“I need to see if anyone is still alive from Urquhart,” he said, giving voice to the argument pounding his brain.
Her brows furrowed, then lifted with realization. “The man from town? The one who recognized you?”
He nodded. “Aye, I think there are members of my household who are still alive.”
She stepped toward him and stopped abruptly, her hand extended between them.
It was the first time they’d been alone since their coupling and since she found him over MacAlister and correctly assumed what he was.
Her expression softened, as if she too were realizing all of this. “Connor,” she whispered. “What were you doing at Loch Manor?”
The rain spattered the cobblestones outside the open door and little splats echoed through the cold, empty kitchen.
She moved closer to him. The wet air heightened her fresh scent. It caressed him and made him want to pull her into his arms, where she couldn’t look at up at him so imploringly.
How could he answer her question honestly?
The truth clogged in his throat and left him momentarily mute.
Her hand came to rest on his forearm, feather light and warm. “I know Lady MacAlister killed her husband, but I don’t believe you knew that.” She paused and searched the air, as if she might find the words she needed to say there. “I know what I saw, but I need to hear it from you.”
His heartbeat thudded faster in his chest. She knew. Of course she did. There could be no denying it.
She deserved to know who he was at his core. He had nothing to offer her and nothing would prove it to her more than the truth.
“I was going to kill Angus MacAlister,” Connor said at last.
Her fingertips flinched on his forearm, as if she had intended to draw away but forced herself to stay where she was.
The rain came down harder outside now and the sound of it roared inside the room. Or perhaps it was the roaring in his ears.
“And Lady MacAlister, too?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Only Laird MacAlister. I’ve done it before, killing a man as he slept beside his wife.” His stomach clenched at the memory. “If one is quick and silent, it’s not impossible.”
“You’ve done this before,” she repeated. Her expression was unreadable, but the delicate muscles of her neck stood taut against her creamy throat.
There was no more for it, but to let her know—to let her see him. The real him. “Yes.”
Five times. Men he’d killed for the king, their faces blending with those of men Connor had slain in battle.
This time she did draw her hand away. Tears gleamed in her eyes, making them seem to glow in the muted light. “Connor, why?”
His stomach knotted and his muscles drew tight. Everything in him went on high alert. He couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, with a mixture of horror and desperation.
“Because I dinna have a choice,” he said in a rough tone. “Because it’s the only way to get all this back, and to help Cora.”
He turned from her and braced his arms over the massive fireplace. Black streaks of scorched stone and the sediment of ash long since cold greeted his misery.
Ariana did not make a sound, but he knew she was still nearby. He could sense her as surely as he could sense the heat of the sun on a clear day.
“I dinna tell ye everything about my da’s death.” He hung his head forward, dropping it between his outstretched arms. The weight of so many memories so difficult to bear.
“Will you tell me now?” Ariana asked quietly.
Connor drew a deep breath and nodded.
After all these years, he would finally confess the extent of his sins, and how he’d somehow secured a deal with the very devil himself.
• • •
Connor’s story was indeed one of heartbreak.
Ariana listened as he told her how he’d secured a convent for Cora with his father’s signet ring. He’d left both beloved things in Scotland and went to England on the coin stolen from his father.
To seek an audience with the king, or so he’d thought.
But then he had been refused.
“I broke into his rooms that night.” Connor turned from the hearth with a mirthless grin on his face. “I surprised the spit out of him. He’d thought his room impenetrable.”
Ariana moved closer to keep from missing anything. His voice had gone softer and the rain louder.
“I got permission to kill Laird Gordon, who had taken Urquhart, but had to promise the king wouldna be implicated were I caught.” He smirked. “Apparently I did so well, the king wished to appoint me as his personal assassin.”
Ariana imagined him, younger, burdened with sorrow, ready to reclaim his inheritance once more. “Did you refuse?”
“Aye, of course I did. But it was then the king informed me he’d assumed ownership of the property to minimize the chance of war in the Highlands.”
He sighed and looked down at his hands, which were braced against the hard counter. Dust had smeared over his palms in a pale, chalky coating where they met the stone. “The king told me if I agreed to be his personal assassin for ten years, he’d give me Urquhart. And if not, he’d find Cora.”
The muscles clenched at the sides of his jaw.
Ariana moved toward him, but he put up his hands to stop her.
“Nay.” His voice was a low, threatening whisper. “Ye dinna know the things I’ve done. The life I’ve led. The sins I’ve had to commit.”
Everything in her pulled at her to go to him, to wrap her arms about him and let his pain bleed into her so he would not suffer so much alone.
But he did not want her—he’d made that much clear.
“How?” she asked.
“I get names from the king on a bit of parchment I burn after reading them. This time there were two names.” His gaze was distant when he shook his head. “There’s never been two names.”
Ariana drew the cold air into her chest, but it seemed too thin to breathe. “MacAlister,” she guessed.
“Aye.” Connor still didn’t look at her. His haunted expression shot through her heart and left it chilled. “And another man, Kenneth Gordon.”
“Gordon?”
“Laird Gordon’s son.” Connor pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes as if it hurt to see. “He was as a brother to me. He killed for me once, at the battle of Glenlivet. We were on opposing sides and both new to battle. I slipped—” He gave a thick swallow. “I slipped and he was there, killing the man, his own brethren, who sought to kill me.”
She said nothing, too afraid to speak lest he stop. His pain was evident in the hoarseness of his voice, how he pinched at his eyes.
“I trusted him,” Connor continued. “But the day Urquhart was attacked, the bastard laid hands on Cora. I found them kissing. We fought and I landed a punch. I took Cora and left. But he knew. He knew and he never told us.”
Connor wrenched his hand from his eyes and stared at her, his gaze hard. “I trusted him.” His words were said so loudly they rang out against the stone wall and made Ariana jump.
His vehemence echoed around them for a brief moment before she could quiet her frantic nerves. Never had she seen Connor so agitated. It tore at her heart to know his pain, and to finally understand his plight.
What would she do in such a situation?
What would anyone do?
Exactly as he had done.
“And now you’re torn because you know you should kill him,” she said, moving closer. “You know you should hate him.”
He stared up at her with a wounded wariness most would know to avoid. But she kept moving forward, her hand extended toward him.
“But you can’t,” she said finally. She touched a hand to his back and the tension of his shoulders melted with a defeated sag.
Her arms came around him and she held the strongest man she had ever known, understanding the hurt plaguing him more than he could possibly know.
Or
perhaps he did know. Silence wrapped around them for a long moment, settling comfortably between them.
“Isabel has been hurt too, Connor.” She spoke softly and in soothing tones. “She’s been wronged. You can help make it right.”
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, a low, menacing growl.
Connor straightened and looked down at Ariana, his eyes seeking something in hers. “Ye want me to bring Isabel to Kindrochit, to let her become one of us.”
She nodded. “It’s what’s right, Connor. We have to help her.” Her hand found his and she gripped his hard, callused fingers. “She’s broken, too.”
“I dinna heal the way ye think I do. We are no’ a house for lost women.” He shook his head. “Ye see the world differently—”
“She has information on the king. And if Kenneth Gordon was involved with MacAlister, she would know that too,” Ariana added.
Connor’s eyes narrowed.
“You can decide what to do with whatever information she gives you.” Ariana hoped she was right, that Isabel did have information on Kenneth. “And once you have the information you need, you can decide if Kenneth truly needs to be killed.”
Chapter 25
Connor hoped like hell his decision to bring Isabel to Kindrochit would not be one he regretted.
Where their travel to Urquhart had been long, the trek back would be difficult, and the thought of it sat in his gut like a stone.
Their first day saw them cover only a fraction of the distance they had previously. He hadn’t been able to locate an inn, but they had found an abandoned hut without too many leaks in its thatched roof.
While there hadn’t been wood inside to burn in the small hearth, there were several slabs of peat. Enough to keep them warm through the night. It smoldered now in front of them where they sat on the floor, the gray-white smoke spiraling upward and its thick scent permeating the room.
Isabel put a crooked forefinger under her nose and blinked. “That’s rather pungent.”
“Have ye no’ smelled peat burning before?” he asked with a dull note of incredulity.
Peat was often burned for warmth and cooking—not just during the winter, but year round. Its scent reminded him of being a boy and going through the village with his father.
“I’ve smelled it before.” Isabel’s eyes squinted in exaggeration to the smoke. “Just not so close.”
Connor shrugged. “It’s warm.”
Ariana sat silent beside him with her hands held toward the fire, palms out.
The subtle light played over her face and reminded him of how impossibly soft her skin had been. The urge to stroke her cheek made his fingers twitch with longing. He wanted to kiss her cool flesh warm and tease moans from her lush mouth. He wanted to have their usual, easy conversation and hear the beautiful sound of her laughter.
“Are ye looking forward to being back at Kindrochit?” Connor asked.
Her gaze slid toward Isabel and she gave an uncertain smile. “Yes.”
A simple, singular answer. Disappointment threaded through Connor.
Isabel’s presence had lodged a cold, uncomfortable wedge between them. Awkwardness seemed to cling to every move, knowing they were being seen, and to every word, knowing they were being overheard.
As they had only two horses, Isabel had ridden with him, as his horse was meant for heavy warriors and heavy gear. Ariana’s small palfrey would have gone even slower with two women atop it. As a result, Connor’s back ached like a knot being drawn tight. He stretched in front of the hissing fire and his back gave a deep, gratifying pop in several places.
“We’ll see about getting ye yer own horse tomorrow.” He nodded toward Isabel before reaching for the small bag of food. Tomorrow they would venture through a town and all could be replenished.
He handed a roll and chunk of cheese to each woman.
Isabel took it with some hesitation. “Is there no meat for a stew?”
Annoyance prickled along the back of Connor’s neck, and he had to remind himself for the hundredth time that Isabel was a noblewoman. She’d been raised in court and had known only luxury.
“When we arrive back at Kindrochit, aye, there will be many stews and freshly baked bread. But for now, this is what we have.”
He lowered himself to the floor between the women once more and bit into his own roll. It was hard and cold and squeaked against his back teeth when he chewed. Not that he minded. It would soothe the angry hunger in his stomach and allow him to get by until morning, when he’d dispense the last of the rolls, which would be all the harder.
He decided not to divulge that bit of information to the noblewoman.
“You’re the king’s cousin,” Ariana said suddenly. “How?”
Isabel stared at her for a moment. “I’m a bastard. My father is Charles Stuart and my mother was the daughter of advantageous nobodies who landed their pretty girl in an earl’s bed.” She gave a bitter smile. “I’m not precious enough to fear stealing the crown, but royal enough to be an encouraging proposition for marriage negotiations.”
“And if you go back, you’ll be set for another marriage,” Ariana said.
Isabel nodded. “That’s why I can’t go back. I could try to run, say I’d been compelled by witches or something. James seems to think they’re rampant in Scotland and is deathly afraid of them.” Isabel gave a snort of laughter. “But knowing him, I’d end up dead for the mere association.” She sighed. “Makes me wish I’d faded into the background at court more, away from view, that I’d spent my time in the circles you did.”
Ariana’s mouth parted in surprise.
“Yes,” Isabel confirmed. “I recognize you from court, though it took me a while to pair you with who you really were. I didn’t realize it until I saw you without that hideous blonde wig.”
Ariana cast a quick glance in Connor’s direction and she pursed her lips, obviously not intending to ask for further information. But Connor wanted more, to know Ariana’s life before he taught her to spy, before she had to cheat and steal to live.
“What circles?” he asked.
Isabel rolled her eyes. “The stuffy ones. Where manners were always exhibited with immaculate perfection and rules were tediously followed. I could almost cry at the sheer boredom of it all.” She looked baldly at Ariana. “Truly I don’t know how you could have dealt with it. But now you’re anything but a bargaining chip and traveling alone with a man and staying together in an old abandoned castle. How curious.”
It was odd to imagine Ariana leading such a quiet life. He knew the enjoyment she got from accomplishing new tasks, from even the simple run they always completed before their training sessions.
“How much do you know of MacAlister’s dealings?” Ariana asked in an abrupt change of subject.
Isabel gave a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. “He did not share much with me.”
Of course.
Disappointment weighed on Connor’s aching back. He’d hoped to learn information from Isabel, as Ariana had suggested. Something he could use to determine what MacAlister had been doing with Cora.
He hesitated a moment before asking a question he needed the answer to, but was uncertain if he truly wanted to know. “Did ye ever hear the name Cora Grant?”
Isabel nibbled on her bread with her sharp little teeth, a thoughtful expression on her comely face. “No,” she said finally. “I’ve never heard of her before.”
Damn.
“What about Kenneth Gordon?” Ariana asked.
“Now that name I know well,” Isabel said with a quirk of her eyebrow. “And I can share a lot of information.”
She went quiet and let the silence drag out in a way Connor did not like.
“It involves conspiracy.” She stared down at her hair and carefully plucked apart the wet strands with maddening disinterest. “Tomorrow evening I’d like to stay at an inn. Every night, for that matter. And I’d like better food than what we have here. A hot meal.”
Connor’s gut knotted in aggravation. He wouldn’t be told what to do by some nobleman’s brat—royal blood or no.
“Then ye can stay here and fend for yerself,” he said in a quiet voice.
Her gaze flicked from her hair to his face. “What?” She narrowed her eyes with a look of incredulity.
“I willna have ye giving orders and making demands of us.” His tone was hard, as was intended. “I’m no servant of yers and neither is Ariana. We’ll continue to help ye after we know everything, but I willna be extorted for information.”
Isabel stared at him for a moment, her face blank. Surely no one had ever spoken to her as he had.
“Very well,” she said after a pause. “My former husband made an alliance with Kenneth Gordon to depose the king of Scotland.”
She said those damning words as if she found them boring, but Connor felt as though he’d been punched in the throat.
Kenneth Gordon.
Aye, Connor knew he was no longer the boy of their youth, but treason?
Kenneth had tried to take advantage of Cora and had played a role in Connor’s father’s death—for those things he could never forgive him.
But never would he have suspected Kenneth would go through with something as dangerous, as foolhardy, as treason.
“Is that why ye killed yer husband?” Connor asked. “To protect yer cousin?”
Isabel cast her gaze toward Ariana before looking back at him, her back stiffening to a regal, if not affronted, manner. “No.”
Connor didn’t need to know the reason why, but he did know one thing for certain—he would ask every necessary question, note every subtle look and every shift in her voice. He would get the entire story by the time they arrived.
The sooner he had what he needed from her and had deposited her at Kindrochit, the sooner he could return to Urquhart and seek out his people.
• • •
Once again, the journey was cold and wet, but this time Ariana found it far more miserable.
She hunched over her horse in an effort to borrow some of its warmth and breathed out in a slow, steady exhale. Her breath fogged in front of her, swelling against the pouring rain before dissipating.
Highland Spy Page 20