The constable’s death had been a hard blow for Murdoch, and they’d never discussed it as a result. Just as well. Connor hadn’t wanted to bring up his own father’s demise either.
Connor drew in a breath of musty air and pushed the door so it eased open despite its long, protesting groan. He entered the room and stopped.
His heart slid like ice into the recesses of his belly.
What was once orderly was now flung about the room in a haphazard display of chaos. Of struggle.
One that led to great violence and the dark patches still staining the aged floor.
Blood.
Chapter 17
Somehow the rain was as cold as the persistent snow had been two months before.
Ariana pulled the plaid tighter around her shoulders and tried to press against her horse in an effort to share warmth. The beast turned his head back and gave a little grumble, but did not pull away.
Rain sluiced from the thick bands of wood overhead and splashed over them in several great spouts of water. Perhaps standing under the structure was actually worse than being in the rain itself.
Ariana huffed at the white knuckles of her fingers where they rested in balled fists under her chin. The warmth of her breath whisked over her skin for barely a moment before being replaced with cold wetness once more.
She stared at the wall Connor had disappeared over. He’d climbed it with such grace, he’d made it appear easy—though she was sure it was not.
A loud screech wrenched her attention back to the portcullis in front of her, which gave way to a squeal of aged metal against aged metal, and slowly the great bars began to lift.
The horse shuddered beside her and flicked his ears back.
Without waiting for Connor to appear, Ariana urged the horses toward the great arched entryway of the castle. Underneath, it was as thick as three men were tall, and finally shielded them from the rain.
Her sigh of relief slipped out in a white curl of frozen air.
The loud screech sounded again and the portcullis closed with a heavy bang, locking them within the confines of the castle.
Connor appeared then, his shoulders hunched against the onslaught of the storm. He took the reins of both horses from her without speaking and strode into the open courtyard.
A large part of Ariana did not wish to follow. True, she was cold and so hopelessly wet, a few more drops would hardly matter. But finally being out of the driving rain only to have to plunge into it once more was more than she could bear.
She didn’t want the rain to plaster her hair against her face and trickle into the scant warmth of her bodice like cruel fingers of ice.
She didn’t want to expose herself to the merciless wind sweeping through her skin to leave her very bones raw with chill.
And she didn’t want to enter the darkness of the massive castle and feel its clammy press of stories she did not want to hear told.
But Connor walked into the assault of all these things with his steady, sure pace, and she would rather die than appear a coward.
She followed behind him with quick steps.
Fortunately the walk was not long, and soon they were within the stable. The stalls were empty and the entire building was dark. The hollow cold suggested neither man nor beast had been within its confines for some time.
A shiver ran down her back, though this time it had little to do with the wind or rain.
They worked in silence, settling their horses in for the night. Queries about the castle and why it was empty were on the tip of Ariana’s tongue, but the hard mask of Connor’s face kept her silent.
There had been a change in him since the night they’d sparred. Since she told him no.
She did not regret it. In fact, she did not even think her refusing him was what had angered him.
A great part of him was similar to her. If she was correct in her assumption, she knew him to be angry with himself.
And she would not fault herself for his personal castigation.
They finished securing the horses and once more had to plunge into the rain. The sky had darkened to a low purplish hue that cast the castle into shadow.
Despite the dreariness of the place, Ariana found herself wishing to be behind the solid walls, protected from the cold and the wet. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth against the cold and every part of her was so stiff, she was sure she’d never be able to unfold her fingers from their balled fists.
She wanted dry clothes and a reprieve from the angry, lashing wind.
They passed several buildings without pause. Some doors remained closed. Others remained open in a manner that was becoming almost welcome. Connor led her to the massive towering structure she’d noticed to the left when they’d entered the courtyard.
Another drawbridge stood before them, open. They rushed across it and stopped at a door. Connor tried the latch, but it held against his attempt with a solid clunk.
Ariana’s hope, her roaring desperation to be inside, withered in her chest.
Connor pulled a key from his pocket, and it was then she noticed he wore a gold ring on his finger. One she had not seen before. He must have only recently put it on, but where had it come from?
He slipped the large iron key into the door and twisted. It gave way with a metallic click.
He pushed the door open, and Ariana followed him into a large room. Shadows darkened the corners, leaving the vast chamber gloomy. But it was dry.
Their footsteps, light though they were, echoed in an eerie reverberation which seemed to come from all sides.
“Connor.” Her voice repeated back at her from the high stone walls. “Where are we?”
He closed the door, but even though he’d done so quietly, the sound was almost explosive and afterward left the room drenched in the same reverent silence as a tomb. Their breath whooshing in and out was the only sound remaining.
“Whose castle is this?” She spoke more softly this time, disconcerted by the echo, by all the open emptiness.
“It belongs to King James.” There was something bitter in his voice.
He turned to look at her for the first time since their arrival. His features were drawn tight with the kind of lined concentration he exhibited before fighting.
“It belongs to King James,” he repeated. “But this castle is mine.”
• • •
Coming to Urquhart had been a mistake.
Connor hadn’t realized how much would be dredged up.
Ariana waited for him to say more, her stare level from beneath the makeshift hood of her plaid. He knew she waited and yet he could not bring himself to speak.
His throat had gone tight with a mix of emotions. There was anger, aye, blinding and hot, at all he’d lost. There was the burn of injustice that the king should hold Connor’s inheritance over his head to keep him biddable.
And there was sorrow.
Sorrow for the lives lost. Not only his father’s, but all of theirs.
“I don’t understand,” Ariana said softly. Her eyes searched his for answers he was not yet ready to give.
He swallowed. “I will explain more later.”
Perhaps.
For now, he led her up the narrow spiral stairs of Grant Tower, climbing up, up, up to the fifth floor where the rooms were smaller and would be more easily warmed.
The floors there were blessedly free of stains, as he had hoped. Perhaps he might have the courage to explore the rooms below later. As it was, he would not have been able to sleep in a room scarred with death.
Better still, several logs lay piled beside the hearth, dry from three long years of being closed off from the world.
A large cabinet stood to the opposite side of the wall as the hearth—too cumbersome to carry down the stairs, too large and thick to easily chop, too plain to be of any worth.
Doubtless most other pieces of furniture had not been afforded the same reprieve.
“Get into yer dry clothes.” He looked at the small water
-proofed sack in her hands and nodded toward another room. “I’ll get the fire lit.”
Ariana left with her face still swaddled in the plaid and the rest of her body little more than a huddled mass beneath.
The fire was easily lit with such dry tinder and blazed with a brilliant red-orange glow. Its heat bathed his skin and the light chased shadows from the darkness of his thoughts.
A strangled cry came from the next room.
Connor’s heart caught and he slid his sword from its scabbard on instinct. Not wasting time to call out, he ran into the adjoining room where he found Ariana’s back hunched toward him.
A quick scan of the empty room revealed nothing, save the orange flicker of the fire’s light reflecting from the room he’d just left.
His body nearly shook with the release of an explosion of energy. He’d been ready to fight.
Ready to kill.
“What is it?” he demanded in a low growl. His muscles strained as he rose from his crouched stance.
“It’s nothing.” Ariana’s voice was tight.
His body knotted with incredulous irritation. “Nothing?”
Ariana’s breath drew in slowly and then released in a long, sighing exhale.
“I’m stuck. I’m stuck and I’m frustrated because I’m so…” She spun around. “Because I’m so damn cold and wet that my fingers won’t work properly.”
The curse left her lips with the vehemence of any warrior he’d ever met, and hearing it spew from her beautiful mouth almost made him laugh.
Her brow crinkled and her lips parted. “Are you laughing at me?” she asked with a note of indignation.
Though anger flashed in her eyes, she did look a sight with her slender fingers gnarled in a twist of bodice cords.
He welcomed the change of his thoughts, altogether too eager to cast aside the slew of emotions Urquhart Castle had dredged up. He let a smile ease the tension of his face.
“I’ve no’ ever heard ye curse.”
Ariana lifted her head, still obviously incensed. “I haven’t actually done it before now.”
“And ye look a wee bit like an old woman with yer plaid wrapped around yer head like a kerchief.” He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but he couldn’t help himself.
Her mouth fell open and she propped her hands on her hips. He laughed then, for truly she did look like an old woman and it only fueled his mirth.
“Come, lass, get yerself by the fire and I’ll help ye.” He put his hand between her shoulder blades and led her from the room. The fabric of her clothing was soaked through, much as his was.
It would be good to get out of wet clothes and into the dry ones within their bags. Percy, God bless her, had devised a special mixture of wax which she rubbed upon their traveling bags and kept the contents dry despite the torrential rains they’d encountered.
Connor didn’t know where the hell she got her ideas, but he was glad she did.
Ariana stood near the fire, the plaid from her head noticeably absent. Her hair fell around her face in lank, black locks. She faced the fire with her eyes closed and her generous mouth curled at the corners in a look of pure euphoria.
He had the sudden urge to cup her face in his hands and sample the sweet warmth of her lips.
It was tempting to offer his assistance with her bodice ties. He remembered how easily the cords had given under his hands several nights before, and how silky and full her breasts had been in his hands.
The memory of her soft cry of pleasure baited his thoughts and made his cock tense.
He could lose himself in her and forget his soul-deep hurt.
Instead, he took a step back, putting even more distance between them. “Yer hands should be thawed enough now to untie yer laces, aye?”
Her eyes opened and found his, her brows lifted. “Depends. How quickly do an old woman’s fingers thaw?”
She rubbed her hands together and laughed.
He’d missed that sound, he realized, the soft tinkling of it, the sweetness of it.
He’d done neither one of them any favors by keeping his silence these last two days.
“Get into yer dry clothes, then we’ll eat and get some sleep.” He turned away.
“Why here?” she asked.
Something wet slapped to the floor, followed minutes later by another splat of sodden fabric on wood.
“What do ye mean, why here?” He counted the items in his head.
The woolen plaid.
The jacket.
The bodice and skirts.
The petticoats.
The sark.
She stood behind him, fully nude.
An image rose forefront in his mind. Ariana naked with firelight dancing over her body and the delicate sheen of rainwater.
He could lick the droplets of moisture from her smooth skin. Cold silk ready for him to warm.
He breathed deep and jerked his léine over his head, intentionally forceful to throw his thoughts from anything but her beautifully naked body.
“Why are we staying here?” Her voice was muffled by something against her face. Her sark, perhaps.
The rustle of dry fabric sounded this time and he knew she was pulling her clothing on.
And waiting for an answer to his question.
“The castle is near Loch Manor, where MacAlister will be staying,” he replied. “I assumed staying here would keep us from being recognized, but put us nearby.”
His own sodden kilt dripped to the floor like a puddle of wasted wool. He knew it would dry well enough, but for now it was in sorry condition.
The clothing in his bag was gloriously dry and he quickly pulled it on lest Ariana turn to find him still naked.
Not that he’d mind.
He gritted his teeth against the thought. This was not what the trip was for. This was not why they were at Urquhart.
The last reminder was a splash of vinegar against a fresh wound.
No, he was not here to seduce Ariana. He would never do anything of the like regardless of where they were. But he was allowing her to remove his mind from the pressing ache of pain.
Surely a distraction was not so terrible a thing.
Connor turned and they met each other’s gaze across the small room, which suddenly seemed much smaller. Her sark and gown were rumpled from being packed so tightly into the bag, and her hair hung in thick wet ropes down her back.
Somehow it all only made her appear even more beautiful, more real, her face sweeter and lovelier against the rumpled mess.
They’d been naked in the same room together only moments before, and the knowledge of that hummed in the air between them.
It was in the atmosphere of shared intimacy when they ate their dinner of hard cheese, made all the harder by the cold, and bannocks washed down with some ale.
The entire time, Connor was extremely aware of her proximity—the grace of her fingers when they held the skin of ale, the small, delicate bites she took from her oatcake, the decadent flicker of firelight playing upon her smooth skin.
He’d felt her gaze on him as well and let it stroke his consciousness with gluttonous appreciation.
“Where will we sleep?” Ariana asked, after the last of the food was gone.
“On the floor on a blanket,” he answered.
She surveyed the room. “Only one is dry.”
Indeed, only one was dry. He’d already considered as much. They would have no choice but to sleep next to one another.
He spread his plaid on the floor and offered a wink. “I promise to behave myself.”
She settled onto the floor beside him and lay down with her back against his chest. “I’ll hold you to that, Connor Grant.”
He pulled the blanket around both of them and immediately the warmth melted them against one another. They lay together like lovers after their passion had been spent, limbs caught around the other’s, seeking closeness and heat.
She was perfect in his arms, as she’d been on the forest floor the first
night of their journey. Her nearness was a balm to his senses and he reveled in the moment.
He let his mind empty of weighing thoughts, of MacAlister and his impending assassination, of Urquhart and the massacre, of the knowledge that the only way it could have fallen was through treachery.
All of it he let fade from his mind and instead focused on Ariana, realizing that, were it not for her, he could never have faced the nightmare of returning to Urquhart.
He enjoyed the moment of respite for what it was, for the following day he would have another face to haunt his nights.
That of Angus MacAlister.
Chapter 18
The scent of savory meat wafted into Ariana’s dreams. A juicy bit with the skin roasted golden brown by the lick of open flames.
Her mouth watered, but swallowing left her empty stomach angry, and a snarl rumbled from its depths.
She turned in her sleep. Her bed was hard. Too hard.
It dug into her hip bone and left her back aching.
She woke and breathed deeply. The delicious aroma was no dream.
She opened her eyes and found the fire burning low and bright in the hearth with a small, skinned animal skewered over it.
Though she couldn’t tell what it was exactly, she realized she did not entirely care.
Sunlight bathed the room in a brilliant glow, and she immediately knew she’d been asleep late into the morning.
She looked toward the window to confirm the hour and found Connor with a shoulder propped against the frame of stonework, staring out at something she could not see.
His gaze was distant, and she knew him well enough to know he’d become lost in his own thoughts. Though, as usual, his face revealed nothing.
Ariana rose from the floor to join him. Her body ached with the effort. Despite her many hours training and all the time spent on the road and on horseback, nothing could have prepared her for the repercussions of sleeping on a hard floor.
Connor glanced at her as she approached. A sliver of sunlight played over his face and made the amber and green flecks in his eyes seem to glow.
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