Ian didn't waste his time on further words. He rushed toward Christopher, the point of his sword pointed directly at him. Christopher parried the blow, quickly raising his own sword. Splendor neighed and raced away at speed as Christopher and Ian fought hard, the laird's heir relentless with his blows.
"Traitor!" Ian roared. "Get out of the way!"
Surprise made Christopher stumble.
Get out of the way?
Why wasn't Ian just killing him here and now? Allowing himself to get distracted was a mistake, though. Ian saw the slight advantage and took it, shoving forward hard. Christopher fell to the ground, disarmed but not injured, his sword falling into the grass a few feet away.
Ian gave him one last blazing look and then sprinted past him into the stables. A moment later, he raced out on the back of a black horse, chasing after the McKenzies at top speed.
Christopher scrambled to his feet and readied his bow, nocking an arrow as quickly as taking a breath. In the morning light, he could easily sight Ian even as he was riding away, and his pulse quickened as he realized he had a clear shot to Ian's neck. All he had to do was release the string, and Ian would fall.
But… Ian had spared him. And he was his brother.
Christopher shook his head to dismiss that thought a moment later, but it was too late. His moment's hesitation had given Ian time to get out of range. The chance was gone, and he could see the two horses disappearing into the horizon. He prayed silently that Splendor could still go quickly enough to outrun Ian's horse, even with two people on his back, but he didn't have time to worry about it or think anymore.
Not now.
He turned back to the castle, where flames were now licking the walls as people streamed out of the doors. Panicked screams echoed across the distance toward him, and he was glad again that the stables were far enough away that the animals, at least, were safe.
But Morag was not. Morag was in there.
Hurrying into the stable, he coaxed Beatha out and whispered to her. She seemed to understand his urgency, and when they pointed toward the castle, she did not flinch away. The horse trusted her master, and, in turn, he trusted her with all his soul.
"Let's go get her, lass," he said.
Beatha stopped her hoof and whinnied with determination.
"I'm comin', me heart," he promised the wind, then broke out into a gallop back toward the flames.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Let go of me!" Morag demanded, but though she fought as hard as she could, her father's men held her in an iron grip.
Both men held one of her arms, and they'd half-dragged her through the castle, ignoring her kicking and shouting, all the way from the burning war room. Her father had rushed ahead, never once stopping to see if his men and his daughter were alive, only interested in escaping his own demise.
"Letgo!"
They burst out onto the front gardens of the castle, where most of the castle's residents and visitors were now gathered in a chaotic muddle, shouts, accusations, and panic flooding the air as heavily as the smoke. Some people were desperately trying to find each other, others arguing, and others still simply sobbing.
A heady feeling threatened to overwhelm Morag as she realized thatshehad done this.Shehad set the fire which was gutting Campbell Castle. It was unlikely that anyone had died due to it, for which she was glad—she would rather not be responsible for the deaths of innocent servants—but the sense of power she felt as she watched the smoke was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
She whipped her head around as the guards and her father dragged her through the courtyard, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Christopher. There was no sign, which was unsurprising but which still made her heart ache. Surely he wasn't still inside? Surely he wasn't in any danger now? She hoped desperately that her distraction hadn't been too late.
A hand in her hair distracted her from her thoughts, and she cried out in shocked pain as her father dragged her by the hair away from the guards. He pulled her close to him, wild-eyed with bared teeth, and she saw it in his expression: her father was more than willing to kill her.
"Demon whore!" he snarled at her, spittle hitting her face. In his other hand, he drew a knife, and in a blink, he held it to her throat. "I told ye already that ye're nae daughter of mine. Now I see ye're a witch. A devil!"
Morag felt the blade on her throat, but rather than fear, a cold calmness washed over her. She met her father's eyes, unblinking and even.
"I'm none of those. I'll tell ye what I am if ye really want tae ken."
He narrowed his eyes.
So she answered as the castle burned behind them.
"I am the fire, destroyin' everythin' ye've worked for. I am the flames, burnin' away the curse ye've placed on me for me whole life, ready to be reborn from the ash. I am the smoke, risin' in the air, whirlin' free. Ye cannae capture me. Ye cannae tame me. Because ye ken, fire spreads. It grows. And it leaves its mark, nae matter how ye try tae quench it. Do as ye will, Father. It's over."
