Ariana pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the aching sob growing in her throat.
Tears welled in Liv’s eyes until they passed the brim of her lashes and slid in silent agony down her cheeks. “Ariana.” Her whisper cracked with her pain.
Liv turned her head on her pillow and met Ariana’s gaze. “Please.” The horror of her realization drained the little bit of color from Liv’s already pale face and her brows pressed hard together. She shook her head, denying the painful reality of it all.
Yet seeking confirmation from Ariana.
“Oh Liv,” Ariana breathed. It was all she could manage around the squeezing pressure in her throat.
But Liv didn’t need more.
Her face crumpled and a low keening came from that place in the chest where one’s heart breaks.
Tears burned in Ariana’s eyes and her knees could no longer support her own weight. She fell upon them to the hard floor beside the bed and gathered Liv in her arms.
Liv did not fight the touch, whether through weakness or overwhelming sorrow, and let herself sob like a child against Ariana’s chest.
Percy appeared in the doorway with a mug in hand, her comely face a mask of sympathy.
“I heard her.” Her voice caught and her eyes were brilliant with open anguish.
Percy’s broken composure snagged at a deep part of Ariana and soon her own tears were almost impossible to keep at bay. They built in her throat like a swelling river against a dam until her entire neck ached from the effort.
Still Ariana fought them.
She had to be strong.
Percy helped Liv sit to receive the tonic, and the keening started once more, a dagger’s edge scraping at Ariana’s heart. The tears on Ariana’s clothing sat heavy and cold against her skin like a shroud sucked tight to her breast.
Percy tried to give Liv the contents of a mug, but Liv turned her head to the side.
Ariana should help, she knew. But her limbs were immobile, her body paralyzed by the pressure in her chest, in her head, in her heart.
Percy was there now. She could be the strong one. Because the only thing Ariana felt was helpless. She hadn’t been there when Liv’s child died, and there was nothing she could do to make any of it better now.
Liv’s cries rose and raked across a rawness within Ariana. It made her want to curl onto the floor and cover her ears.
If she could not hear, then she would not feel.
If she could not feel, then she could not break.
Already cracks were forming, and she trembled with the need to flee, to give into the swell of tears smearing the world around her.
Percy spoke to Liv, coaxing her to drink.
Perhaps it was those soothing tones which helped Ariana stay long enough to see Liv fade into sleep once more. But once her eyes were closed, once Percy gave a confirming nod, Ariana’s limbs leaped to life and carried her from the room.
She ran blindly down the stairs and halls, stone and light all smearing into a gray blur of tears. Her body burned with energy now, carrying her fast and frantic away from all the suffering.
She burst through the doors of the castle and the brilliant light of day stabbed at her poor, throbbing head. Still, she did not stop, not until she found a quiet area in the rear of the castle grounds.
Where no one would see her.
Where no one would hear her.
A sob choked from her, the rupture of the swollen ache of her throat loosing the flood of tears she’d dammed for too long.
She buried her face in the heat of her palms and sobbed. Never had she cried so. Not when she’d learned of her destitute state, nor when her parents had died, nor when her brother had died.
Yet now, as a woman who had attained power, at the peak of her own strength, so too with it came the pain of her weakest moment.
At least there was no one nearby to bear witness.
• • •
Connor should have backed away from the window. Or so he told himself several times. His feet refused to obey the order his mind issued.
Ariana’s red gown stood out like a berry among the brush near the rear of the castle where the solar overlooked. Her rounded back faced him and her head bowed forward, no doubt beneath the same burden weighing upon them all.
Thanks be to God Liv had survived, though the loss of her child had disturbed the household.
Well, those who knew.
A note sat on the desk behind him, one penned in Delilah’s carefully curling hand. Connor and Ariana might have found only a marriage contract with no worth to them, but Delilah and Sylvi had uncovered something potentially treasonous.
Their note, carried in the hands of an illiterate adolescent, indicated they would not return until they had all the necessary information.
Doubtless Sylvi had made the decision.
Delilah, of course, would have most likely wanted to pack several more gowns and perfumes before their departure.
He would have smirked in amusement were it not for the shapely red back still turned toward him.
A gentle knock sounded on his door and he turned from the window with the speed of the guilty before bidding his visitor enter.
The door cracked open in so quiet a manner he knew it was Percy before his eyes could confirm it.
She wore a clean blue dress and her hair fell down her back in a long, blonde braid. Smudges of darkness showed under her eyes, where exhaustion bruised her delicate flesh. She carried a linen-covered trencher.
Connor strode toward her and took the tray.
“You haven’t eaten since your return,” Percy said.
“And ye havena slept,” he countered.
Percy gave a gentle, acknowledging smile. “I will.”
Connor set the surprisingly heavy trencher on the table. The briny scent of roasted pork mingled with the sweet, homey aroma of oatcakes. His mouth watered, but he swallowed and turned away from the food.
“How is Liv?” he asked.
Percy folded her hands in front of her waist. “She will recover, though it may take some time. Her heart is broken from what she’s lost.” She pursed her lips before speaking. “I believe Ariana’s may be as well.”
It was all Connor could do to keep from turning toward the window and peering through the brambles, to where Ariana stood in the desolation of her grief.
“We are all quite saddened by what happened, of course,” Percy continued. “But it is in my heart to believe Ariana has never before cared for someone, not to the extent she cares for Liv.”
The conversation he’d had with Ariana several nights prior rose to the forefront of his mind, how she said she’d never known her own parents well enough to feel their loss.
And, in the light of having witnessed her sorrow, he didn’t know which was worse—to experience the pain of loss, or to never have loved enough to know it.
Percy wavered on her feet, but steadied herself before Connor could reach out to her. Still, he settled his hand on her shoulder, helping to support her willowy frame.
“Ariana will be fine, lass,” he said. “As will Liv. Ye need to get rest or ye willna be of help to anyone.”
“I have to ready things for tonight first. It’s—”
“I’ll no’ be going,” Connor lied in a firm tone, trying to avoid the way his gut twisted. Lying to a woman as gentle and kind as Percy was as abysmal as kicking a puppy, and he suddenly felt like a monster. But if she knew…
“Ariana needs her rest,” Connor said. “And so do ye.” When she said nothing, he met her eyes once more and raised his brows. “Aye?”
She gave a resigned nod.
“Go on then.” He pressed a hand to her back. “Though I do appreciate ye feeding me.”
Percy tossed him a smile and left as he’d instructed.
But he didn’t make his way to the food. He returned to the window and peered out.
Ariana was gone.
The weight of her pain pulled at his heart like a stone.
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He’d been uneasy with bringing her on another mission and risking her distracting him, but not at this price.
At least he did not feel guilty for leaving Ariana, not when it was obvious she needed time to recover from the horror she’d witnessed.
Finally he settled himself into the great chair behind his desk. All the aches and stiffness of having been on his feet too long eased from him like a sigh and a veil of exhaustion whispered at his consciousness.
He would sleep after his meal, but he knew it would not be for long. Not with the discomfort of the day’s events settling so heavy upon his mind, his soul.
Soon he would ride out to the northernmost village to glean what he could about MacAlister’s whereabouts.
This time, though, without Ariana.
• • •
All the tears had dried and been scrubbed away from Ariana’s face, and all the exhaustion had been purged from her mind by a deep sleep of nothingness. But when she finally woke, she realized the ache in her heart had not abated, and she sought out Connor after ensuring Liv still slept comfortably across the room.
The crumbling halls of Kindrochit Castle were unusually quiet.
But it was not others she sought. It was Connor.
He was not in the solar, nor in the kitchen.
Dusk had faded the brilliance of day to a shaded glow of blue and orange. She had not slept long enough to miss the time of their departure.
Urgency prickled along Ariana’s spine.
Surely he had not left without her.
She fought down the swell of panic rising in her chest and made her way to the stable. The long grass hissed against her feet in protest of her quickened pace. She did not slow, not until she’d reached the stable and saw the empty stall where Connor’s horse had once resided.
He had left without her.
The hope for distraction, the anticipation to leave and for one moment not think of the hurt within the walls of Kindrochit all crumpled in her chest until she was left hollow.
She leaned her back against the wall near the horse she’d ridden the previous evening. The beast looked at her with dark, gentle eyes and nudged her arm.
“It would appear we’ve been left behind.” Though she spoke softly, her voice seemed too loud in the quiet of the stable.
She reached up and absently stroked the animal’s large, velvety nose. If anything, Ariana wished she could at least ride—even just for a bit. To escape for only a moment.
The horse huffed out a soft breath of warm air.
No doubt Connor would be displeased if she did so.
Of course, if she anticipated causing him displeasure, then she might as well do it to the fullest.
Her pulse fired in her veins and charged her with a renewed energy for the first time that day.
She knew how to saddle a horse and how to take care of herself. She was no longer a helpless woman, and had wasted far too many years fearing the disappointment of others.
A moment of hesitation held her back. Kindrochit was a relatively remote castle. No doubt it was why they trained and lived there—away from prying eyes. But it also made finding neighboring towns more difficult.
Outside, the sky was streaked with the cooling hues of sunset and Ariana steeled herself.
She could do this. She was capable.
Connor may have left her behind, but she would still go on a mission this night.
Alone.
Chapter 13
Venturing out alone was not as unsettling as Ariana might have initially thought.
And finding a town nearby had been easier than anticipated. For that she was grateful. While she didn’t have a stable like the one they’d used outside Auchendryne, the surrounding woods provided ample trees where she could discreetly tie her horse. After all, no one would believe a wench owned her own horse.
The heavy, smoky scent of burning peat hung in the air. The houses of this town were more spread apart than the ones in Auchendryne, fewer in number and smaller in size, but all well cared for.
She scanned the narrow dirt road running between the neat row of buildings.
No sign of Connor.
Then again, it was hard to find a man who made it a point never to be seen.
Still, the tension in her shoulders ebbed. He did not appear to be in the same town as she. He couldn’t catch her sneaking out alone.
What she was doing was risky. She had the round vial remaining in her pocket from the night before, but not the narrow one which had made Cuthbert overly drunk, nor the eye tincture. Not that she’d ever use it again. The mere memory of her difficult vision left a strain in her temples.
A tall man with wild blond hair and braids caught her attention. He moved in powerful strides, with all the confident strength of a warrior.
A gait she knew well enough to recognize.
Murdoch.
Instinct made her flinch from view, but curiosity lured her out once more.
He had not been back to the keep for several days and no doubt was performing his own task for Connor.
Rather than guess which tavern to place her luck, Ariana waited for him to duck into a doorway, then followed closely behind. Her eyes adjusted to the light with far more ease without the eye tincture.
Several guests milled about the room or sat at the large, wooden tables. It was not nearly as populated as the Lamb’s Tail Inn, but it did not make breathing any easier.
Instead of the stench of too many unwashed bodies in a small space, the thick, greasy odor of the sputtering tallow candles clogged her throat.
“Would you get me something to drink?” The highborn lilt of feminine English nobility sounded just behind Ariana.
She turned to find a woman with long red hair watching her with carefully tethered patience. The woman’s yellow silk gown stood out in the tavern like a rose in a patch of scraggy weeds.
She pressed a gold coin into Ariana’s palm. “Wine if you have it.”
The precious metal was warm against Ariana’s skin, as if it had been held for some time before being relinquished.
A blonde wench stopped in front of them and cocked a hand on her rounded hip. “She in’t one of us. She don’ work here.”
Ariana’s heartbeat came a little faster.
She hadn’t anticipated one of the women would have taken the time to disprove her. In truth, Ariana had expected this town to be as busy as the previous one, where she could have easily blended.
It was a foolish mistake she would note and ensure she did not make again.
Before she could stagger out a pathetic lie, the noblewoman spoke. “If I’d wanted something from you or your women, I would have asked. I want her.”
The wench did not attempt to shield her irritation. She rolled her eyes heavenward with such exaggeration, the whites of her eyes were easily apparent. With a slight huff, she turned toward a table of men and altered her rigid steps to more of a saunter.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ariana offered with a smile.
After several inquiries, Ariana procured a hearty pour of wine for the woman who had taken a seat at a table by herself. Murdoch was at the table beside hers, engaged in conversation with a dark-haired, older man.
Ariana stared hard at Murdoch in an attempt to get him to see her before she approached the noblewoman. To no avail. He’d glanced at Ariana once, but without recognition. Doubtless due to her blonde wig.
It was quite apparent she would not be able to coordinate anything with him as a result.
Her efforts were rewarded with the noblewoman’s smile, a pretty expression displaying a mouthful of straight, white teeth.
She took the wine and indicated the bench across from her. “Please keep me company.”
Ariana hesitated. It was one thing for a wench to join a table of men. But a lone noblewoman?
“My maid died on our journey here,” she said with a sad smile. “I’m in sore need of a reprieve from the onslaught of male companionship.”
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There was something pleading in her pale blue eyes, something lonely.
Ariana understood loneliness all too well, all the stark times in London after her brother had died when the flow of friends and visitors had ceased, and she found herself on the hard bench despite what dictated propriety for a serving wench.
“I’m Isabel,” the woman said. She lifted the cup to her lips and muttered, “MacAlister.”
The name MacAlister snagged in Ariana’s consciousness.
But there were many men with the last name of MacAlister. Suddenly she was glad she had taken Isabel’s offer to sit. Perhaps she knew who Angus might be.
Isabel had set her glass on the table and was staring plaintively at Ariana. “I assume you have a name as well?” The smile hovering on her lips was not malicious despite her teasing tone.
“I’m Bess, my lady.” Ariana spoke with a Scots-laced accent, but while she was confident in her ability to pull it off, her pulse pounded with the lie.
She’d been instructed on how to deal with men in taverns, men who were distracted by too much bosom or flirtation, but not women of high birth.
Isabel raised a brow. “Just Bess?”
Ariana wanted to collapse in on herself until she was small enough to disappear. “Bess Mackay, my lady.” She’d once heard the name in court and knew it to be a Scottish surname.
Both Isabel’s brows raised this time. “You’re a long way from your clan, Bess.”
“My husband’s clan, my lady,” Ariana amended. “But he’s long since passed.”
“You must have been extraordinarily young when you wed. Doesn’t surprise me. Men often take what they want.” Isabel’s gaze wandered toward the dark-haired man speaking with Murdoch. “I find myself envious of you, Bess.”
Her candid reply startled Ariana. No lady ever spoke so openly to a servant, especially when others were within earshot.
“Have ye been married long, my lady?” she asked.
“A fortnight, but it’s been enough.” Isabel’s stare hardened, then she ripped her gaze from the dark-haired man and settled once more on Ariana. “Why do you do this job?”
Highland Spy Page 10