PROLOGUE
Life as Christopher knew it had just ended, and everyone was sitting around and talking as though it was just another day. He could scarcely believe that, despite a few objections, Elsie was now smiling and talking with the Murrays and their allies as though everything was all right after what she had just announced.
Christopher had spent his whole life running away from the memories of his childhood, proud of how successfully he'd managed to cloak the few remembrances that he had—and yet now Elsie had torn it all into the open, exposing his darkest secret for the world to see, forcing him to acknowledge the truth.
He was Murdoch Campbell, son of Alistair, brother of Ian and Isla. And though his memory was patchy at best, the more they spoke about it, the more heremembered. He remembered his mother waking him in the early hours to flee; later, covered in blood, then sweat, as her infected wounds killed her slowly. His sister, a baby in his arms, and a sworn promise to forget the past.
A promise that was now shattered forever.
The rest of the conversation was nothing but buzzing in Christopher's ears as he sat on a chair a little to the side, tryingto stop the panic from rising in his breast. Kenna, his sister's friend who seemed to be both maid and healer, was tending to him, trying to comfort him or perhaps make him relax, but Christopher barely heard her.
His mind was buzzing with flashing, distorted images that came rushing at him from behind a wall that had been built for so long he hadn't even known it was there. An older brother, throwing a ball for him to catch. A father handing him a wooden sword when his hands were barely big enough to clutch it. A mother, holding him close, smelling of daisies and rosewater.
"Her name was Fenella," Lady Murray said, and it was as though someone had slid a knife through Christopher's ribs, cutting him cleanly to the heart.
Another memory flashed through him—his mother telling him the story of the mythological Fionnuala, from whom her name had come, who had committed no crime but to love her father, the great Celtic god Lir. She and her brothers had been stolen from their family and transformed into swans, doomed to nine hundred years in that form and to never see their loved ones again. Christopher remembered his mother taking him to the loch and showing him the swans that skimmed across its surface; the sweet sadness in her voice when she'd told him that perhaps they were trapped princes and princesses just longing to go home.
Tears formed in Christopher's eyes at the memory. Had that been her plan in fleeing with them—to try to find the remnants of whatever family she had left? To raise her children in safety away from the darkness of Campbell? He'd never know.
The meeting ended with Elsie's announcement of her upcoming marriage to Rolland, but while Arran engaged in some good-natured threats to the groom-to-be and was looking after their sister, Christopher felt a million miles away. Abruptly, hegot to his feet and, with only a muttered "Excuse me"to Kenna, rushed out of the room.
He kept blindly running through the corridors, not stopping until he reached the main entrance hall and burst through the grand doors into the air outside. As the fresh, cool wind hit him, he gasped, greedily gulping down air as his lungs burned and his heart stuttered. A few guards and servants who passed gave him curious looks, but he ignored them, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs, trying to settle the blood that was rushing around his brain.
When he was breathing normally again, he unsteadily made his way along the path until he found a small fountain and sat down on the wall that circled it. Little sprays of water bounced off the surface and hit against his hands and clothing, but he didn't move away, allowing the cold water to keep him alert.
Who was he? He'd spent so long as Christopher Kincaid that the revelation had shaken him to his core. Yes, the Murrays had accepted Elsie, and by extension, him, but what would Aila and Lachlan think? Lachlan especially—he knew how deep clan loyalty ran in the blood. How could Christopher claim to be his ward, hisson, now that he knew the truth?
"There he is. Chrissy, ye're gettin' soaked. Get away from there."
Christopher looked up at the sound of the nickname only Arran ever used for him and saw his brother approaching, concern etched over his features. Elsie, hand-in-hand with Rolland Murray, was rushing toward them, not too far behind.
Arran held out a hand, and after a second, Christopher took it, allowing Arran to pull him up to his feet. Arran patted his shoulder.
"Dinnae look so maudlin. I ken it must be a shock, but we're none of us Kincaids by birth, are we?" Arran asked. "Ye're stillme brother. Ye're still Aila and Lachlan's bairn. Aila will be the first tae tell ye so, just ye wait. We're family, nae matter what."
Christopher gave him a thin smile. "Ye werenae born a Kincaid, but yer first set of parents were good people. Meanwhile, me birth father is?—"
"It doesnae matter what he is," Elsie interrupted as she reached them. "Our birthmothersacrificed herself tae get us free of the Campbell name. We have our family and the Kincaid name now because she gave her life for it. We must protect what she gave us."
"Of course," Christopher replied, nodding and forcing a smile on his face. "I'm just bein' silly. I willnae think on it anymore."
He'd knownwhen he made that promise that it wasn't one he could keep, and indeed, a week later, the conversation was still ruminating in his mind. It wasn't that hedidn'tthink of Aila and Lachlan as his family—he did, and when he saw them and little Cassie again on the day of Elsie's wedding, he was as happy as ever to be reunited with them—but now that he knew the truth, he couldn't get it out of his head.
As the feast after the wedding got into full swing, Christopher watched the two families come together, cobbled together from those they'd chosen to love. Aila laughed with Sorcha and Taryn nearby, while Lachlan, James, and Oliver discussed something with Connor and Seamus. Cassie was playfully dancing with Rory McKenzie, while Flora, Brid, and Slaine were chatting with Liam and some others from the Lost Village. Nearby, Tavish, who had stood as Rolland's best man, was dancing with Alexandra McKenzie. More and more guests from both sides of the family caught Christopher's eye, many of whom he knew andloved dearly, and even those who didn't were here to support his sister.
He knew that she should be happy. Instead, all Christopher could feel was detachment and dread. They were all so joyful, so loving and warm, as if war wasn't coming ever closer. As if death wasn't on its way, his own birth father at the helm—as if they didn't all have far, far too much to lose.
"Why are ye mopin' over here?"
Christopher blinked and turned to see Arran approaching with a goblet of wine in each hand. He forced a smile and accepted the drink when Arran offered it. "I'm just a wee bit tired, ‘tis all."
Arran rolled his eyes. "Aye, all right. I've seen ye in yer moods more than enough. Are ye still goin' over what Elsie revealed in yer mind? I thought ye'd put it away. I ken it cannae be easy, Chrissy, but ye mustnae let it bother ye so. I already told ye, it doesnae change anythin' about who ye are or who ye will be."
"It's nothin' tae do with any of that, I swear," Christopher lied.
The music came to an end and he nodded toward Alexandra, who was smiling and responding gracefully to Tavish's bow. She'd been their friend since they were small, and though Christopher could see that Alexandra's expression was simply friendly, he also knew it would be distracting enough for his brother.
"She looks like she's havin' fun, does she nae?"
