Arran glanced toward her and blanched as he saw her laugh at Tavish's joke. His lips tightened slightly and, unusually, uncertainty flashed across his features just for a brief moment.
"Aye, she does," Arran replied as neutrally as he could manage.
Christopher gave him a knowing look. "Why dinnae ye just go and ask her tae dance? Look, that lad is off tae chat with Kenna or Slaine, whichever one she is. Ye've got the opportunity."
"Och, I should leave her be," Arran said, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm spendin' time with ye."
"Dinnae be daft," Christopher insisted. "Alexandra's been our friend for years, and more than that, she keeps glancin' over here. Dinnae ye think ye owe her a dance?"
"She does?" Arran asked, his whole being perking up.
Christopher hid a laugh that threatened to cut through the darkness in his heart.
"Go on," Christopher encouraged. "I'll still be mopin' around when ye're done."
Arran hesitated for just a moment. "Well… all right. But go and find someone tae dance with as well, aye? Have some fun. Our wee sister is married, it's a celebration."
Christopher smiled again but didn't answer. Arran gave him a final look, then hurried off to talk to Alexandra. Christopher watched as his brother approached and, after a brief conversation, led Alexandra to the right place on the dance floor just in time for the next song to start. He followed them with his eyes for a few moments, soothed a little by the enchanted expression in Arran's eyes, then scanned the room. Elsie and Rolland were nowhere to be seen—no doubt they'd snuck off for some alone time—and both sets of parents, along with family friends, were all otherwise occupied. If he was going to do this, now was the time.
Christopher took a deep breath and touched the engraved Kincaid symbol on the silver brooch pinned to his chest. Determined despite his shaking hands, he unpinned the brooch and held it for a moment before approaching a bookshelf at the side of the room and placing the pin on it. With a final look at the symbol of the people who had raised him, Christopher turnedhis back on it and headed toward the side exit that would take him out of the party and into the darkness of the night.
The stables were empty when Christopher entered, as even the stable master and his stablehands were part of the wedding celebration. The horses slept, and while a few opened their eyes or snorted while he passed, none of them reacted too strongly. He passed Radiant, Elsie's shining steed, who was contentedly asleep in his stall next to Rolland's warhorse, Glory.
Christopher was good with horses; he'd trained as much as Elsie had, but he had nowhere near her skill. If he was an expert, his sister was a master. In many ways, Elsie had always been a true Kincaid. Christopher, though…
He sighed and reached the very end of the stable where his own horse, Beatha, grazed. She was smaller than most of the Kincaid horses, a dappled brown mare who was as swift as she was temperamental. He'd been present at her foaling, where the little creature had been born small and weak. Though the broodmare had allowed the foal to feed for the first few days, she'd soon rejected her entirely, and the horse master had grimly predicted that the foal would soon die.
Christopher hadn't been able to bear the thought. He'd only been fourteen then, but he had remembered what it was like to be alone, and he'd taken the horse as his own responsibility. Lachlan and Aila had both offered help, but Christopher had been determined to do it on his own. He'd named her Beatha, the Gaelic word for life, and hand-reared her until she was ready to be weaned, then trained her when she was ready to be ridden and raced. As she'd grown, her temperament had grown moody, but she was fiercely loyal to the man who had raised her, and for the last nine years, she had been his closest companion.
"Are ye ready for a journey, lass?" he asked, opening her stall door and patting her neck. Beatha snorted as he led her out ofthe warm stall. "We're goin' a long way, and I dinnae ken when, or if, we'll return."
He paused, glancing once more at the sleeping horses, then led Beatha into the cold night air. He took a breath.
"I cannae be Christopher Kincaid anymore, Beatha. Nae even in me own mind." He closed his eyes. "I must be Murdoch now. I must claim back the name I was given the day I was born and leave Christopher behind." He swallowed. "It's the only way."
Beatha stared at him patiently with her huge, dark eyes, and Christopher—no, Murdoch—steeled himself. He adjusted Beatha's saddle and mounted, and with a final glance at the castle, he set off.
Wearing the colors of Kincaid, Murdoch Campbell raced away into the unknown.
CHAPTER ONE
Murdoch raced across the land, Beatha's remarkable speed a boon as they outran the sunrise. The weather took a turn for the worse as the hours passed, wind and rain drumming up an obstacle, howling in Murdoch's ear to urge him to go back. He clenched his teeth against it and rode on, encouraging Beatha to push through the worst of it, relentlessly pursuing his goal.
For any other rider, the horse would have refused or maybe even given up. But for him, she pushed on, outstripping even her fastest time on record, her gallop so fast she was a shooting star in the night.
The rain turned icy, the rising sun hidden behind thick clouds as a snowstorm rushed toward them. In his formal wedding attire, Murdoch's teeth chattered in the cold, his fingers and lips numb, his cheeks and nose burning from the ice. He was afraid to blink in case his eyelashes stuck together with the frozen snow, and at this point he only urged Beatha forward because part of him feared that, if they stopped, they would turn into ice sculptures lost in the landscape forever.
The beauty of the Highlands was invisible through the howling snow, the whole world a frenzy of white and grey. Itseemed appropriate to Murdoch; the disastrous confusion of the world around him matched the raging storm within his own soul as he left everything he had ever known far behind him.
He welcomed the cold. He needed the ice to penetrate his soul, freezingChristopheraway so thatMurdochcould flourish. It was Murdoch who needed to be here now, and Murdoch who needed to reach the home of Alistair Campbell—the home of hisfather—as soon as he could. Every second that passed now was a second wasted. Every moment he spent not in the Campbell lands was a moment closer to ruining everything. And so Murdoch let the ice freeze his heart, leaving only enough warmth to encourage Beatha as his faithful mare took him toward what, perhaps, had always been his destiny.
It must have been mid-morning when he stopped, cold and exhausted, Beatha unable to keep up the pace a moment longer. The storm had settled at last, but the clouds remained so dark and the sun so blocked out that it was impossible to know for sure. The Murray lands were far behind him, and though he knew that he had ridden in the general right direction, he couldn't be sure he was in the right place. He couldn't push Beatha any further, though he knew his faithful mount would take him as far as she could go, and so he led her by the reins toward the treeline in the distance, hoping to find some shelter where they could rest and perhaps allow her to drink and eat.
Murdoch found a mossy area of the forest that was mostly protected from the snow by the thick canopy after about an hour of walking. A river ran through it, and when he led Beatha to the bank, she eagerly dipped her head to drink. Murdoch sighed and sat down against a tree to wait for her, allowing himself only a moment of rest. He worked hard to keep his mind neutral, avoiding lingering on any thoughts of Elsie or Cassie, determinedly trying to stop himself, considering how Lachlan or Aila would react if they found his brooch, refusing to evenconsider how Arran would feel when he realized that his brother had disappeared.
Well,Christopherhad disappeared. Murdoch forced himself to remember that. He couldn't be Christopher, no matter what. He shivered in the cold, drawing his cloak closer around him, and thought that maybe closing his eyes for just five minutes wouldn't be so bad.
He jolted awake to sunlight filtering through the canopy, the clouds seemingly having dissipated. Beatha lay snoozing at his side, her body pressed against his for warmth. As soon as he stirred, she awoke, nickering softly until he petted her snout.
