with surprise, teetered in place for a moment. Then he fell to the ground with a solid, final thud, his blood soaking the ground where he lay.
The guard holding Morag released his grip in his shock, while the Campbell guard yelled and dropped to his knee beside his fallen Laird. Others nearby turned and stared or cried out or shouted in shock and horror at what had just happened.
Morag did not stop to think. She broke free and rushed forward through the crowd to Christopher's horse.
Christopher rode forward, heedless of those he sent scattering to the side, clearly only interested in reaching her.
He stretched down with his hand and she grabbed onto him, allowing him to haul her up onto his horse with one swift move.
Morag clambered behind Christopher and wrapped her arms around his waist as he reared Beatha then turned and raced back the way they came.
Christopher passed her his bow as he held tight to Beatha's reins, and Morag hesitated only for a second.
She still wasn't confident in using the weapon, but as she raised it, she remembered night after night training with Christopher, the gentle way he taught her, the way he held her as he corrected her stance.
There was no balance now from the back of this horse, but Morag took a steady, calming breath, feeling Christopher's closeness and using it as an anchor.
She took aim and fired once, twice, three times. She wasn't aiming to kill but to disable and disarm anything to keep those rushing them away. As they raced toward the main gates, Morag protected them with everything she had, fighting until she had no arrows left.
They burst through the gate with a triumphant yell from Christopher, but guards on horseback soon followed. Morag tucked the bow over her shoulder and held onto Christopher once more, clinging tightly to him as he urged Beatha to speed up.
The wind whipped at Morag's face, lashing her skin and tangling her hair, and she cried out in defiance as the two of them and Beatha sped toward freedom.
"Ye came back for me," she shouted over the wind.
"I'll always come back for ye," Christopher told her. "Always."
For the first time in her life, Morag had someone she knew she could trust. And that knowledge was more powerful than any fire, any flame, or any arrow.
She buried her head against his back and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the moment, her heart bursting with love where fear had once been.
The dense forest rose before them, and as Beatha hurtled along the path to shelter, Morag knew that she may not live to enjoy it, but she would be free at last.