This woman was vaguely familiar with her tree-bark brown hair and dark eyes, but it was hard to make out any of her distinguishing features as she was hidden in a cloak. She lowered her hood and he saw that, behind a mass of freckles, the young woman's face was paler than milk and her expression was twisted in fear.
In a flash, he realized how he knew her. This was the quiet lady's maid who followed Morag around during the day, silent and obedient, though he had often noticed the two women exchanging smiles. Nevertheless, she was officially a servant of Robert Caindach, and so Christopher was immediately on his guard.
"Please," the maid said. "Ye must listen tae me quickly, before Laird Campbell notices I've slipped away. Me name is Mary, and I need ye tae ken?—"
Christopher folded his arms. "What secrets could ye have tae tell me? If ye're here tae spy?—"
"I'm nae!" she protested. "Lady Morag needs yer help!"
He paused, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. What if this was a trap? Had Caindach noticed how much time he and Morag were spending together? He had to be very, very careful.
She seemed to realize that he wasn't going to answer her, and she grew frustrated, actually stomping her foot in annoyance.
"I'm nae part of yer lairdly games! I just want ye tae help me friend!" she snapped. "Please, Christopher!"
Her passion caught his attention, but it was the last word that had him convinced.Christopher, she'd called him. NotMaster MurdochorCampbell.Sheknew. And the only way she could know, the only possible way she could be appealing to him like this, was because Morag trusted her. If Morag trusted her, then so did he.
Then the rest of what the girl had said filtered through, and a new kind of fear shot down his spine.
"Where is Morag?" he demanded urgently. "Where is she?"
Mary's passion instantly faded back into a dread that seemed to weigh her down where she stood.
"She's in trouble."
Morag had once accompaniedher father south on a tour of the English courts, and in the royal Tower of London she had glimpsed a collection of strange animals kept in cages from faraway lands. She remembered the she-lynx most of all, prowling in her cage, frustration in every movement of her muscles. Aged just twelve or thirteen then, she'd silently prayed that an accident would befall the tower and let the animals gofree. Her hope had been shattered when a lion roared in fury and the keeper retorted with a crack of a whip.
She understood that lynx now as she paced the confines of her room, around and around in endless circles as if on one pass she might at last find an escape. What had happened to that creature? Whenever she thought back on that day, she liked to imagine that the lynx had somehow gotten free to return to the Iberian Peninsula to hunt and breed and live free as she pleased.
But Morag was no longer a child, and she knew that neither the lynx nor she herself lived in a fairy story. No doubt the wildcat had wilted in her cage, succumbing before her time in the dark, with no sight of the sun again.
Morag sank down on the edge of her bed as hopelessness consumed her. Was that to be her fate? Was she to return to the Caindach dungeons and live and die there, never seeing the sun again? She wasn't sure she would survive even as long as the lynx had.
At least she had protected Christopher. If she was to lose everything, then at least she had lost it doing something worthwhile with the last stroke of her freedom—defying her father, condemning the evil Laird Campbell, and giving Christopher a chance to thrive. If Morag could be proud of just one thing she'd done in her entire life, it would be that. That would be the fire that kept her going, no matter what her father did next.
Suddenly, a tapping sound came from the closed wooden shutters over the window. Morag jumped but quickly got herself under control. It must have been the wind or the rain drumming harder, reflecting her mood as her remaining time dwindled. But then the tapping came again, harder and more insistent.
Morag frowned and moved toward the shutters, then pulled them open. She gasped as she took in what was on the other side.
"What are ye doin'?" she half-shrieked. "Are ye tryin' tae kill yerself?"
Christopher grinned at her from the windowsill, his blond hair darkened and slicked to his face by the rain, his white shirt practically see-through. Morag felt dizzy just looking at him, her heart racing in panic at the thought of how easy it would be for him to have slipped on the wet stone and fallen to his death. She quickly reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside.
The second that Christopher's feet touched the stone floor, he pulled Morag into the tightest hug that she had ever experienced in her life. She leaned against him, breathing in his scent, not minding at all that he was getting her dress wet. Despite how cold he was, she felt warmed by his very presence, and for the first time since her father had locked her in this room, Morag fully felt like she could breathe.
He pulled back, though he kept his hands on her arms as he critically looked her over, frowning as his eyes lingered on what she knew must be a bruise on her cheek.
"What happened? Mary said ye were in trouble. Who hurt ye? Was it yer father?" His eyes darkened. "I'll kill him."
"Dinnae do anythin' stupid," Morag said. She glanced at the window and amended, "Morestupid, anyway." Christopher's gaze did not falter, and she sighed. "He discovered the map. It was me own fault. I'd meant tae take it back down tae the library when I got a chance, but… well, he obviously questioned me."
Christopher paled. "He kens about me? Dinnae fear. I'll deal with it. What did ye tell him?"
"Tell him?" Morag shook her head. "Nay. I told him nothin'. As far as me father kens,I'mthe traitor. I'm the one who stole the map for me own reasons. I kept yer name out of it."
The expression on Christopher's face flickered through so many variations that Morag found it hard to keep up.Eventually, he settled on a face she'd only seen worn by the devout at church as he gazed at her, eyes wide.
"Why would ye do that for me? Morag, he hurt ye. Ye?—"
