Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  Irritation clawed at her insides. It raked against her nerves and left her throat burning with the need to scream.

  The cold, the wet, the discomfort of every part of her body from so much riding.

  She could scarce stand another second.

  The trip, which had only taken three days on the way to Urquhart, had taken five on the way back. Perhaps six if they did not reach the castle by nightfall.

  Already the sky was beginning to cast the pallor of dusk upon the surrounding forest.

  Connor had said they were close, but how could one discern one forest from another?

  She looked several feet in front of her to where Connor rode beside Isabel, who sat on the small brown mare he’d purchased for her. They’d been side by side almost the entire journey, their heads bent toward each other to conceal Isabel’s secrets. Such nearness made them look like lovers.

  Pain sluiced through Ariana’s heart, just as fresh and painful as it’d been the first time she had experienced it. A foolish emotion, when she knew Connor needed information from Isabel. And yet, Ariana could not tamp it down.

  Surely after several days, the discomfort would have diminished.

  But, no, it had not. And she found her gaze wandering periodically to the two, like touching a wound to see if it still ached.

  It did.

  She knew the feeling for what it was and hated herself for it.

  Jealousy.

  She wrenched her eyes from them, but still the pain throbbed, hollow and hot in her belly. The stab of discomfort was entirely unwarranted.

  Connor had given her no promises. She’d had no expectations when she’d lain with him.

  Had she?

  Thoughts swirled in a dizzying whirl in her head and tangled with the fragile web of her memory from that night. So much had happened then.

  If anything, Ariana should have been grateful for Isabel, and truly, deep down, she was. While Isabel had slowed their pace considerably, she had also tried to help where she could and had readily answered all questions she was asked. From her, they’d learned Kenneth had been promised a betrothal from MacAlister, though Isabel didn’t know to whom, and that Kenneth had been forced to find more allies for them. The plan to depose the king was simple—unite the Highlands and overwhelm the Lowlands. Take Scotland back, as its own entity, free of the rule of England.

  Isabel had been kind and helpful. Impossible to hate.

  Not that Ariana wanted to hate her. And so she hated herself and the jealousy burning inside her—an ember of pain fanned by each innocent interaction between Connor and Isabel.

  Connor looked back at her over his shoulder and smiled. Her poor, stupidly bruised heart flinched.

  She cared for him too much.

  The way she’d once tried to love her parents, and her brother—when she was far too young to understand they would never even warm toward her.

  And, like Connor, they had never returned her affection, no matter what she did to please them with her wasted life.

  Isabel was right. Ariana had been stuffy, boring. She’d lived her life by the rules set for her and received nothing for her efforts. Not a husband and children, nor a household of her own, nor even the slightest show of affection.

  Connor slowed his horse to be side by side with her. “No’ much longer now, lass.”

  Ariana forced a smile. He shifted in his saddle and the low creak of leather made the silence between them all the more apparent.

  Isabel rode several feet ahead, too far away to hear a quiet conversation. This was the closest they’d come to being alone since Ariana had convinced him to bring Isabel to Kindrochit.

  Whatever he’d approached her for, the air seemed to thicken with his obvious discomfort.

  “That night.” His brow creased. “Between us.”

  “What happened at Urquhart need stay only between us.” The words fell from her mouth with all the decorum of a polite dinner request—a beautiful facade for the ugly wrenching emotion tearing through her.

  “I canna—” Connor raked his fingers through his hair and scrubbed at the back of his head before dropping his hand. Never had she seen him look so unsure of himself, so regretful.

  A fresh dagger of pain sliced through her chest.

  “I dinna want anyone to know.” His gaze was almost pleadingly apologetic.

  “I understand.” She said it quickly, as if doing so might make his words hurt less.

  And she did understand. She’d assumed as much from the start. He’d acted on lust, nothing more.

  Hadn’t she done the same?

  Wasn’t it she who had so selfishly continued on the night she’d killed the guard? She’d wanted his comfort and had reveled in it.

  This was the price she paid.

  “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly. He reached out and settled a hand over where hers clutched the sodden reins. Somehow his palm was warm despite the wet, bone-freezing chill, and yet it brought her no comfort.

  Anger chipped away at her control. Anger at herself for having given him her innocence, and anger at him for having taken it only to cast her aside. She had been a fool, gambling for high stakes when she didn’t have a good hand.

  When she didn’t even have a card hidden up her sleeve.

  Once she’d had a respectable name and her innocence. Now she had only her respectable name, however scuffed it might be.

  Her heart dragged and scraped on the hard reality of her situation.

  If there’d ever been a chance to go back to King James’s court in London, there was little hope for it now.

  Connor removed his hand from hers and the air bathed her skin with a refreshing chill.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  His gratitude only fed the flames of her anger, and it flared with greedy force.

  Perhaps anything he’d said then might have done the same. Silence passed between them, long and awkward enough to make her feel as though she ought to say something more.

  Before she could, however, he returned to Isabel’s side and left Ariana alone to wade alone through the deepest pits of her dark thoughts.

  A knot fisted in her throat, ugly and aching.

  She’d felt like this too often before—when her constant attempts to please her parents had resulted in the continuation of their cold indifference. When her fragile hope for a new life with her brother had wilted under the reality of that same lack of affection their parents had afforded her.

  And so there was nothing to do but hide, as she’d done then.

  She could almost feel the stoic defense sliding a shield between her and the burning heat of her pain. A hardness curling around the wounded place in her heart like a sheet of iron—powerful and impenetrable.

  She knew that shield well. She’d held it locked tight around her heart for most of her life. It had gotten her through a lifetime of disappointment and hurt.

  And now it would get her through this.

  Chapter 26

  If Connor had had much weighing on his mind when he left Kindrochit, he now had even more.

  Kenneth’s involvement in the plot to overthrow the king lodged in his thoughts like a stone caught in a boot. The idea was reckless and dangerous. Not that Kenneth was above being those things, but it was also stupid, and Kenneth was anything but that.

  Connor only hoped he could quickly see everything to rights at Kindrochit and rush back to Urquhart. If Delilah and Sylvi had returned, he could send them to seek out Kenneth, to ascertain proof to support Isabel’s claims. Doubtless the potential treason they followed had been part of MacAlister’s plot, if it was truly as large a conspiracy as Isabel had stated.

  The sooner Connor could get back to Urquhart, the better. His people needed him, just as he needed them. They were his legacy. All these years, such a concept had remained dormant. Until the man in Loch Manor.

  I recognize ye. Many of us do.

  If any of his people were truly alive, then he’d left them alone and defenseless
.

  If that man was one of his people, they knew he was alive. They would be looking for him, seeking his counsel.

  The roar of River Clunie announced their arrival before Kindrochit rose into view, but Connor did not feel the comfort of returning home. This was not his home. This was the place he was made to stay, where he was forced to twist women into something unnatural. Where he was forced to abandon the life he loved.

  He glanced beside him where Ariana rode in silence, her face betraying none of the happiness and affection he so wished to see.

  Kindrochit was a place where he had no future, even with the woman he wanted.

  A palpable longing ached in his chest.

  He hated telling her to keep what they’d shared silent, but he hadn’t wanted to bring her further shame by having anyone know. It was bad enough he’d taken her maidenhead, but it ached his heart to think she would be embarrassed were the others to know.

  “This is it?” Isabel asked. “It looks…old.” Her nose wrinkled.

  Connor suppressed a sigh. One thing he’d be glad for was freedom from Isabel’s constant complaints. Going from a luxurious life of royal nobility to that of a weary traveler had doubtless not been easy for her. Over time, he would see her toughened up.

  Until then, he was at the mercy of her displeasure.

  “It is old,” Connor answered simply. “It was abandoned before we took up residence, but it’s remote and people don’t assume it’s inhabited.”

  Isabel offered him a small smile, at least making an effort to be amiable. “Remote is good.”

  He led the way across the crumbling bridge of Kindrochit when a clang sounded from within. Every muscle in Connor’s body went tight.

  He knew the sound well—the striking of blade against blade. Perhaps it was Delilah and Sylvi back, but if not…

  He rushed into Kindrochit to find Liv and Percy facing one another in the large courtyard, both dripping wet from the rain and wearing the padded armor. Each woman brandished a sword.

  He stared for a moment at the delicate way Percy prodded the air with the tip of her blade. Never had he thought to see her with a weapon in her hands again.

  “Liv!” Ariana’s voice broke through the silence.

  Percy dropped her sword and Liv spun around.

  Ariana raced across the small courtyard and embraced her friend with obvious care.

  For the first time since Liv had arrived at Kindrochit, Connor saw color warm her cheeks and brightness in her eyes. Even the copper of her hair shone brilliantly in the fading light.

  “It’s good to see ye about, Liv,” he said with a smile.

  “It’s nice to finally be feeling better.” Liv returned his smile, but there was something soft and sad to the lift of her lips.

  Doubtless the lass still had much healing to do.

  He regarded Percy. “I dinna think to see ye with a sword in yer hand again.”

  Percy’s cheeks went red. “Um…Liv asked me to show her. I warned her I wouldn’t be much help.”

  Connor nodded. “Then Delilah and Sylvi havena yet returned.”

  Percy laid her sword in the box of practice weapons. “No, but Murdoch arrived yesterday. He was fair exhausted and has been abed since.”

  Perfect. Just the man he needed to see.

  “I’ll see him when he’s rested, then,” Connor said.

  Percy nodded.

  Isabel appeared at Connor’s side, her head arrogantly cocked as she waited to be introduced. “This is Isabel,” he said. “She’ll be staying with us for a while. I’d like ye to show her around a bit while Ariana and I see to the horses.”

  “Of course.” Percy was the first to step forward. “Welcome to Kindrochit.”

  As expected, she immediately took charge and set Liv to putting away the remainder of the practice equipment while she ushered Isabel inside.

  Connor was alone with Ariana once more.

  Together they walked the horses to the stable.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly to her. He knew he wouldn’t have to say what it was he apologized for.

  She unfastened the saddle from her horse. “I had no illusions.”

  There was something about how she said it, so accepting, so understanding, so emotionless. It made him want to crush his lips to hers, push her body against the wall, and have her again right there, so the passion glowed bright in her eyes.

  The image worked in his mind, building and growing, until he could think of nothing else while they cared for the horses after the long trip.

  It was the first time they’d been truly alone since Ariana had convinced him to bring Isabel with them—a decision which had already proved beneficial. Isabel had been a wealth of knowledge.

  But he’d never been able to get the night he’d spent with Ariana out of his mind, nor the way she’d so readily accepted him after he’d confessed everything to her in the empty kitchen at Urquhart.

  The air was thick and warm, and every part of him became increasingly aware of the movements she made, each graceful sweep of her hand, the very breath passing between her plump lips.

  She glanced at him when they finished, and he could take the silent togetherness no more.

  “I know I shouldna, I know it isna fair, but I still want ye.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  Before she had a chance to answer, he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm despite the cold night, warm and soft and lush.

  He let his tongue stroke hers, teasing the fiery passion he wished to unleash.

  “We can still see each other.” He spoke between kisses, hurried and hungry for her. “In the solar while the others sleep.”

  Ariana pushed herself back and stared up at him. Her fingertips hovered over his chest in a move to keep him away from her. Her mouth and chin were pink from the force of their kiss and her hair had somehow come loose from its simple knot.

  She should say no. He had taken everything from her and had nothing to offer her in return. Less than nothing.

  And yet the idea of her rejection rent his mind and left him hopelessly desperate.

  Her fingers fell away from him and his heart sucked down into his stomach. He knew her answer before it fell from her lips.

  “No.”

  He exhaled the breath he’d kept trapped in his chest. She backed up, watching him, before she turned and was swallowed up by the dark, cold night.

  He’d once thought there wasn’t anything else he could possibly stand to lose.

  He stared into the darkness and realized, for the first time, how very wrong he had been.

  • • •

  Ariana’s heart thundered in her chest with each step she climbed toward the room she shared with Liv. There was a nervous tremor in her legs and her lungs felt as if they no longer fit in her chest. But, no, it was a giddy excitement.

  She had told Connor no.

  Despite the way he’d looked at her and the way her own longing still hummed warm and tempting in her blood, she’d said no.

  Her external strength had been obvious to her for a while now, but her internal strength had been severely lacking.

  The trip to Urquhart had taught her as much.

  But the man she’d killed, and the other man she’d loved, both had taught hard, fast lessons about how soft her heart had truly been.

  No longer was that the case.

  She had told Connor no, and now the power in her left her in a rush of dizzying excitement.

  Her footsteps tapped and echoed around her and her breath came harder.

  The door stood before her. Its image sobered her thoughts and calmed the heady rush of her pulse.

  Liv.

  How many times had Ariana climbed the stairs as silently as possible only to enter and find a pale and mournful Liv in a fitful state of slumber?

  Now she did not slow in the interest of trying to quiet the sound of her ascent. Now she wanted haste, to see the friend she loved so dearly and e
nsure she was still alive and healthy.

  She lifted the door latch and the door flew open, all her eagerness near bursting within her.

  Liv sat before the fire, dangling a bit of string in front of a fluff of gray and white fur. Her head snapped up and she gave so dazzling a smile, Ariana swore the room became brighter.

  “Ariana.” Liv spoke her name in a soft, breathy voice and attempted to rise from her place on the floor.

  “No,” Ariana said quickly, and fell into place beside her friend. “You needn’t rise.”

  Color warmed Liv’s face unlike Ariana had ever seen before. Her cheeks were a soft pink and the gray of her eyes shone brilliantly in the firelight.

  “It’s fine,” Liv said. “I’m stronger.”

  She set the string aside and grabbed Ariana’s hand in a tight grip, as if trying to put to proof what she’d so boldly declared. Indeed, her hold was firm and her palms warm.

  But Ariana could not remove from her mind the last time she’d seen her friend, when Liv’s face had been as pale as wax and as unmoving as the dead.

  Questions crowded in Ariana’s mind and clogged her constricting throat.

  She’d feared her return to Kindrochit would bring with it news of Liv’s death. But now her friend sat before her, fully alive, with brows drawn together and eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Please don’t cry.”

  “How?” Ariana choked out.

  Liv placed her free hand over her empty womb. “I had been so sick for so long with…” She tucked her lower lip into her mouth and looked away. “With the baby.” Her voice caught.

  Ariana shook her head. “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to.” Liv’s voice was firm. “When I lost the baby, I confess, I wanted to die too. I’d lost everything. My betrothed, the child we’d made together, my parents, my reputation, my life at court. I had nothing.”

  The small gray and white kitten wiggled her bottom and lunged at the abandoned bit of string with zeal, her little needle-like nails drawn like daggers.

  A smile warmed the sorrow from Liv’s face, shining through her tears.

  “One morning, I woke and found this little girl curled up on my stomach.” Liv stroked the small kitten. “Right where my sweet child had been.”