Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  Ariana’s heart gave a hard, wrenching beat.

  Liv lifted the cat to her chest and kissed the downy fur of her head. “It was her who got me through this fortnight. Her and Percy. And you.”

  Ariana swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Me?”

  “Percy healed me. She sat by my bedside night and day and held a rag to my head as diligently as even my own mother had.” Liv squeezed Ariana’s hand. “She healed me. And you gave me strength. I know something horrible must have happened for you to end up here, and yet you never appeared anything less than strong to me. I wanted that same determination.” The color in Liv’s cheeks darkened. “I wanted to be like you.”

  Tears tingled in Ariana’s eyes and her protest balled up tight in her throat.

  In the time she’d been gone, she’d killed a man—a man who had been buried in the woods, who may or may not have had a family, who may or may not be missed by ones who loved him. She’d given away her virginity to a man who now wanted only to ensure no one knew of their tryst. She’d helped a woman murder her husband and his lover, and used the lover’s corpse to make others assume the king’s cousin was dead.

  Ariana might have just moments before reveled in the power she had over her own emotions, but she was no woman to admire.

  Shame cast its shadow over what would otherwise have been pride.

  She gave a weak smile and suddenly wished she could shield herself from her friend as easily as she’d done with Connor.

  “I’ve named her Fianna, if you don’t mind,” Liv said with a sheepish grin.

  Ariana had fallen too deep into the dark spiral of her own thoughts. “What?”

  Liv stroked a fingertip over the cat’s small head. “The kitten. I’ve named her Fianna. I had a dream you’d given her to me and, when I woke, I couldn’t remember if it’d been real or not. I wanted to be sure you liked the name, just in case.”

  Ariana had indeed settled the small animal in the rumpled sheets of her friend’s bed. She’d hoped they’d find camaraderie with one another, and it appeared they had. Warmth blossomed over the ache in Ariana’s chest.

  “It’s a beautiful name,” she said softly.

  She released her hand from Liv’s. Their palms had begun to sweat against one another, and the absence of heat left Ariana’s skin clammy. “The hour is late.”

  Liv gave a slow nod and settled a kiss on the sleeping kitten. “I’m sure you’re tired.” She rose with Fianna in her arms, cradled like a babe. “Will you train with me tomorrow?”

  “Nothing would give me greater joy.” Ariana couldn’t help the smile spreading over her face.

  She would, of course, be gentle—the way Delilah had been when she’d given Ariana instruction.

  Weariness drew at Ariana’s eyelids and left her limbs feeling heavy. She slid into bed and reveled in the cool slide of familiar sheets against her skin.

  But despite the embracing comfort of the stuffed mattress beneath her, her mind remained agitated by memories—Connor asking her not to say anything to the other women, Connor still expecting her to be with him, tempting her with the promise in his stare and the fierceness of his kiss.

  For the countless time, angry thoughts tumbled through her mind and careened into everything calm.

  She wasn’t hurting from a lack of affection.

  No, she was used to that.

  Her fingers curled into fists.

  She was angry.

  She’d done everything right and ended up with nothing. She’d given her heart and seen it rejected. Her throat tightened against the rush of emotion and she squeezed her fists until her arms shook with the effort.

  Years of obeying her parents and brother—all of it had been for naught.

  There in the dark, with anger pulsing and swelling within her breast and thrumming in her temples, she lay wide awake, feeding the savage rage coming to life within her.

  She didn’t need her parents or her brother or Connor. She’d survived a year in London, at court no less, on her own.

  Her heart raced a little faster, frenzied at the memory.

  Such freedom and independence. Granted, the life had been hard, but never had she needed to kill someone.

  Never had she needed to guard her heart.

  She could be on her own again. Her skills were uncommon. Surely she could find someone willing to hire a woman skilled at gleaning secrets. Finding the right clients would be almost too easy. Even the amount of coin she’d saved already would easily afford a small place to stay and enough food to eat. She could supplement with cheating at cards if need be—if clients were not found quickly enough.

  Surely cheating at cards was better than having to kill, and being made to feel as unloved as she had with her parents. The hollow hurt of it filled her, empty and aching.

  Liv would get stronger. She didn’t need Ariana anymore.

  And then the word rose in her mind, floating to the surface of her dark, roiling thoughts of rage and unfairness.

  Escape.

  Chapter 27

  Ariana woke to a sliver of sunlight jabbing into her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids shut and rolled over in her bed, desperate to slide back into sleep.

  The desire for more rest pressed at her body, but her mind had already passed into awareness. Not hurt, not sorrow, but the raw, bruised anger left over from the night before, sore from overindulgence of thought.

  She’d stayed awake late into the night, allowing herself to be haunted by rage while planning how she could escape and where she might go.

  She would stay in Scotland, venturing into the Lowlands, where she could easily win secrets and cards and opportunities to spy for high-paying noblility. Last night, she had figured it all out. Everything seemed so possible.

  Still, the meager sleep she’d scavenged had not been enough to clear the shadows from her thoughts.

  The savory scent of oatcakes and some kind of salted meat edged its way into her conscience with an insistence she could not ignore. Perhaps food might improve her mood.

  She dressed quickly and made her way to the great hall, where Liv and Isabel were already sitting.

  Connor, she noticed, was absent.

  What was also impossible not to notice was Isabel.

  She wore the same drab men’s clothing for training as both Ariana and Liv, but she’d rimmed her eyes in kohl, lending them an unnaturally bold feline appearance, and her lips were glossy and red with carmine.

  “I once made a man leap into the Thames for me.” Her voice was so silky smooth, it came out like a purr.

  Liv cast her a skeptical look as Ariana took a seat at the large table beside her.

  “It’s true.” Isabel’s eyes widened beneath the kohl.

  “And how, pray tell, did you accomplish that?” Liv asked and cocked her head to the side, a slight tilt denoting her disbelief.

  Isabel leaned forward and licked her lips before speaking. “Because men are malleable. They will do anything you want so long as you know how to ask.”

  “And I take it you know how to ask?” Ariana interjected.

  Isabel’s sky blue eyes slid toward her. “Yes, I do. And I can teach you as well.” She winked.

  A snide comment sharpened on Ariana’s tongue, but she clamped her teeth against it. There was no need to subject others to the foulness of her mood.

  A helping of pottage sat mostly eaten in Liv’s bowl and little Fianna rested at her feet. Despite Ariana’s foul mood, she could not help but feel warm at the sight of her friend’s recovery.

  Footsteps sounded in the doorway behind Ariana and the skin along her back tingled with the eager desire to turn around.

  “We already have a teacher for such things,” Connor’s voice sounded from where the footsteps had come. Rich with a familiar timbre she could not ignore.

  And it only served to scrape at her nerves all the more.

  She tightened her fist under the table with resolve. She would not turn around.

&n
bsp; Isabel gave a little grin. “Then perhaps I can assist with such lessons.”

  Connor’s footsteps sounded, coming closer to Ariana until he appeared beside her and plucked a bit of bread from the trencher with his large, graceful hand.

  He shrugged. “Ye’ll have to speak with Delilah when she returns. For now, we’ve got training to do, aye?”

  His hand came down on Ariana’s shoulder, warm and firm, and he gave her a gentle squeeze. The scent of him teased a spiral of languid desire through her like smooth honey.

  It was unwanted.

  Ariana rose with the other two women, but the hold Connor had on her shoulder prevented her from leaving along with them.

  She shifted her gaze from the table in front of her to his chest, where his léine lay open just wide enough to show the top of his muscular chest. The memory of how warm and strong that very spot had been against her lips whispered over her mouth like a kiss.

  He stepped closer with his hand still on her shoulder, his grip soft but still holding her in place. “Ye dinna need to come downstairs. Feel free to rest more.”

  The show of concern rankled all the more. “I don’t need the rest, and they’re all waiting for us.”

  He was too close. His scent too familiar, too intimate.

  She shifted her weight, putting the scantest of space between them. But it was enough to allow her to breathe once more.

  He watched her with a steady gaze, one altogether heavy and intense. As if he were studying her.

  And she didn’t like it.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Was there something more?”

  His stare did not abate, and she tried to pretend she didn’t notice the flecks of green and black in his hazel eyes she’d once found so fascinating.

  “There’s no’ anything more.”

  She needed no further encouragement. She turned her back on the suffocating weight of his observation and left the room.

  The other two women were opening the trunk of practice gear by the time she arrived downstairs. The cold morning air nipped at the heat of her cheeks and laced their breath into wisps of white.

  Connor had not followed her.

  “First we run,” Ariana said, indicating the path between the castle walls and the curtain shielding it from view. The grass there was still fuzzy with the morning’s frost.

  She jogged toward the narrow alley, taking the same path as so many times before.

  Isabel and Liv followed at a slow, cautious jog, as if they didn’t know what to do.

  Ariana remembered too well her own trepidation when she’d first come to Scotland. Being exhausted and hungry and confused as to what would happen in her world.

  What would happen to her.

  Now she knew.

  Her muscles warmed as she ran and energy exploded through her, fueled by the toiling of her thoughts and the lingering anger.

  She ran so hard her muscles burned like fire, until sweat lay cool and moist on her brow and the deep insides of her ears ached from the brutal cold. Liv and Isabel were both walking, but their breath fogged thick in front of them.

  “That’s enough.” Connor’s voice carried around the castle to where she had finally relaxed into a slow jog.

  Something tightened within her. Dread. She didn’t want to see him.

  And yet she had no choice, and she refused to allow herself to be cowed by her emotions.

  She rounded the corner and found him helping Liv and Isabel into their padded armor.

  “Hold these blades.” He handed each woman a sword. “And lift them repeatedly like this.”

  He speared the blade out in front of him. Both women did likewise.

  An easy enough feat, but Ariana knew how many times they would have to repeat the motion. Until the blazing ache in their arms and backs faded from pain to such a weak numbness they could scarcely raise a cup to their lips later.

  Ariana’s shoulder burned with the memory of having done the same thing herself. She’d hated the effort at the time, but it had strengthened her to train properly in the future.

  Connor looked directly at her. His lips and cheeks were red from the cold. “And ye.” He bent his knees in a bracing stance and his body tensed perceptively. “Ye’ll train with me.”

  • • •

  There was a ferocity to Ariana Connor had never seen before.

  He stood across from her, both taking a quick break from combat to catch their breath.

  The chill of the morning had faded and the sun had warmed the grass back to a lush green. Behind him came the grunts of the other two women in their sword training, lifting the blade first with their right hand until they could no more, then switching to the left.

  Ariana wasn’t looking at him, but he knew she was aware of him watching her.

  And he couldn’t help but watch her.

  Her blows had been delivered without her usual restraint. They were hard and unhindered and damn accurate. She was powerful, her movements smooth and calculated.

  She watched the other women, her face unreadable and her back tall and proud. The sun had risen behind her and limned the curves of her body in a brilliant outline.

  Her blue-green eyes settled on him with a hardness he found unwelcome. “Again?”

  He braced himself for the impact he knew would come. “Aye.”

  The word hadn’t even fled his lips completely before she lunged at him. But she didn’t plow into him like before.

  He’d been pushing his weight toward her in expectation and almost pitched forward when she didn’t strike.

  Instead she rolled between his wide-legged stance and knocked at the backs of his knees. He staggered, but caught his balance and turned.

  Her fist flew at his face, but he managed to block it just in time so only the tip of her knuckle grazed his cheek. Her eyes flashed. A huff of air escaped her mouth and her leg flew up toward him.

  It would have caught him had he not jumped backward to avoid it. Ordinarily he tempered his own attacks on the girls lest he hurt them. The only one he had never done so with was Sylvi.

  And now Ariana.

  He swept his leg toward hers and knocked her feet from under her. She fell to the ground with a grunt but quickly popped back up.

  Her arms rose in front of her, ready to block and ready to strike. “Again.”

  He prepared himself, but this time she did not attack. They circled one another, their gaze fixed on the other. Predator stalking prey and waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

  “Ye’ve been doing well, Ariana,” he said. “I havena seen ye train so hard.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you’ve underestimated me.”

  Then she flew at him and caught him in the gut with her fist.

  Indeed, he had underestimated her.

  Not only her strength, but also her emotion. What had transpired between them at Urquhart, what had happened with the man she’d killed, it had all had changed her.

  Guilt twisted inside him and further drew his breath from his lungs.

  He had done it. All of it.

  He’d taken his own damaged past and ruined her too.

  The soft squeals and grunts of effort behind them had ceased. Liv and Isabel could doubtless no longer raise their blades.

  “Enough,” Connor said. “Practice is over.”

  Ariana’s gaze flicked toward the sun, which was not yet fully overhead. “It’s early.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “But no’ all are as tough as ye.”

  She nodded. “I’ll help them put everything away.”

  He wanted to stop her as she walked past. He wanted to catch her by the arm and meet her angry gaze so she would understand the depth of his regret for the many things he’d done wrong.

  But he knew from her clipped gait, even if he did do such a thing, it wouldn’t make a difference.

  The door to the castle burst open and slapped against the stone wall with a crack. Connor turned to see Percy running toward them with a bo
x in her hand.

  “Percy, what—”

  “Delilah and Sylvi are coming,” she shouted. “They’ve got someone injured. Throw open the gate.”

  Connor sprinted toward the portcullis and triggered the contraption to raise the gate, which ascended with painful slowness.

  Percy danced from foot to foot with uncharacteristic impatience. “I saw them from the window. At first I didn’t recognize them.”

  “Who is with them?” Connor asked.

  Percy shook her head. “I’m not sure. Murdoch is in his room—I already checked. He’s still sleeping.” She craned her neck in an effort to look impatiently under the slowly raising gate. “I will check on him when he wakes.”

  When the widening gap in the gate had reached about three feet, Percy darted forward and ducked under the heavy wooden structure. Connor did likewise and raced behind her to where Delilah and Sylvi approached.

  An extraordinarily large man was slung over Sylvi’s horse, facedown.

  “We found him on the road not far from here,” Sylvi said. Her face was set and deep shadows showed beneath her eyes.

  Percy waved her hand toward Connor. “Help me pull him down.”

  “Save your herbs, Percy. They’re not needed.” Sylvi leapt off her horse and pressed a hand to her lower back before stretching forward.

  Delilah slid from her own horse and cast a worried glance at the man. Her dress was rumpled and stained from having worn it often. Even her hair fell limp around her face. Never had Delilah been such a mess.

  “He’s already dead.” Delilah’s voice was as wan as she looked.

  “Are you sure?” Percy asked.

  Connor grasped the man’s shirt to pull him down. The skin beneath the cloth felt waxy and cool.

  “His throat was cut,” Sylvi said. “And not many can survive that.” She fingered her own neck, where the skin showed pink beneath the ribbon she wore. Her gaze flicked to Connor, and her hands dropped when she obviously realized he was watching.

  He slid the man off the horse, hefting him carefully to keep the body from slamming to the ground. The head fell backward. Too far, as if it meant to roll off. Connor shoved his shoulder forward and braced the weight before it could fall further.