Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  She inched forward and he threw his fist toward her, though with the restrained strength he used in practice.

  Again, she stepped into an offensive position, so his fist flew past her ear and she had access to everything his attack had left exposed.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled while lowering her body to the ground. He flipped over her and landed on soft knees with enough surety to pop up once more.

  Ariana was right. She was tougher than she looked.

  And he was damn glad for it.

  Dusk tinged the sky a somber blue, and he knew they didn’t have much time before a cloak of darkness fell over them.

  Again Ariana inched closer to him, encouraging his attack. This time he knew better.

  He moved to charge toward her, but when she attempted her own maneuver, he was ready.

  He caught her narrow waist with his right hand and nudged her legs from behind so her knees bent and buckled. They both fell to the ground.

  She went down like a cat shoved into a barrel of water, all elbows and fists and legs shooting out in blind determination to hit a target.

  Unsuccessfully.

  The weight of her skirts kept her kicks from being as effective and bared too many inches of tempting flesh.

  Shapely and smooth and creamy.

  He locked his body over hers to tame her struggle and win once and for all.

  Memories from the night before fogged his mind. The huskiness of her moan, how incredibly wet she’d been.

  Her hips bucked upward and she forcefully shoved him off.

  She sat down hard atop him in a straddle, and her skirts lay over his legs like a thick blanket, as though her weight were substantial enough to hold him down. Her chest heaved with the labor of her breath and her cheeks were red in the fading light.

  “I think I won.” There was a slyness to her tone the warrior in him could not abide.

  He grabbed her wrists and rolled them both over once more, so that he was the victor.

  She looked up at him, eyes twinkling with excitement, hair spilling from its constraints.

  His large hands trapped her small ones. She was at his mercy.

  How he wanted to use that to his advantage—one he knew she would enjoy based on the previous night’s engagement. He could trail his mouth against her neck, her bosom, even lower to where she’d been so damn wet.

  The very thought almost made him groan. To taste her.

  To enjoy all of her and slake the lust burning through him once and for all.

  Chapter 16

  Ariana wanted nothing more than to give in to the lure of hot temptation in Connor’s stare.

  She was locked under him, beneath the grip of hands she knew would soften at the sound of a single word.

  But she did not wish to utter it.

  She wanted instead to feel the heat of his lips press to hers, the scorch of his searching tongue.

  His body ached for her as well, as evidenced by the same insistent hardness now pressing against her hip that had been present the night before.

  His hands tightened and his eyes searched hers, as if seeking permission.

  It was so enticing, so beautifully, tangibly enticing, to submit, and fall into the passion together. Where overloud thoughts were quelled by pleasure, unmarred by the reality of consequence.

  He sank lower upon her, his face softening with intent.

  To give in, to give in, to give in.

  Oh God, to give in.

  But she’d given him her word.

  “Connor.” She fixed a stern expression on her face. “No.”

  The word dragged from the pit of her heart and leeched away some of the pain of having to reject him.

  He stopped and cleared his throat—a loud, grating sound in the otherwise silent forest.

  He got to his feet and thrust his hand out to her. “Forgive me.”

  She accepted his offer and found his naked palm hot against her fingertips. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve won.”

  Though she offered him a bright smile, the tension drawn across his face did not ease. Perhaps he could see through her facade to the darkness of her own disappointment at having to deny herself of what she so deeply longed for.

  But had he not stopped at her word, he would not be the Connor she loved, would he?

  She stilled at that thought.

  The Connor she loved.

  Did she truly love him?

  The air she breathed struggled to reach her lungs, like she’d been running too hard for too long.

  Connor handed her several twigs. “Start the fire while I get more wood.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. The fading light played in his hazel eyes, turning the colors to an array of green and brown and gold with flecks of black.

  Connor’s gaze turned thoughtful. “I’m sorry.”

  She blinked and shook her head.

  He cleared his throat again and his brow furrowed. “I shouldna have taken advantage of having won earlier.”

  “You didn’t,” she answered, and turned before he could say anything else. She bent over her task, eager for something to distract her from the ache her realization had placed in her heart.

  The air between them was no less strained with awkwardness once the fire was lit than it had been when he first handed her the kindling. They ate in silence, neither looking at the other, before finally settling in to sleep on the hard, cold ground with the blazing fire between them.

  Though Ariana had looked forward to the blanket of slumber and the momentary reprieve from the discomfort of her current situation, sleep did not come.

  She’d slept in many a forest in her travels to Kindrochit, and on even colder ground, but she’d had the heat and comfort of Liv beside her to curl against. She missed her friend now and tried to tamp down the swell of pain in her heart at the thought of Liv lying so weakly in her bed back at the castle.

  Something rustled out in the woods beyond.

  Leaves, most likely.

  Or squirrels.

  But possibly wolves.

  Yes, wolves would make such a sound while brushing through the foliage.

  In her mind’s eye she saw yellow, ravenous eyes glinting in the darkness, the beast salivating for the meat of her body, the heat of her blood.

  She sunk lower into her makeshift bed and pulled the rough fabric over her scrunched-shut eyes. It offered little solace and only pushed her thoughts down deeper, more macabre paths.

  Her hand curled around the cold comfort of her dagger.

  Wind pushed against her, ruthless and wild. It bit through her simple blanket and teased the marrow of her bones until she was left trembling.

  She pushed her face free and sucked in a freezing breath of air. The moon shone bright overhead, full faced and mocking her fear.

  Just over the fire between them, Connor slept. His deep breath came even, like the slow, steady beat of a calm heart.

  How she longed for his warm security. To feel the strength of his embrace.

  She tucked her legs against her stomach in an effort to ward off both the chill and her childish, foolish fears.

  To no avail.

  A snuffing sounded in the woods beyond, followed by a howl so close it cut through the thin shield of her bravery and pierced her fears beneath.

  She leapt to her feet and bunched her blanket up at her breast.

  The moonlight shone down on the empty clearing.

  Ariana’s heart still tapped out a rapid beat.

  Foolish.

  She was foolish.

  But she could not convince her heart of it.

  She glanced at Connor’s sleeping form once more and her decision was made before she allowed herself to accept.

  Her feet moved of their own volition.

  She laid her blanket beside his, careful not to wake him.

  “What is it?” His voice was gravelly with sleep.

  Ariana pursed her lips, unwilling to give voice to her ridiculous
unease.

  “It’s cold,” she said finally.

  When he did not protest her proximity, she smoothed her blanket and slid in beside him. His arm came around her, covering her with the wide expanse of the plaid he usually wore slung over his shoulder, securing them in the length of wool together.

  His heat and his strength hugged her in a glorious cocoon. Warmth seeped in through her chilled skin and heated everything frozen within her. A hum of contentment vibrated in her throat and sleep lured her closer.

  She had Connor at her side.

  And she had him in her heart.

  Of that, she was now certain.

  • • •

  It was far warmer than any other April Connor had experienced.

  The scent of dew roused his senses with its freshness, its delicate feminine quality.

  He cracked an eye open and found a dark lock of tousled hair tucked beneath his chin.

  Ariana.

  Though he should not, he breathed in once more, and plucked her fragile scent from that of the earthy forest floor beneath them.

  His arm lay draped over her slender body, and she held it to her breast like a lady clutching her sable in a windstorm. The night had left him impossibly hard, but it wasn’t just the normal press of a full bladder. The ache extended to the tip of his cock where it nudged against the sweet curve of Ariana’s rump.

  It was almost impossible not to strain his hips forward and press against her softness.

  He shifted in his makeshift bed, defying desire and forcing himself from her. A channel of cold morning air bled between their bodies, dispelling the heat once shared there.

  Ariana gave a soft whimper and rolled toward him. Her hands caught blindly at his chest, where she rested her head and sighed in contentment once more.

  Her scent was more pervasive now, teasing and tempting.

  And damn it, he was only a man. He could take no more.

  Connor eased himself from her touch and turned a deaf ear to her sleepy protest.

  The chilly morning air was damp with the promise of rain and made his body creak. Soft light from the slowly rising sun colored the forest a quiet blue-gray, the early hour finding everything still.

  He found his gaze fixed upon Ariana’s sleeping form. Her long dark hair trailed behind her like a proud banner caught in a defiant wind. The innocence of slumber tinged her cheeks and lips pink and left her alabaster skin porcelain white in comparison.

  She truly was beautiful.

  And altogether too alluring.

  He’d been close the night before. Too close.

  She had been the one to stop him.

  He was grateful to her for having done so, for surely he hadn’t had the strength to stop himself.

  She shifted in her sleep, and her hand reached toward where he’d slept. Her fingers fanned over nothing for a moment before falling still.

  He would not make the same mistake again. He would keep his lust in check.

  For that was surely all it was—lust.

  With the thought firmly lodged in his mind, he decided to let her sleep several moments more while he cleaned up in the nearby stream.

  That was when the rain started.

  The trickle from the skies was slow at first, little flecks of moisture dotting his skin. By the time he came back to camp, the hiss of a hard rain filled his ears.

  Ariana peered at him from beneath a plaid she had thrown over her head with only her face peeking out.

  Her sigh fogged in the icy air and she gave him a ready smile. “At least the company will be good.”

  But the company was not good those next two days, nor did the rain abate.

  Ariana had tried to offer conversation, but Connor had not been receptive and eventually her lighthearted attempts had faded into silence.

  Talking to her made him want to know too much about her, hearing her laugh only made him want to encourage her joy, being closer to her only made him want to be nearer still.

  His heart was heavy knowing he was the cause of the severe silence, but he was not strong enough to endure the temptation of Ariana Fitzroy.

  He knew she too was miserable. Her white-knuckled grip on the plaid under her chin only loosened when they stayed at the inn the second night. It was a modest place, clean, with good hot food and an owner who asked no questions.

  It had been easy to secure two separate rooms without issue.

  The final day of their journey was just as wet and, if possible, even colder.

  The scenery had given way to the gentle rolling swells of hills with a blue loch beyond.

  Home.

  He had not been back in over three years.

  His heart thundered in his chest at the prospect and he suddenly found himself wishing simultaneously that it was further away and closer all at once.

  Regardless of what he wished, Urquhart Castle came slowly into view, powerful and stoic, set in a protective bit of land jutting into Loch Ness.

  Visible windows on the castle’s face stood dark, like the gaping empty sockets of a skull. Urquhart Castle, a place which once held such life, such memories of love and happiness, now stood cold and dark and dead.

  “Is something wrong?” Ariana’s voice jarred him from his mental lamentation. She peered at him from beneath her plaid, her face little more than a circle of white against the dark, rain-soaked wool.

  He had not realized he’d stopped the horse.

  His throat had grown tight and he had to swallow before speaking. “We’ll stay here tonight. It’s near Loch Manor.”

  Thinking of Loch Manor made his thoughts stray toward his impending mission to kill MacAlister. And it made Connor think of Cora and the question which had been plaguing him. If MacAlister was already married, what the hell was he doing with Connor’s sister?

  Ariana’s gaze was drawn toward Urquhart Castle. “Are they expecting us?”

  The drawbridge, he noticed, was lowered, but the grid pattern of the portcullis was dark against the darkness beyond.

  At least someone had left the castle secure.

  “There isna anyone to expect us.” He urged his horse across the drawbridge. “The castle is empty.”

  The bridge was firm under the hearty thunk of their horses’ hooves, a relief considering the poor state of the moat. Debris dotted the crevice of earth and thick puddles of murky water churned with the driving rain.

  Doubtless nothing had been cared for in his absence.

  Connor stopped beneath the wood-beamed structure in the center of the bridge. It wasn’t much of a cover, but it would be better than nothing.

  He leapt from his horse. “I’ll need ye to stay here while I scale the wall.”

  Ariana slid from her steed and accepted the reins of his horse from him. The leather was heavy and swollen with rain. She turned an assessing gaze toward the wall. “I could do it if you show me how.”

  He pulled a grappling hook from his pack and slung the heavy coil of rope over his shoulder. “Perhaps a lesson when there’s no’ as much rain and we’re dry.”

  She gave a nod from the depths of her plaid and he made his way toward the castle.

  Ariana’s gaze went with him, heavy on his shoulders, but he paid her little mind. All he could think of was what lay before him.

  Urquhart Castle.

  His castle.

  And all the ghosts suddenly welling in his thoughts.

  Arrow slits dotted the face of the castle. Were the castle full, he would have several dozen arrows trained on him.

  Connor stopped at the entrance and swung the hook over the lower wall to his left. He climbed it in three quick kicks while holding the rope. He could have attempted to climb the main front of Urquhart, but that would have required more rope. The side curtain wall was considerably lower.

  Breaching the castle was no easy feat considering its heavy fortification. He crossed the grassy front and the thought swam in his head, around and around, the same as it had for years.

 
; Someone must have been helping from the inside.

  A traitor.

  Surely the Gordons could not have acted on their own.

  He stopped just under where the curtain wall dipped lower and pulled the coil of rope from his shoulder. It landed on the sodden ground with a wet whump.

  Though the rope was slippery and waterlogged, he held it snug in his fist, the way his father had shown him, and let it spin to gain momentum.

  The weight of the hook pulled it faster and faster through the air overhead. His father’s voice was deep and rich in Connor’s mind, as if they stood side by side.

  Steady, lad. Steady.

  Now!

  Connor let the hook fly from his fingers. It arced high into the air before landing with a clank somewhere over the crenellations.

  A solid yank on the hanging rope in front of him gave only a fraction of a moment before the spines of the grapple snagged on stone and caught.

  Hand over hand on the rope, he stepped up the wall of the castle. Rainwater slapped at his face and the muscles of his back were burning with effort by the time he reached the top.

  The courtyard stood below him, stark and open, and suddenly his heart was as vulnerable as the raw pink skin of a wound not yet healed.

  Rain drove against his face and ran down his chin, emulating the tears he had never allowed himself to shed.

  His father had stood in the courtyard that day, tall and proud, hands bound behind his back.

  Still he had not kneeled.

  Men surrounded him… Gordon men.

  Connor jerked his head from the courtyard.

  He could not think about what came next.

  Instead he jogged down the stairs toward the gatehouse, where the winding contraption to the portcullis was housed in the constable’s lodging. Ariana was waiting on him and he would not let ghosts keep her in the rain.

  The musty smell of disuse permeated the small living quarters of the former constable. A fine layer of dust left everything muted and clad in soft gray.

  Without the deluge assaulting his ears, the room was disconcertingly quiet, holding tight to all the secret horrors it had once witnessed.

  The way to open the portcullis was just up the stairs. Then he could leave.

  He took the stairs two at a time until the solid door came into view and the memory of the room beyond tugged at Connor. The various objects neatly arranged on the large wall-mounted cupboard, the pair of chairs often set before the fireplace where the constable was often found sitting with his only child, Murdoch.