Ian paused for a moment before speaking again. "Go tae yer rooms and clean that mess off ye and change. I'll expect ye back here in exactly an hour."
"For more trainin'?" Murdoch asked.
"Nay. Ye'll be accompanyin' me tae the war room. The general assembly is meetin' this afternoon tae finish the gatherin' ye interrupted, and I would have ye there tae see it. I'msure Father would approve." Ian glanced over at Alistair, who was speaking animatedly with another of the lairds.
Murdoch's breath caught. The war room? On his second day here? He hadn't imagined he would get anywhere near the place for at least a week, maybe longer. He knew it was an open meeting of men and would have little to do with the high-level war plans that threatened the Murrays and their allied clans, but it was still more of a start than he'd dared to imagine at this stage.
He quickly ducked his head to hide his expression, pretending that he was wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Aye. I'll need tae wait for me guards, though."
"If ye remember the way back, just go. Ye have me permission," Ian said, catching Murdoch by surprise once again. But then, he coldly added, "But if ye're nae back here in precisely an hour, clean and presentable, ye'll see what me broadsword canreallydo."
Stifling his retort, Murdoch only replied with a stiff nod. He paused only to check if Alistair wanted him to approach, but the Laird was otherwise occupied. Well, good. It would be even better if Murdoch, who had already impressed him here, next saw the Laird at his best in the war room.
He had no doubt that he would be expected to reveal whatever he knew of the Murrays as well as information about the Kincaids. He would have to be very careful with whatever he said over the next days and weeks.
But as he turned and walked inside, feeling strange without a guard at his heels, his bruises made him more certain than ever that he could succeed.
The clock wasthree minutes from striking the hour when Murdoch arrived back on the training grounds, dressed in fine clothes in the Campbell colors and bearing his wounds with pride. Ian gave him an approving half-nod as he approached. Murdoch's freedom hadn't lasted long; a guard had been waiting outside his room by the time he was ready, but he could tell that something had already shifted between him and the man who had suddenly become his brother out of nowhere.
"Good," Ian said, sounding much more genuine than he had when he'd said the same thing during training earlier. "Pate, ye're dismissed. I will be more than enough tae keep Murdoch under control until we reach the next tower."
The guard nodded and headed off, leaving Ian and Murdoch truly alone for the first time. They stood there in silence for a short moment, Murdoch once again taken aback by how alike they were on a physical level. And it wasn't only him—the way Ian held his head as he was studying Murdoch and the way he tutted in thought reminded Murdoch so heavily of Elsie that it felt like a blow. He took a breath to steady himself, sternly remembering that the ice must remain in place if he was to ever succeed.
"The Campbell colors suit ye," Ian said finally.
"I should hope so. They are me own, after all," Murdoch replied.
Ian shook his head. "Nae yet. But they may be. Come along."
The two of them walked side by side, and Murdoch surveyed the castle as they reentered the building from the far entrance of the courtyard. He thought that it might once have been a lovelycastle; there were remnants of majesty left in the spiderweb-covered walls and the crumbling tapestries.
It was strange to pace the corridors knowing that this could once have been his family home, if not his own then his uncle's, and even stranger to think that this was the place where the villain from the horror stories of his youth had lived and died.
He stopped as he saw a portrait, more well-kept than the rest, the legend underneath declaring that Malcolm Campbell was displayed in his glory.
"Our uncle was weak," Ian said when he noticed what had caught Murdoch's attention. "I'd never say as much tae Father, who loved him, but it was our uncle's failure that left our name in this mess. Father becomes enraged if ye so much as suggest it, though.”
Murdoch stared at the image for a moment before tearing his eyes away and looking back at Ian. "He was his brother. Perhaps the bond there is stronger than any defeat or even death can separate."
Ian raised a dark blond eyebrow, clearly incredulous. "Aye? Is that how ye feel about me, Murdoch, even after all these years?"
Images of Arran quickly fled from Murdoch's mind. He caught himself quickly, scolding himself for the sentimentality, and shrugged. "I would hope so. I came all this way tae reunite with me family, did I nae?"
"Hmm." Ian turned away and continued walking, Murdoch quickly following. "Is that why?"
They walked in silence for some time until they reached a doorway through which there was an old, dusty spiral staircase. They made their way up together until they reached another corridor, and as they walked along that one, they'd clearly entered a more lived-in part of the castle. Murdoch kept his eyes moving, taking in as much as he could, memorizing every step.
"Do ye remember anythin' about this place?" Ian asked suddenly. "That room over there—it was Isla's nursemaid's room. We used tae find ye here all the time, beggin' her tae let ye hear the stories as well when ye were supposed tae be studyin' yer letters."
Murdoch shook his head. "I dinnae remember."
He didn't have to pretend at the sigh that accompanied the word. It saddened him deeply that there were so many parts of his past still missing from the picture, like a patchwork quilt that had come unraveled and left giant gaps in its wake.
"I barely remember anythin' from before I was taken."
"I remember." Ian stopped and stared at him again, something dark churning in his eyes. "I remember that night, when Mother came tae me room, holding yer arm in one hand and a basket with the bairn in the other. She told me tae gather me things and come with her, but I was already as tall as she was and stronger. When I refused, there was nothin' she could do about it. But I wonder, sometimes, why she never tried harder tae convince me that night and left with only the two of ye. Perhaps she never cared if I was there or nae."
The words reverberated through the hallway, and Murdoch had a sudden flash of memory. He recalled his mother crying and begging, pleading for Ian to come along, and Ian stubbornly refusing and even threatening to call the guards. Murdoch remembered Ian trying to grab his arm and pull him back, shouting at their mother that Murdoch was his brother and she couldn't take him away. He remembered baby Isla starting to wail and the fear on their mother's face as she realized that, if she didn't leave now, she would never escape alive.
