Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Christopher was shaking badly by the time he finally allowed Beatha to slow down deep in the forest. They couldn't hear the pursuing guards anymore, and Christopher was at last confident enough that they had enough distance to stop.
He dismounted awkwardly without any of his usual grace, then turned to help Morag down.
When she took his hand, she was shaking too, her skin cold, but her cheeks rosy and her eyes wild and alive.
"Are ye all right? Are ye hurt?" he asked her anxiously.
He'd already asked her several times as they rode, but he needed to be sure.
He lowered her to her feet on the ground, checking her over.
There were more bruises and small cuts than when he'd last seen her in the tower, and some red burn marks on her hands and singed material at the end of her dress, but she otherwise looked fine.
Only the angry bruise on her cheek looked bad.
"Did they hurt ye?"
"I'm fine, Christopher. I promise," she replied.
Tears filled her eyes and she reached up to touch his cheek. He leaned into the gentleness of the touch, closing his eyes at the soft comfort the gesture brought.
"I'm fine. What about ye? Are ye hurt? What happened tae ye?"
He opened his eyes again to see her watching him with concern written all over her face.
Forcing a smile, he said, "I'm fine." Then, as she frowned, he relented.
"I… Ian captured prisoners. Important prisoners.
Me friends. He hurt them. Ordered me tae kill a lad, someone who's almost family.
I got them out of there, but we barely escaped with our lives. "
Morag took his hand and squeezed it. "But ye did. Ye escaped and ye helped them tae do the same. And then ye came for me. I—"
But before she could finish what she was saying, a woman's scream echoed through the trees. Morag's eyes widened and Christopher's heart sank. He recognized that scream.
Without a word, he started to run, Morag's hand in his as they raced through the trees toward the sound.
Beatha followed behind, loyal as ever. As they ran, Morag's hand was tight in Christopher's, and her skin was ice cold from fear.
He wished he could comfort her, but the closer they got, the louder the screams, accompanied now by grunts and shouts of male voices.
The fierce, familiar crash of sword on sword rang through the air, though there was none of the friendliness of training. Two people were fighting nearby with the kind of earnestness that only ended in one thing.
For a brief moment, the image of Alistair Campbell's pale face crashed across Christopher's mind's eye.
That man, the man who had been responsible for Christopher's birth, had been a monster.
He felt no guilt for letting him die. But to take a man's life was harder than he'd expected, even one like Campbell.
Christopher could not let anyone else die.
They burst through a dense bush into a large clearing and found a scene of true horror waiting for them. Bile rose in Christopher's throat.
He'd tried so hard to get the McKenzies away, but Ian had caught up to them anyway.
Now, Rory and Ian fought fiercely in the center of the clearing, both bloody, neither showing any mercy.
Alexandra stood nearby, weaponless and desperate, clinging tightly to Splendor as though she needed to hold on rather than collapse. There was no sign of Ian's horse.
"Christopher!" Alexandra shouted as soon as she caught sight of them.
It happened very quickly. Rory, distracted by the shout, turned his head. Ian, trained and merciless, saw the advantage in the brief millisecond it lasted. The Campbell heir—now the Campbell Laird, in truth—surged forward, and his sword plunged forcefully into Rory's midsection.
The world fell silent as Rory stared at the blade, then back up at Ian.
Christopher swore and tried to run to him, but it was too late.
While Ian was grinning, his opponent’s blood splattered on his face, Rory's face went grey.
The young man turned his head to look at his sister one more time, then Ian yanked the sword from his body.
Rory fell. He did not move again.
Alexandra's agonized scream rent Christopher's heart, tearing his soul in two, crippling a part of him that he thought might never heal again. He'd lived through pain and horror, but Alexandra's agony was primal, devastating.
Behind him, Morag gasped and he heard her sob, but his mind buzzed too quickly to react. Alexandra fell to her knees, screaming Rory's name over and over, begging him to wake up.
Ian laughed. "Came for a show?" he snarled at Christopher.
Then he ran toward Alexandra, his sword still dripping with Rory's blood, ready to finish the execution.
Christopher cried out and launched himself forward, drawing his own sword and slamming into Ian. He knew that Ian was stronger, more skilled, and more experienced than he was. He knew that he likely wouldn't win. But none of that mattered.
He furiously swung his sword again and again, Rory's shock painted in his eyes and Alexandra's scream echoing in his ears, hot tears burning his own eyes as he allowed the fury to consume him.
Ian fought back just as fiercely, but Christopher's anger made him stronger.
They sliced at each other, little cuts opening on their skin and clothing, Christopher not even feeling the pain as blood ran down his arm and cheek.
He had spared Ian. He had passed up the chance to kill him, and now Rory was dead, and Christopher would never forgive himself.
Rage and pain and righteous agony drove him on, defending himself but not able to gain the upper hand.
"Come on," Morag's voice urged, and from the corner of his eye, Christopher saw her pulling at Alexandra. "Come on, get up. Ye have tae go. Ye have tae go now."
Sobbing, Alexandra resisted. "I cannae. I cannae leave him. Me wee brother, me Rory, please, please…"
Ian renewed his attack, and Christopher stumbled, but quickly regained his footing. He parried a blow that would have killed him in a second, then tripped Ian before it could be returned.
"Get on the horse!" Morag yelled.
To Christopher's immense relief, Alexandra at last climbed onto Splendor's back, and with a flick of the reins, she rode out of the clearing.
As soon as he was sure she was safe, Christopher breathed a sigh of relief.
Ian took advantage, pressing harder, and Christopher was barely able to defend himself.
"Christopher, we need tae go! Now!" Morag screamed. "The Campbells are comin'!"
Ian gave a sick, manic grin that made Christopher's stomach swoop with disgust and fear. "Aye, Christopher. The Campbells are comin'," he taunted. "Did ye enjoy bein' Murdoch? Father—"
"Yer father is dead," Christopher snarled. "He died by me arrow while ye failed tae dae yer duty. He's dead."
Ian stared at him, then his expression turned first white, then red.
"Ye were supposed tae be me brother!" he screamed, then rushed forward, sword raised.
Christopher did the same, and they met in the middle in an almighty clash that echoed through the forest and sent birds flying into the air.
Both swords tumbled to the ground. Christopher's weapon landed hard against a rock, and he heard the screech of metal as his sword broke beyond use.
For a breathless second, the two men stared at one another.
Both of them knew that it was over. Both of them knew that Ian had won.
Ian moved first, bending down and picking up the unbroken sword, then straightened.
"Ye were supposed tae be me brother," he repeated quietly. "Is Father really dead? Did ye really kill him?"
"Aye," Christopher said, meeting his eyes steadily. "Aye tae both."
Ian raised the sword and Christopher drew in a breath that might be his last. Then Ian lowered the weapon again.
"Good," he said. "He was weak. With me at the head, the Campbell Clan will thrive. Go."
"What?" Christopher asked, confused and stunned.
"Go!" Ian roared. "This is the last mercy I'll ever show ye, for the sake of the family we once were. But ken that when I meet ye on the Murray battlefield, I'll cut ye down without a second thought."
Christopher couldn't move, but suddenly Morag's hands were around his arm, dragging him away toward Beatha. He could hear the tell-tale sounds of their pursuers from Campbell Castle catching up, and he knew that they had very little time until the cavalry arrived.
Ian stood still, staring at them, Rory's body still on the ground behind him.
"We need to go," Morag whispered in his ear. "Please. Please."
Her voice broke the spell, and together, they climbed onto Beatha's back and set off, racing after Alexandra as quickly as they could, knowing they'd be running for a long time yet.
Long after the clearing disappeared behind them, Christopher could feel Ian's eyes on his back.
They rode for hours, only stopping briefly and when absolutely necessary.
They caught up with Alexandra quickly, and the three of them traversed the countryside that had marked Christopher's snow-covered journey to becoming Murdoch months before.
The snow had gone, and so had Murdoch, and as spring blossomed over the Highlands, Christopher had never felt more of a Kincaid than he did now.
But though the scenery was beautiful, there was no forgetting that Rory was dead and that they were still being pursued.
Five minutes to let the horses rest every now and again was all they could afford, and then they would hear the furious hoofbeats of their pursuers all too close and have to set off again.
Beatha stumbled as morning turned to afternoon, and Christopher worried that she had grown too tired with two people on her back.
They were only a few feet from the Murray border, the castle itself less than half a mile away.
The faint sound of horns called in the distance, but it was smothered by the cries of the soldiers who grew closer every second.
Christopher glanced over his shoulder and saw the foremost of the Campbell men emerging from the forest, bloodlust in his eyes.
"Dinnae look," he told Morag. He shouted over to Alexandra. "Dinnae look!"
They rode on, then, suddenly, they were across the border. They were so close to the outer wall of the castle now that Christopher could have shot an arrow and hit it, and the horns were blaring. Hope flared in his chest.
Then the outer doors burst open and there they were—Arran and Elsie—leading the charge, protecting him as they had always protected each other.
Elsie's husband, Rolland, rode by her side, and behind them, a large group of Murray soldiers raced out on horseback, forming a protective circle around Christopher, Morag, and Alexandra.
Arrows sliced through the air as men and women aimed from the tower, picking off any Campbell men who got too close.
They reached the castle gates, and Christopher turned again.
Just in time to see the Campbells retreating.