"Stay away from me sister," Rory gasped, earning himself another kick.
Christopher tried not to wince as Rory screamed and he heard the sound of something crack.
Ian shot Rory a disdainful look, then turned back to face Christopher and Alistair, smiling once more. "Of course, Murdoch, if ye want her for yerself, ye're welcome tae her."
Some instinct in Christopher sensed a trap. He didn't respond at all, watching Ian warily. He realized now that he'd been a fool to ever hope that this man could be redeemed. Ian Campbell was just like his father, if not worse. There was no good in him, nothing of the late Fenella who had sacrificed herself saving Christopher and Elsie. Ian was a monster, maybe even a worse one than Alistair himself.
"And the whelp?" Alistair demanded. "Why have ye brought him here? I dinnae need a traitor's mouth tae feed. Why did ye nay slaughter him with his guards?"
"I brought him for Murdoch," Ian replied, a gleam in his eye. "He's always seekin' a way tae prove himself loyal tae our cause. Well, now, here he has it."
He drew his sword and offered it to Christopher.
"Ye told me that ye've kent the McKenzies since ye were a bairn. That they were once yer friends, before ye learned the truth of who ye are and turned away from them."
"I did," Christopher replied, feeling suddenly hollow as he stared at Alexandra and Rory, barely aware of where he was now. "I did."
"Then take me sword, brother. Prove that yer past is gone and buried," Ian said, extending the weapon in offer. "Do it here and now, in front of everyone. Kill Rory McKenzie."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dawn broke over the hills on the horizon, and as the night disappeared, it took Morag's peace with it. She had packed the few things she needed into a bag the moment that Christopher left, and she'd spent the intervening hours alternately pacing her room and tossing and turning as she tried to sleep.
She'd thrown the window shutters open again about half an hour ago, anticipating his arrival, but when the first light of morning showed through the window, she knew that something was wrong.
Christopher had promised he'd be here before first light, and so she had no reason to doubt him. Maybe he was running late? She hoped so, but something twisting in her stomach told her that this wasn't the case. Nonetheless, she made herself wait as patiently as she could, hoping against hope that his face would be grinning at her from the window any moment.
But as the sun rose higher and there was no sight of him, the dwindling hope turned to fear, and Morag moved to the door. Had he been captured? The guards outside her room had been gossiping all night; maybe they would know something.
She leaned against the wood, her ear pressed against it, but there was nothing, not even the low murmur of voices or a footstep. Total silence met her on the other side. Frowning, Morag knocked hard against the door, but got no answer.
"Guards!" she shouted. "Guards, please, I've taken ill!"
There was still no response, and Morag realized that there was nobody there to hear her. Confusion and fear danced through her. Why would her guards be gone? Where was Christopher? Morag clenched her fists and, flinging her small bag over her shoulder, drew the dagger that Christopher had given her. She wouldnotjust sit here. Not anymore. She was tired of being passive—it was time to be free.
Many, many years ago, a traveling merchant had taught Morag a trick for opening locked doors with a blade. Morag had been only a child then, dreaming of another life, and the merchant had taken pity on her. Her father had punished the man for teaching her such things and then sent him away, but Morag had never forgotten his kindness.
She slid the dagger point-first in the small gap at the side of the door and then pushed up until it connected with the bolt on the other side. It took some movement and a few tries, but at last she heard the telltale scrape of the lock coming free. Relief washed over her and she pushed the door open, stumbling out into the empty hallway, her heart racing.
Now that she was free, Morag needed to figure out where to go, but with a sinking feeling she realized that Christopher could be anywhere. She stood there, frozen outside of the room that had so recently been her prison, trying to work out her next move. The dagger's hilt dug tightly into her hand, and she wished Christopher was with her now.
"Miss? God almighty, what are ye doin'?" a voice echoed along the corridor.
Morag whirled around and saw Mary standing only a few feet away, her eyes wide and face chalk white except for the dark circles that surrounded her eyes. The maid had clearly not slept, and Morag ran to her, embracing her after she'd tucked the dagger away safely.
"Thank ye for sendin' Christopher tae me," she said. "Ye're braver and more good than any woman I've ever kent. Ye must leave before me father learns I'm free, or ye'll be blamed."
Mary hugged her back, but her expression was grim when they separated. "I've naewhere tae go, Miss. I was born in the kitchens of Caindach Castle. Yer father has owned me for me whole life. I've nae family, nae friends."
"Ye've got me," Morag told her. "I'm sorry if I never acted like a friend as much as I should have. Ye've been the greatest companion a lass could wish for. Ye must flee now—go, before the guards return. Can ye ride?"
"A-aye…" Mary stammered. "But, Miss…"
"There's a dappled horse in the stable that belongs tae me father. Take the creature and run, and dinnae stop until ye reach the Murray Clan. Find a way intae the castle and tell Rolland Murray and his wife where ye've came from. They're… good people. They'll protect ye," Morag said. "Tell them… tell them ye're a friend of Christopher's."
"Ye tell them, Miss. Ye must come with me. Ye arenae safe here," Mary replied, taking her hand.
But Morag shook her head. "Nay. Christopher is somewhere in this castle, and he might be in danger. I must find him or I cannae go anywhere."
