Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  Anise shook her head. “We havena had to fend for ourselves.”

  “But the people outside,” Ariana interjected. All eyes in the room turned toward her. “The crowd of people who were starving and in need of clothing.”

  “No’ us,” Anise replied solemnly. “We’ve been well cared for all this time.”

  Connor stopped pacing and turned toward her. “By whom?”

  Anise regarded him with surprise, as if she assumed he already knew the answer. “Why, Laird Kenneth Gordon, of course.”

  • • •

  Kenneth Gordon.

  Connor stared at Anise, his thoughts momentarily paralyzed by the name which had haunted him the last few months.

  The friend, the betrayer…and now the savior of the very people Connor had failed.

  Kenneth Gordon.

  He did not have to turn to know Ariana was staring at him intently. The weight of her gaze was too heavy on his back. He could not bear to face it head on.

  “The Gordons were responsible for the fall of Urquhart,” Connor said. The disbelief he’d tried so hard to mask came through far too clear.

  “His da, the late laird—he was the one who took Urquhart.” Anise nodded toward the guards.

  They stepped forward, almost as one. For the first time, Connor noticed they were identical. Tavin and Tavish, the brewer’s sons who were once the scrawniest fourteen-year-old lads Connor had ever laid eyes on. The past three years, and the harrowing circumstances, had clearly turned them into men.

  “We dinna want to believe it at first either,” Tavin said.

  “But he’s helped us,” Tavish finished his brother’s sentence the same as he always had. “He wants to help those in this town as well. It isna easy with politics.”

  Connor grimaced. He knew politics too damn well.

  Emotions clashed within him. Anger for having not come to check on his people himself, shame for having abandoned them, and frustration at how they had been saved by the very man who had betrayed him.

  He needed to see Kenneth, and not just because his name was next on the list to kill.

  Connor needed to speak with him, to ask the question plaguing him all the past three years: Why?

  “He thinks ye’re dead as well.” Anise’s gentle tone pulled Connor from his reverie. “I think it’d do his heart good to see ye survived.”

  This time he did turn and meet Ariana’s gaze. She nodded slightly.

  “There’s a feast in two days’ time at Glenbuchat Castle in Kildrummy,” Tavin said.

  “Aye, English and Scottish alike,” Tavish interjected. “A ball of sorts.”

  Tavin nodded enthusiastically, belying his youth. “Ye’d have enough time to get there.”

  The two looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously.

  Ariana turned to Anise. “Could you secure a gown for me?”

  Anise cast a reverent glance toward Connor. “Aye, anything ye need.”

  The lass was putting on a brave front, but the red tip of her nose and the hollows around her eyes gave away the grief threatening to break her facade.

  “Ye’ve done well, Anise,” he said. “Thank ye. I’ll have ye go home now and Tavin and Tavish can coordinate what we need.”

  She nodded.

  “Please let me know if ye need anything,” Connor offered before she slipped out the door. “I’m indebted to yer family.”

  “It lightens our hearts to know ye’re alive, laird.” Her voice broke and she quit the room before any of them could see her tears.

  Renny would have been proud of his daughter.

  The subtle fresh scent he’d come to associate with Ariana tickled his awareness. He turned and found her at his side.

  Close, but not touching.

  As was her way now.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said softly.

  A swell of hope warmed through him. “Ye’re no’ going to leave, then?”

  “Not until after.” She gave a smile so wry, it did not curl her lips or touch her eyes. “When you no longer need me.”

  He wanted to tell her there would never be a time he wouldn’t need her. But with Tavin and Tavish in the church-quiet room and the brittle cloak of bitterness Ariana wore slung over her shoulders, he knew the words would be wasted.

  He had her for two more days and two more nights.

  It would have to be enough time to meet with Gordon and convince Ariana she did not need to leave.

  Kenneth.

  Connor pulled in a deep breath, but it did little to release the strain of the tension knotting his back.

  After all this time, after all the betrayal, he would be seeing Kenneth again.

  And would have to kill him.

  Chapter 32

  In another life, Ariana might not have felt so impressed by the ball at Glenbuchat Castle. But that other life was long cold in her thoughts, and to her, the night sparkled like magic.

  The buzz of conversation filled the air like the melodic hum of a violin, and the many flickering lights glowing around the castle reminded Ariana of a sky lit with a million stars.

  She wore a lovely gown of jewel-green silk, the kind her parents would have had made for her in preparation for the meeting of a new suitor. And she’d met many—all fruitless endeavors, of course.

  But this was different.

  Connor exited the carriage and held his arm out to her in silent invitation. She’d been talked into the idea of playing at husband and wife lest she appear a whore on his arm, as she had no lady to attend her.

  Her hand trembled somewhat and she slipped it quickly into the crook of Connor’s arm lest he notice. Deep down inside her hummed a lightheaded thrill at pretending to be his wife, and the quiet suggestion of intimacy hung in the air like sparkling cloth of gold.

  Connor rested the warmth of his hand over hers and smiled down at her the way a man would gaze upon his wife. His eyes were warm and tender, his chest puffed out with pride at the woman on his arm, a slight smile curving the sensual line of his mouth. Ariana’s pulse thrummed faster and her palm began to sweat against the fine sleeve of his jacket.

  He leaned closer to her and the delicious scent of him brought images fluttering through her mind she’d rather not be thinking.

  “Pretend we like each other tonight, aye?” His whispered words were a caress against her ear and the sensitive side of her neck.

  A delicious wave of chills glided down her back. Her cheeks went hot.

  “I think I can do that.” She spoke without looking at him lest she fall into something from which she could not be free.

  Tonight was not for stabbing herself with the memory of painful words and acts. Goodness knew there was far too great an arsenal of those floating in her mind.

  No, tonight was for celebrating the nearness of her freedom.

  Together she and Connor made their way toward the large stone entry of Glenbuchat Castle. He stopped before they could walk in and touched the underside of her chin, tipping her face toward his.

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  “Ye look bonny.”

  Pleasure warmed her cheeks despite her best efforts to squelch her reaction. His hand came up and gently, tenderly, stroked her cheek.

  “You don’t have to pretend to like me so well,” she teased.

  He gave a carefree shrug. “It’s the truth. Ye look lovely. Touching yer cheek was the bit extra to convince the masses, but I canna say I minded it.” He gave her a wink, and an excited energy fired through her.

  No.

  She couldn’t let him ease his way past her defenses like this.

  “It’s yer turn.” He gave her an urging nod.

  “My turn?” She looked up at him. The light from all the candles flickered golden across his face and reminded her of the previous few times they’d spoken in the solar at Kindrochit.

  Those nights seemed so very long ago.

  Suddenly their charade was too intimate, too tempting.

&n
bsp; “Aye. It’s yer turn to tell me I look lovely too.” He held his free hand toward her in invitation and she laughed in spite of herself.

  She also had to grudgingly admit he did look handsome. He’d dressed like a laird again in a pale linen léine and a new plaid kilted over his narrow hips in pleats.

  They stopped behind another couple to patiently await their entry.

  His face grew serious, his gaze intent. “I’ve missed the sound of yer laughter, Ariana.”

  This was no jest to casually brush off, and no witty, diffusing remark swam up in her frantic thoughts. She’d been disarmed.

  And like any good warrior, he took advantage of her lowered defenses. His fingertips grazed the edge of her jaw and he lowered his head to hers.

  He brushed his lips across hers in that delicate, not-a-kiss way of his. She drew in a gasp of cool air and he straightened.

  But there was nothing more to say before they were permitted entry into the castle with the low bow of a large, red-haired man wearing a kilt.

  The room was lit in gilded light, revealing a blend of the dances she’d known in London and the rustic revelry the Highlands afforded. Lively music curled through the air and left almost every foot tapping. A cleared area of the great hall formed a dance floor where more elegantly dressed Englishmen twirled beside the Scottish couples in their beautiful plaids.

  Ariana wanted to close her eyes and let herself drown in the dream of it all. This was the life she’d once been so accustomed to, the only life she’d ever known, before hunger and uncertainty had become her constant companions.

  Was she truly ready to embrace such a precarious existence once more?

  Connor’s arm stiffened slightly beneath her fingers. He was staring across the room, at a man with long black hair. The man was dressed in similar attire to what Connor wore, only the plaid was a slightly different color and his shirt was a golden yellow color.

  “It’s Kenneth,” Connor said, without pulling his gaze from the man.

  Ariana left her own attention fixed on him as well, assessing the man who had taken everything from Connor, who had so horribly betrayed a friend.

  “He hasna seen us yet.” Connor slid his arm from Ariana’s grasp. “I’d like to approach him alone.”

  Ariana had expected as much and allowed Connor to extricate himself. “I will not leave before saying goodbye.”

  Connor’s gaze jerked from Gordon to her. “I dinna want ye to leave at all.”

  There was nothing to say to that. No placating lie of an intent to stay, no consoling croon of how she would miss him. To do any of those things would betray herself and expose unhealed wounds best left concealed.

  He cradled her face in his hands like a lover. Her knees softened and she worried at their ability to keep her standing upright.

  Those beautiful hazel eyes of his stared into hers, deep into her soul, until she feared the secrets of her reaction might be bared.

  Was it possible for him to see how her poor heart raced, or the way her frantic lungs scarce drew air?

  Then his mouth came down on hers. Not the soft, butterfly wing of a kiss he’d whispered over her lips only moments before, but the gentle caress of one’s lips against another’s, further warmed by the promising sweep of his tongue against the seal of her mouth.

  “I trust ye to no’ leave without saying goodbye.” He gave her one last, heart-squeezing look and melted into the crush of English and Scottish nobles like a ghost.

  Ariana, finally able to draw breath, pulled in a deep chestful of air. Not that doing so eased the dryness of her mouth. She did a cursory sweep of the room, seeking out the source of refreshment, and went still.

  On the opposite wall was a row of tables, each framed by an eager crowd.

  Card tables.

  Then she heard it, like the distant pull of a siren’s call: the subtle clinking of coins, the cheer of a winner’s cry, the rapid-fire ticking of cards being shuffled against one another.

  She strolled toward the tables before she’d made up her mind to do so, her body feeding off the bounty they offered. Everything in her went giddy with anticipation.

  To feel the smooth caress of cards against her fingertips, to casually toss a coin or two into the pile as if they did not dictate whether or not she ate.

  To win.

  Her breath quickened.

  An English gentleman turned toward her and smiled before shifting further right, clearing a place for her. “My lady, will you play?”

  She drew two coins from her purse, two of the six she’d brought with her, and let them rain from her fingertips toward the small collection amassed on the table already. “Indeed, I will.”

  It was all she would need to sacrifice to gather the cards she’d need. And soon, oh soon, she would once again be winning.

  • • •

  After three long years, Connor was finally prepared to meet Kenneth Gordon again.

  Connor passed through the crowd, careful to keep himself partially hidden by those around him. His gaze remained fixed on the man who had betrayed him, despite the numerous people who slipped into his line of vision.

  The memory of Ariana’s mouth still warmed his lips, a sweetness lingering from their kiss. Even if it had been he who’d kissed her.

  Thoughts of Ariana could come later.

  Now was for Kenneth, who had turned toward a narrow hallway and was quickly becoming little more than a retreating back. Had he seen Connor?

  Was Kenneth running?

  Connor made his way through the masses of people and stopped when he saw Kenneth reappear in an alcove overlooking the party.

  Silent as only the Shadow’s son could be, Connor made his way to the alcove, creeping down the same hall and spiraling up the narrow staircase.

  Kenneth turned abruptly and froze, his legs set in a wide stance of authority, his hand braced on the stone rail of the balcony with an ease too casual to be earnest.

  Both men regarded one another for a long moment, a chance to assess three years and everything else in a fraction of a second.

  In that time, Connor noted the white hair feathered through the dark at Kenneth’s temples, and how the lines of his forehead had become deeply creased. Kenneth had also gotten larger, if such a thing were possible. His shoulders squared with a power he’d always worn with such admirable ease.

  He swallowed once and the prominent lump in the center of his throat bobbed. “Ye always were stealthily quiet.”

  To see Kenneth again almost left Connor overwhelmed. So many emotions…all immediate, all intense.

  The love, the hatred. The brother, the enemy.

  Kenneth spoke in a voice softer than Connor had ever heard. “I thought ye were dead.”

  He rushed forward and Connor tensed to lift his blade free.

  But it was not a shot to the gut or a fist to the face that came to him. Kenneth’s arms wrapped around Connor in an embrace so fierce it robbed him of breath.

  Not that he’d ever admit as much.

  Kenneth gripped Connor’s shoulders and pushed as far as his arm’s length would allow. “I thought ye were dead.” He repeated it in a louder voice, his excitement evident.

  But Connor did not give in to the current of elation tugging at him. He didn’t have the luxury to do so.

  The last time he’d spoken to Kenneth was the day Connor had lost everything.

  He pulled back in a hard jerk of anger. Emotion washed over him in an unexpected surge and dragged him below the surface of his own rage. “Yer father took Urquhart.”

  Pain etched harder lines on Kenneth’s face. “Connor—”

  “He took Urquhart and he killed my da.” The words came out through clenched teeth, but that did not make them silent.

  Several people below looked up at them, but Connor paid them little mind.

  Kenneth reached for Connor, as if he meant to embrace him once more. Connor stepped back, hands up to prevent the man he’d once called his brother from touchi
ng him.

  “Connor, I couldna stop him. I tried. When that dinna work, I knew I had to save ye and Cora.” Kenneth raked a hand through his hair. A spiky black strand of it jutted up from his temple, like the feathers of an odd little bird. The memory of his hair standing in tufts when not smoothed down tickled at Connor’s memory. It’d been funny when they were lads. Connor found himself decidedly not in the mood to laugh at present.

  “I know I can never make it up to ye.” Kenneth’s eyes searched Connor’s, almost pleading. “I’ve cared for yer people, I’ve kept Urquhart from being taken by townsfolk.”

  Words meant to soothe only incensed. Sorrow went molten in Connor’s veins, transforming into something he could more readily accept—anger.

  “There’s no’ anything ye can do to make it right,” Connor hissed. “Ye canna’ ever bring back my da.”

  Kenneth shook his head, not even attempting to argue with what Connor had stated.

  They both knew it was pointless.

  Connor’s deep, slow inhale trembled slightly under the weight of his rage.

  He should kill Kenneth now.

  End it while possible, while rage controlled all thought and action.

  Connor closed his hand around the hilt of his dirk, but Kenneth did not move. Connor slid the blade from its sheath, but still Kenneth did not budge.

  “Will ye hide behind yer guards?” Connor snarled.

  “I’ll hide behind no one and I’ll no’ defend myself against actions for which there is no forgiveness.” Resignation dropped Kenneth’s head lower and Connor knew his words to be true.

  He’d confessed to having been wrong.

  The rush of anger went still within Connor and left him drifting through what remained.

  He stared at his friend for a long moment before letting the blade slip back into its sheath. Kenneth’s shoulders did not slump in relief as most men’s might. It was then Connor realized Kenneth had truly anticipated death.

  And he had readily accepted his fate.

  He raised his eyes without lifting his head. “There is much I would like to discuss with ye, Connor. Much I never thought I’d have a chance to say.”