With another glance at the paper, he turned and headed inside, walking directly toward his room to get ready for his secret meeting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There were perhaps ten minutes to go until midnight, but Morag was already pacing back and forth in the hidden courtyard, trying to convince herself that this hadn't all been a completely terrible idea. Why had she decided to trust Murdoch Campbell? She should have known better than to do that, sheshouldknow better, and yet…
She'd seen what he was looking at in the war room library, and it had changed something inside her. For Morag's whole life, she'd only had those around her who agreed with the path her father was taking, whatever that might be. She'd been a tool, and a knowing one—whether she was being sold to the Murrays or being commanded to play the seductress to uncover a spy, she had never allowed herself to question any of it.
But, though Alistair Campbell was trying to mold his newly returned son into a tool as well, Murdoch was clearly only compliant on the surface. Morag had studied the map she'd smuggled from the library and she knew exactly what Murdoch was looking for—a way to intervene in the coming slaughter. Murdoch was Campbell's son, there was no denying his blood or how much he looked like Ian, but his heart and soul were still with the Kincaids, just as Elsie's had been.
Morag's cheeks burned with embarrassment as she thought of Elsie. The way she'd acted toward the girl had been petty and juvenile, but at the time it had seemed like the only action within Morag's reach. She had never loved Rolland, but she'd seen him as the way out of this obedient hell, and then Elsie had come along and spoiled it. But Elsie was as brave as she was skilled, as fair as she was beautiful.
The jealousy that had burned inside Morag had cooled over time into something like a reluctant admiration as she looked back upon that time. Now that her father had sworn himself to Campbell, and dragged Morag with him, she wished so hard that everything had gone differently. When the war came, she would be on the wrong side, and knowing that burned her.
The secret door opened and Murdoch walked into the courtyard, a troubled, vulnerable expression on his face that she had never seen before. It made her heart stutter, and part of her longed to move closer to him, but she stayed still.
As soon as he was close enough, he folded his arms and stared at her. "Well. I'm here. But whatever this is, I'm doin' nothin' until ye've answered me questions. Why did ye protect me in the library? What were ye hopin' tae gain? Why have ye nae told yer father what ye have discovered? I ken ye were tryin' tae catch me—why not use the evidence?"
Morag was ready for his questions. She couldn't tell him the truth, not when she wasn't even entirely sure of it herself. All she'd been thinking at that moment was that she couldn't bear to see him put to death for trying to do what was right.
Instead, she spoke in a clipped voice and said, "I simply decided ye were more useful tae me alive than dead."
Murdoch narrowed his eyes. "Useful? How is that?"
In answer, Morag threw the sword down at his feet. Murdoch stared at it for a second, then bent down and picked it up. Morag watched him, her heart hammering as she stood perfectlystill with the poise a lifetime of pretending had granted her. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to escape from under her father's control, but neither would she stand back and allow people to die for the greed of a man like Campbell.
"I need to learn tae fight," she said eventually after the silence went on for several more minutes. "Yer sister can fight like nae woman I have ever seen. I need ye tae train me."
Murdoch looked suddenly startled. "What? Why?"
She kept her voice steady. "Me father never allowed me tae learn, and death is headed our way. Would ye leave me undefended?"
"Ye'll be safe in the castle while the fightin' goes on," Murdoch argued. "Me family and the Murrays are exceptions in how our women fight, nae the rule. There's nae need for ye tae put yerself in danger."
Morag stared at him, her hands folded in front of her. "Yerfamily?" she asked pointedly. "Ye mean the Kincaids,Murdoch?"
He scowled at her, caught. She was surprised that he'd slipped so easily, especially when he had been so careful up until now.
"Fine. Have it yer way." He held out the short sword back to her, then moved to grab a longer weapon from the rack. "I'm nae expert swordsman," he told her. "I can fight well enough, but ye'll find nae exceptional skill from me. Ye'd need me brother, Arran, for that."
"But yecanteach me," Morag urged. "Ye and Elsie both trained under the Kincaids. Even if ye're more skilled with other weapons, ye can show me how tae wield a sword."
"I can," Murdoch admitted. He held out his chosen sword in front of him. "Try tae hit me."
She blinked.
"Do it. Now."
Morag launched herself forward and staggered back in surprise as Murdoch easily brushed off her attack. She tried again and again, her irritation and frustration building as he managed to parry each of her attempts with seemingly no effort whatsoever.
"Ye're nae payin' attention," he told her. "Stop starin' at me sword. Aim forme."
She narrowed her eyes and renewed her attempts, and to her surprise, the flat of her side tapped the side of his arm. Murdoch stared at the touch for a moment, then nodded grimly.
"Good. Again."
An hour passed or more, and soon Murdoch was moving, falling more seriously into a fighting stance. The attempts at attacks turned into sparring, with Murdoch shouting instructions as they fought, urging her to defend. Morag had a sheen of sweat on her forehead, but soon she was avoiding all of his attacks with ease, and though she felt pride for a moment, it vanished as soon as she saw the careful look on Murdoch's face.
"Fight, damn ye!" she snapped, rushing toward him with the point of her sword. He moved out of the way effortlessly. "Why are ye holdin' back?"
