Ariana rushed down the hall with as much haste as she dared and tried the handle of MacAlister’s door. It gave beneath her fingers and swung silently open.
Quietly, save the pounding of her heart, she slipped inside. The shutters were closed, but the rising sun outside still lit the interior of the room.
Ariana glanced toward the bed and everything in her went still.
There, in the bed, were two sleeping figures, Laird and Lady MacAlister. But that wasn’t what caused her heart to cease its erratic beat.
Wearing the clothes of the dead guard from the night before and leaning over the man, hands poised to strangle, was Connor.
Chapter 23
Connor had been caught.
He stared at Ariana across the room.
Her eyes darted from his outstretched hands to MacAlister’s sleeping form and back to him. A look of horror parted her lips.
His heart went heavy as lead and slid deep into the pit of his stomach.
Of all people to catch him, it had to be Ariana, the woman who had consumed his thoughts through the night and all morning.
And to think he’d come alone to keep her safe, to keep her from being involved. Now she was here, witnessing him in his true form. As a killer.
He wanted to call out to her and offer some form of explanation. But nothing could be said to make this right, and even if it could, now wouldn’t be the time.
Already he was surprised MacAlister hadn’t woken. Most would have suspected someone standing above them by now and woken on instinct alone. But he’d been there more than a few moments already, and still MacAlister’s face remained relaxed in slumber.
Ariana backed toward the cracked door. Her skirts swayed and bumped against an iron rack. It tipped backward and crashed to the hard floor with a reverberating clang.
Everything in Connor froze and his attention darted toward the bed.
Neither Laird MacAlister nor Lady MacAlister had stirred.
Their faces remained still.
Too still.
Too pale, now that he looked closer.
An icy tendril of realization spiraled through him.
They were both already dead.
The door clicked closed and a key turned in the lock.
Connor jerked his gaze toward the entryway, expecting to find Ariana gone and the door locked tight behind her.
But there she stood with her hand firmly planted on the door latch, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breath. There was a wild look in her eyes, like a trapped animal.
She wandered closer and looked to the figures on the bed, her gaze lingering on the sleeping form of Lady MacAlister.
The woman’s brilliant hair splayed across the white sheets in a violent splash of red. The covers had fallen low on her torso, revealing one full breast lying against her ribs.
“They’re dead.” Ariana said it as a statement, not a question. As if she already knew without having to ask.
“You killed them,” she amended. Angry tears shone bright in her eyes. “Lady MacAlister, too?”
Connor grabbed her arm, stilling her rage before it grew too loud. Already anyone could come to the locked door and force entry. At any moment, they could be caught.
He knew his luck couldn’t last forever, no matter the skills his father had taught him. Eventually, he would be caught and Cora would receive wealth he’d been saving to see her free and happy.
But not like this, not with Ariana.
He could easily face his death beneath the burden of his sins, but he could not subject her to such a fate.
Ariana jerked away and stared at him with horror.
“We need to go,” Connor said.
She did not move from where she stood an arm’s length away. Accusation burned bright in her eyes and seared him deeper than he thought possible.
“You killed them,” she ground out.
“I dinna kill them. They were dead when I arrived.”
“Then why were you standing over him like that?” She swallowed. “Like you planned to kill him.”
Connor didn’t say anything. Silence was better than confessing his original intentions, however apparent they so obviously were.
She didn’t belive him. He could read as much on her face.
Ariana’s hands balled into fists at her side. “Did you have to kill her, too?”
Footsteps sounded on stone nearby. Someone was coming.
A flicker of panic flared within Connor. He shot his hand out toward her and caught her arm. “I dinna kill either of them. We need to go.”
The shuffle of footsteps was coming closer.
“Get out of here.” His voice came out in a growl in his desperation. “Get out of here and pretend like ye never came in here to start with.”
He shoved her toward the door, but did not move to follow her. He intended to stay. He would face the repercussions of murder—ironically for people he hadn’t killed.
Ariana hesitated and he could see loyalty and fear warring on her lovely face—the shift of her gaze from him to where Lady MacAlister lay on the bed.
A door creaked open and it took Connor a moment to realize it was not the locked door at the front of the room, but a concealed partition in the wall shifting outward.
A hidden door.
They were both caught.
Ariana’s hesitation had cost her freedom.
Connor moved to stand in front of Ariana and faced the woman who pushed her way into the room.
A tall, graceful woman with brilliant red hair regarded him with a note of noble disinterest, leaving him to wonder who the hell she was and why she was in there.
• • •
They were killers and they would die.
Together.
Ariana had heard the footsteps approach, and while she appreciated Connor’s attempt to protect her, she would not allow him to take the burden alone.
After all, it was she who’d told him Lady MacAlister would eventually be there. It was she who had put both people at risk.
The realization churned sourly in her gut.
She hadn’t understood how much danger she’d placed them in. She hadn’t known Connor’s intent wasn’t to get information on MacAlister.
It was to kill.
The very action which had left Ariana horrified the day before when she’d taken the life of the guard, he was doing it now. Willingly.
What was worse, he continued to deny to her he’d even done it.
And she did not believe him.
Connor.
The man she trusted and let love her the previous night.
A murderer.
No longer could she consider herself a spy helping a good cause. She had been assisting a murderer. A man she had trusted to be good and just, a man she had thought she loved.
A man she had given her virginity to and whose quiet anger she had endured afterward. And now Lady MacAlister, a woman who had offered her kindness, was dead.
Her nose tingled with the burn of impending tears, but she willed them away.
She would not hide from the person who had found them. Though she had not killed the couple in the bed, she was as guilty as Connor, regardless of her ignorance.
“I don’t know you.” The voice addressing Connor was a woman’s. “Who is behind you?”
Ariana peered around Connor’s broad shoulder and her heart stopped beating for the briefest of moments.
Lady MacAlister, the woman she’d assumed to be lying dead beside her husband in the bed, stood before them in a regal blue gown with an icy countenance.
“Lady MacAlister,” she breathed.
The noblewoman arched an eyebrow. “Bess? Is that you?” She tilted her head. “I must say, brown hair suits you better than that garish blonde.” She waved a hand toward Connor. “Who is this?”
Ariana paused, uncertain what to say. Had Lady MacAlister seen her husband yet, or the woman who had died beside him?
And who was the woman bes
ide him, if not Lady MacAlister?
“A friend.” It was all Ariana could manage. She couldn’t give away Connor’s name when she hadn’t even supplied her own.
Lady MacAlister nodded in obvious satisfaction and approached the bed with curiosity. “Do call me Isabel,” she said. “And I’d prefer to know your real name as well.”
To Ariana’s horror, Lady MacAlister—Isabel—touched her husband’s neck with the press of her fingertips. She regarded the other woman with a pensive expression then turned to Ariana once more.
“Did you wish to accept my offer as lady’s maid?” Isabel asked her.
Ariana frowned slightly, not understanding the question nor why Isabel appeared entirely unperturbed by her husband’s death.
Isabel pulled the ribbon at her bodice and began unlacing the long satin ties. “I’ll need you to help me put her in my clothing, then make me look like a whore.” She stared down at the woman on the bed. “Like her.”
The world had gone entirely mad, and Ariana was left standing dumbly there to bear witness.
“What are you getting at?” Connor demanded.
Isabel narrowed her eyes at him, the glare in her gaze sharp and spiteful. “This pathetic excuse for a husband I was forced to marry takes whatever he wants, whether it be land or coin. Or me.” Her lips curled with unmasked loathing. “I won’t tell you what he did to me, but I couldn’t stand the thought of living with him anymore—even the idea of his very touch.”
She shuddered.
“And the woman?” Ariana asked, finding her voice.
Isabel’s face softened. “The woman was guilty only of being the unfortunate girl to bed a wealthy, married man in the hopes of gaining glory later. It was to my benefit that she happened to look very similar to me. Apparently my husband—” she spat out the word “—enjoyed women with red hair.”
Isabel jerked the last of the ribbon through the bodice and it sagged away from her body. She did not pause in pulling it off and letting it land in a heap on the floor.
Connor turned away.
Ariana caught the fine garment and lifted it lest it get dirty. “Why are we putting it on her?”
Isabel paused and faced the dead woman. “Because she will be buried a noblewoman.”
“As you,” Ariana surmised.
“Yes.” Isabel pulled the tie of her brilliant blue skirt. It belled around her waist before pooling on the floor. “And I thank you for the poison you gave me. I had no idea how potent it was until I saw how quickly it killed off the rats in my room that night. Perfect, considering I had my own rat to see dead.”
Ariana snapped upright. “My poison?” So, Connor had not been the source of their demise. She had unjustly accused him. Her cheeks went hot and she glanced toward Connor.
His back tensed, a slight action Ariana did not miss.
“The one I took from your pocket. I knew you were more than just a lowly wench.” Isabel gave her a conspiring grin.
The round vial.
Ariana had thought she’d lost it on the ride back to Kindrochit. But it had been stolen. Percy, who had warned her time and again to be cautious with the vial, would be horrified to learn how her potion had been used.
Ariana’s stomach knotted with disgust at herself.
So many deaths.
Had she known prior to coming to Scotland, she would have accepted her fate in prison, or whatever punishment the king saw fit for a card cheat.
At least it would have only been she who suffered.
Isabel’s cold hand touched Ariana’s cheek, and eyes as clear and blue as an endless summer sky stared at her. “Do not think me cruel. Do not judge one whose life you have not lived.”
“We must hurry.” Connor’s voice broke the connection, and Ariana was grateful for the interruption.
He was right. They could not be caught.
“What will you do now?” Ariana asked while Isabel removed the remainder of her clothing. “Return to London?”
“I can’t return to London.” Isabel peeled her shift over her head and stood unabashedly naked. “I’ll be sold off into marriage again.”
Though Ariana tried not to look at the naked woman, it was impossible not to. Her body was slender and curvy with breasts much larger than Ariana’s. But it was not that which caught Ariana’s attention.
Bruises marred Isabel’s pale skin, in various shades, from the deep purple black of those freshly received to the sickly yellow of those many days healed. Several scratches showed on her ribs and waist, angry and red. They must have been horribly uncomfortable against the tightness of Isabel’s corset.
The woman met her horrified stare with a hard look. “He won’t touch me again.”
She grabbed her clothes from the ground with a jerk and made her way to where the woman lay in the bed. Together she and Ariana worked to dress the dead woman and make her appear as if she were Lady MacAlister.
The body had not been long dead, as evidenced by the pliable warmth of her skin. Ariana moved quickly to dress her, not wanting to witness the transformation of life to cool death with her fingertips again. The dead woman had similar bruising and scratches on her body as well.
Once the dead woman was dressed, Isabel bent over her and pressed a kiss to her waxy brow. It was an odd thing to do and, somehow, Ariana felt as though she should not have been there to witness the strangely intimate action.
Dressing Isabel as a common whore was far easier, and she was ready within a quick moment.
“It’s done,” Ariana said to Connor, who turned around, great relief evident on his face.
Isabel led them toward the hidden door, but stopped and turned to face them. “Let me come with you.”
“No.” Connor’s answer was quick and firm.
A look of panic fluttered over Isabel’s otherwise composed face. “I have nowhere to go. I thought I could figure it out, but—”
A voice boomed outside the locked door. “I told her to come in here to change the sheets, but she’s been there for ages. New girl. I’m sure she’ll be needing help.”
A prickle of fear skittered over Ariana’s skin.
“Please,” Isabel hissed. “Or I’ll let us all get caught.”
“No,” Connor repeated. His gaze shifted from the door to Isabel, and Ariana knew a plan was already forming in his mind.
“Please,” Isabel whispered with a pitch of desperation. “I’m the king’s cousin.”
Chapter 24
The skies were roiling with gray angry clouds, a perfect mirror to Connor’s own mood.
He stalked through the courtyard of Urquhart Castle with Ariana and Isabel trailing behind him.
Escaping from the manor had been easy. A beggar, a servant, and a whore—all unseen to uncaring guards upon their exit.
And here they all were, in the castle which should be his, but didn’t belong to him.
He’d wanted to look for his people, damn it.
Now he had to figure out what the hell to do with Isabel. The king’s cousin, of all damn people.
But it hadn’t been that declaration which had changed his mind, a decision he now regretted—it had been the imploring gaze from Ariana.
Ariana.
God, she knew now. He’d have to explain it all to her and hope she understood.
His temples ached with the raging pressure inside his skull.
He couldn’t keep Isabel with them. He couldn’t be responsible for the king’s cousin, especially against the king’s knowledge. Too much had already been sacrificed to secure his inheritance. He would not see it all come to naught because some lass wanted to escape being married.
“Ye can stay here tonight,” Connor said, finally breaking the silence the group had held since their departure. “But I canna let ye stay with us permanently.”
Isabel looked toward Ariana, obviously knowing who best to implore. “I don’t want to go back to court. I don’t want to be another pawn in another marriage. Please. I can help you. I don�
�t know what sort of role you play, but I can help. I’m skilled in many areas. I can help make your accent more believable and can teach you many languages.” Her words came faster and her pitch shot up with determination.
She begged with her eyes, and Connor gritted his teeth at the softening of sympathy upon Ariana’s face. “I helped James all the time when he needed information from someone,” Isabel said. “I could do the same for you. Please.”
Through it all, she kept her stance proud as any English noble, a strange combination with her whore’s attire and her begging desperation.
She was in dire need.
Connor opened the door to Grant Tower and addressed Isabel. “Get inside and get the fire lit so ye can get into decent clothing. We’ll be up momentarily.”
Isabel shot him a grateful look and scurried through the doorway.
Rain spattered them, but he didn’t want to speak inside the large tower house. It was too empty. Even if they were on the bottom floor, their voices would echo on bare walls and carry their conversation up to Isabel’s waiting ears.
Ariana watched him through a curtain of damp hair, her arms crossed in a determined manner.
He nodded toward the inner close of the castle. “Follow me.”
He led her through the doors of the kitchen. As with all the other buildings, it now stood empty, devoid of life, its furnishings carried away. Several long counters still stood intact, as did the massive hearth with a hearty band of iron stabbed through it. The same sad coating of dust layered the room, masking the fond memories the building had once held. It had once bustled with activity and had always been warm no matter the season. The cook had smuggled him bits of browned fat when he came in and declared he needed to eat more to be large like his da.
Was the cook still alive in the village?
He couldn’t think about that now. Not when there was the issue of Isabel to figure out. It was one thing to seek out his people when only Ariana was with him. To do so with the king’s cousin nearby, a woman the town would assume dead—it would be impossible.
Ariana entered behind him and cast a glance around the empty room. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “We should let her come with us.”
Highland Spy Page 19