Every day was more of a challenge as the reality of his task grew more and more urgent. Every day, his sense of who he really was was more and more under threat. He was not and had never been built for subterfuge, and each morning when the sun rose, and he donned Murdoch's cloak, he felt like he might lose Christopher forever. But it didn't matter. Hehadto keep going. Hehadto get into that room. No matter what it took.
The doors opened and Murdoch hastily stepped back, moving to the window to look out at the garden and act as though he had not been practically listening at the door. The first one out was Ian, and the heir wore a knowing smirk on his face as he took in the sight of Murdoch standing there.
"Bonny view, eh?" Ian asked, walking up and nudging him lightly in the ribs. "Such a coincidence that ye should be takin' it in through this window."
"A coincidence indeed," Murdoch replied, smiling.
He didn't have to fake it. To his surprise, his relationship with Ian had been the easiest part of his time here. His brother—because, yes, nobody could deny that this was his brother—seemed determined to live up to that title. Talking to him was surprisingly easy. Banter flowed easily between them; they didn't talk about their past much, but it was all too easy to chat about the day to day and joke lightly about things that were going on around them.
He took in Ian's clothing and raised an eyebrow. "Ye're headed out?"
Ian grinned. Behind him, Alistair exited the room, flanked by several Campbell warriors. Alistair caught Murdoch's eye and nodded, and Murdoch nodded back.
"Accompany us tae the courtyard?" Ian asked.
Murdoch obeyed, walking beside Ian as the group made their way out. When they arrived, there was already a flurry of activity underway as horses were led out and adorned for battle, armor, and supplies were packed into saddlebags, and men speaking in low voices. The courtyard was a frenzy, and it felt very much like the beginning of something, thick with tension. Around them, the wind howled, adding to the wild atmosphere.
"A casual ride, is it?" Murdoch asked, raising an eyebrow. "There's a storm brewin'."
Ian winked then moved into the center of the chaos, immediately barking orders to the servants and soldiers who were dashing around. Murdoch watched him, not even denying that he admired his brother's military precision and command of his men. At the same time, though, unease curled in hisstomach as he glanced behind him and saw Alistair watching with approval.
Where were they headed? They were clearly ready for a fight; who were they going to attack? Murdoch clenched his jaw at the thought, wishing once again he'd managed to make his way into the meeting.
After a bit of time, the soldiers moved to mount their horses, and Alistair patted Murdoch's shoulder on the way past. Ian returned to Murdoch's side.
"Dinnae look so down, brother," Ian said, patting his shoulder in the same place that Alistair had. "Just a wee while longer of provin' yerself, and ye'll be welcome tae join us."
Murdoch huffed and folded his arms. "I could be useful. I ken more about the Murrays and their allies than anyone."
"Ye've nae idea where we're even goin'!" Ian laughed. "Nay, Murdoch, ye'll stay here at the castle this time. Father insists, and we dinnae go against Father. Anyway, we dinnae need yer knowledge. We're headed for the Barclay Clan."
Frowning, Murdoch said, "The Barclays? They're a neutral clan. They've declared it over and over."
"Aye, well, we're gonnae go and ask again," Ian replied, raising his eyebrows and grinning. "Wish us luck."
Murdoch took in the battle-ready horses and the armor the men were wearing and his stomach knotted tight. He knew exactly what kind ofpersuasionAlistair Campbell intended if Laird Barclay didn't agree to his terms. He briefly considered appealing to Ian, asking him to go gently on the Barclays or perhaps use their resources in another way, but he held his tongue. No matter how well his unusual bond with Ian was building, Murdoch knew that he could not reveal himself too early or show any weakness—not if there was any chance that Alistair might overhear, and not until he was sure that Ian could be trusted.
He bid Ian good luck and fair travels, then waited until the last of the horses disappeared through the gates before turning and heading back into the castle. As he entered through the large front entrance doors, the clouds split open and the rain thundered down.
It washard to cling to Murdoch when he was alone, but he held tight to the identity like a shield as the day went on. He could not—wouldnot—allow himself to think of the women and children of the Barclay Clan who might suffer if the "conversation" did not go the way that Alistair wished. Murdoch Campbell didn't feel sympathy or fear, and so he tried hard to remain that way as the day passed achingly slowly, trying hard to pretend that every minute that passed was not another minute spent stewing in dread.
Don't feel. Don't be yourself. Wear the mask well.He repeated that mantra over and over as he trained in the yard, checked on Beatha, ate a meal, and did anything he could to distract himself.
Don't feel.
He knew Laird Barclay personally. He was a young Laird, only twenty-one or twenty-two, who had been left in charge of his clan from the age of fifteen when both parents had died.
Don't be yourself.
He'd married a young woman and had a child recently, and, though it had been a blow, nobody had been surprised when he'd declared neutrality as a way to protect his family. The Kincaids had been at his wedding, and Murdoch—Christopher—had danced with the bride.
Wear the mask well.
The Barclays wouldn't stand a chance if Campbell decided to attack.
Frustrated, Murdoch slammed his fist into the stone wall of his bedroom, ignoring the pain that shot through his knuckles and down his arm. He cried out, wondering what the point in all of this was if he was just going to sit back and let more people suffer. The mask might be protecting him, but what good had it done so far? He was here, trapped and useless, while Campbell set out to do more damage upon the world.
It was still raining outside, though the storm had not come as strong or dangerous as Murdoch had expected. The sun was setting and dusk was settling upon the land. Almost the whole day had passed since Murdoch had seen the army off in the courtyard, and he felt worse than useless to know that it was another whole day wasted.
