Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  Him. The former laird of the Gordons—the man who had taken everything from Connor.

  “He dinna listen, of course,” Kenneth said. His voice went flat. “And I knew I couldna stop him. But I knew I could at least protect ye and Cora.”

  Anger flashed through Connor. “Ye saved us, did ye?”

  Kenneth met the force of Connor’s glare without flinching. “Did ye think it was a coincidence I was in the area, but had Cora away from the castle? Or that someone told ye where to find us?”

  The idea jarred in Connor’s brain and stunned him into silence for a brief moment.

  No.

  He’d never considered either of those instances a coincidence.

  “Ye never told us about the attack.” Connor couldn’t keep the accusation from his tone. “Why?”

  “They were still my clan, Connor. And it wouldna have stopped either of ye from going back to Urquhart. The best I could do was delay ye, keep ye from being surprised and killed before ye could fight.”

  Connor wanted to argue, but the protest died in his chest. Kenneth spoke true. Knowing about the attack would have only spurred Connor to get there faster. And even Cora would not have remained behind at the thought of their father, their people, in trouble.

  Kenneth’s jaw squared. “I couldna do anything to stop it. I couldna do anything more to save ye or Cora. I’d spent all these years assuming ye were both dead. I’m glad that is not the case for either of ye.”

  Connor’s head snapped up. “Ye know Cora is alive?”

  Rain flecked the cobblestones around them and together they moved beneath the eaves of the church.

  Kenneth sank down onto the stone bench there and gave a deep sigh. “Were it no’ for someone telling me she was alive, I might never have known.”

  “MacAlister,” Connor surmised.

  Kenneth looked up at where Connor still stood and narrowed his eyes. “How did ye know?”

  “I found out about what ye were planning to do,” Connor said in a lowered voice. “I know we havena seen each other in so many years, but I dinna understand it. Why would ye do something so foolish? Why would ye conspire with him to commit treason?” The weight of those questions had plagued Connor since he’d learned of the plot from Isabel.

  A nun walked swiftly past with her head ducked against the rain. They watched her pass before Kenneth answered.

  “It was foolish. I knew as much when I first agreed to play a part.” He studied the distant fountain as if it somehow might contain the answer. Fat drops of rain splashed into the pooled water at its large basin. “I did it for her.”

  “Her?”

  “For Cora. I’ve always loved her. When I found out she was alive…” Kenneth stopped talking and his brows flinched together. He cleared his throat before resuming speaking. “When I found out she was alive, I would have done anything to have her back again.”

  Connor lowered his head and gave a sardonic smile. “Even commit treason.”

  “That’s done now that MacAlister is dead.”

  Connor stared down at Kenneth’s profile and let everything he’d been told sink in. His heart grew heavy with contemplation.

  After all this time, it was finally apparent that it was not Kenneth who had changed.

  It was Connor.

  The realization was a blow to the gut and he allowed himself to sink down onto the bench beside Kenneth.

  Connor had allowed himself to be so blinded by the need for vengeance, he had turned his back on the survivors who had needed him.

  It had been Kenneth who had cared and provided for them.

  Connor had protected Cora the best way he knew by locking her in a place where no one outside could touch her.

  It had been Kenneth who risked all to bring her love.

  Connor had spent the years simmering in a stagnant pool of bitterness.

  It was Kenneth he had to thank for having not only saved Connor, but Cora as well.

  Had Kenneth not kissed Cora that day, had he not ensured Connor knew of the clandestine meeting, both Connor and Cora would have suffered the same fate as their father.

  The understanding sat in Connor’s gut with all the comfort of a sharp-edged rock. Not only had Kenneth done so much for them, Connor had repaid him by killing his father.

  The act had been so easy to justify then. When Connor had been so damn angry, so blinded by bloodlust, wanting only to slake his insatiable need for revenge.

  He stared down at his hands. Those hands had killed many. Some for the king, some in vengeance, some on the battlefield. How many had been hurt since the onset of his hatred?

  Were it not for the need for retribution, Connor would never have been locked in servitude as the king’s personal assassin.

  He’d done it all wrong.

  His heart slid heavy in his chest.

  “Connor.” Kenneth’s hand settled on his shoulder, the same as he’d done when they were boys. A motion Connor had inadvertently adopted over the years.

  The burden he had carried for so long was suddenly too heavy to bear. Everything in him buckled under the weight and his head bowed in defeat.

  Kenneth didn’t say his name again, but Connor knew he was awaiting a response.

  “I was so angry.” Connor’s voice was strained with the admission. It wasn’t the true confession he knew he needed to make, but it was the most he could stand to offer in the moment.

  “Ye dinna know. I’d have been angry too.” Kenneth squeezed his shoulder and let his hand drop away. “Connor, where have ye been these last three years?”

  Connor’s mouth was dry as straw and swallowing did nothing to assuage the discomfort. “I thought everyone was dead.” He turned to his friend and looked him in the eye.

  “I’ve been living in an abandoned castle, acting as the king’s personal assassin.”

  The skin around Kenneth’s eyes tightened and showed the lines there once more.

  Connor’s head swam, blurring warning with the need for honesty. There’d been too many lies through the years, too many barriers between their friendship. “I went to the king for help and asked to be allowed to kill yer da.”

  Kenneth’s brows flinched and his body tightened. “He fell down the stairs.”

  Connor dropped his gaze to his hands once more. His stained, murderous hands. “With a broken neck, aye?”

  Kenneth pulled in a breath beside him.

  “He’d killed my da!” The shout exploded from Connor’s throat and echoed back to them, peppered with the pattering of rain. He shot Kenneth a hard look and found his friend staring back at him in horror.

  “He killed yer da,” Kenneth said quietly. “And I did everything I could to make it right, because the sins of the father are no’ the sins of the son. Ye made the decision on yer own. It was yer sin which led to murder.”

  His words slipped into Connor’s heart like the cold, unforgiving blade of a dagger.

  Kenneth stood and backed away. “I dinna know the man ye’ve become, but I will always mourn the loss of Connor Grant. For truly he did die that day.”

  Then he turned on his heel and left Connor sitting on the bench, staring after him with a hollow gap where his heart had once been lodged.

  As soon as Kenneth disappeared from sight, another thought wormed its way into Connor’s mind and slithered into his thoughts.

  Cora.

  If Kenneth was willing to commit treason for her, what else would he be willing to do?

  Did he even know where Cora was?

  It wasn’t a risk Connor was willing to take.

  He shot off the bench and ran out into the rain toward the small rented room. He and Ariana would need to leave immediately to reclaim Cora.

  Before Kenneth got to her first.

  • • •

  Packing their travel items gave Ariana a different feeling of relief than what she’d anticipated the day prior.

  This one was warmer, ensconced in all the humming joy of love.


  Ariana had just finished with the last bag when Connor came through the door.

  Or rather burst through, as was the case.

  “We need to go. Now.” His usually calm demeanor held a frantic note of urgency. He glanced around the room in a wild sweep. “Do ye have everything?”

  Fear scraped up Ariana’s spine. In all the time she’d known Connor, she’d never seen him in such a state. As if…as if he were afraid.

  “Connor, what is it?” she asked.

  He hefted their heavy bag in both his hands. “Cora. I think Kenneth is going to take her.”

  She rushed to grab the bag containing the remainder of their food and followed him out the door. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer until they were in the inn’s crude stable. The stalls were empty save the two with their horses.

  “I told him,” Connor said. “I told him what I’ve been doing for the king. No’ about ye and the other girls, but about—” He glanced at the empty stalls and said in a quiet voice. “About what I’ve done for the king.”

  He swung the bags on the horses and secured them. “I told him about his da too.”

  Ariana’s heart flinched for the pain his admission must have afforded both men. She wanted to ask more, but the hard set of Connor’s face told her to let him be. For now.

  Once the horses were saddled and readied with their gear, they led them into the grayness of the outside. Rain pelted down upon them in fat, splatting drops.

  “Isabel was right. Kenneth was convinced to join MacAlister by an offer of marriage.” Connor swung onto his horse and Ariana did likewise. “A marriage to Cora.”

  A chill spread through Ariana’s veins. “You think he’s going to try to take her now?”

  Connor gave a sharp nod. “And he may keep her from ever seeing me again.” He dragged a hand through his hair in an uncommonly nervous gesture. “I canna lose her.”

  They waited until their horses were outside the town before encouraging them to run. And run they did. Their steeds raced with such fervor, the rain slapped at Ariana’s face in stinging lashes.

  She held on to her reins despite how slippery they’d become in the rain, despite how she could not feel the thick leather straps due to the numbing cold in her fingers.

  They rode like their lives depended on it, for surely someone’s life might. How far did Kenneth’s love for Cora go?

  Would he use her to get even with Connor?

  Time seemed to pass in a long, cruel stretch, and their pace was torturous.

  By the time the crude structure of the abbey came into view, Ariana’s body ached from staying atop the horse. Even her jaw hurt from having clenched it to keep her teeth from clacking.

  Connor’s command to his horse rose high over the wind and his horse shot ahead. But Ariana could not match his speed. No matter how much she wanted to, her horse and even her body would not comply.

  She saw him stop at the gate and swing down from his horse. He’d already disappeared inside by the time she arrived. His horse was unbound in front of the large wooden door.

  Ariana knocked so hard on its wet surface, pain lanced up her arm.

  The gate did not open.

  She tried again and this time it groaned slowly inward. But it was not a nun who stood on the other side.

  It was Connor, his face dark.

  Ariana’s heart caught in her throat. “Cora…”

  “She’s gone. They tried, but couldn’t stop her from being taken.” He swept up onto his horse. “All they’ll tell me was that a finely dressed man took her.”

  His jaw clenched in frustration. “I knew I should have moved her. Damn Kenneth. When we meet again—”

  “No.” Ariana swung up on her own horse and met Connor’s hard look. “Let’s not go to Kenneth just yet. He’ll be expecting it. Let’s go to Kindrochit.” She surveyed the surrounding land. It was the same scenery they’d seen for the last fortnight they’d been traveling—golden green grass spattering the swells of hills. Similar, but the area itself was foreign.

  “We’re close enough, aren’t we?” she asked.

  “About two hours away.” He nodded toward a pair of hills to the right.

  “Perfect.” She swung onto her horse and settled into the saddle. Her steed gave a soft whinny. “Sylvi and Delilah will have no doubt returned and Murdoch will be healing. We can devise a plan to save her. One Kenneth will not expect.”

  Connor’s forefinger tapped absently against the reins while he thought. “Fine,” he agreed. “To Kindrochit.”

  Their pace was faster than when they’d traveled to and from Urquhart, but it was by no means the same jarring speed that had threatened to tear her to pieces earlier.

  She hoped she was right in stopping Connor from going straight to Kenneth. If the others were at Kindrochit as she hoped, they could coordinate a unified attack. Had Connor gone on his own, and had Kenneth been expecting him, there was a high possibility he would not make it out alive.

  She chanced a sideways glance at Connor, discreetly studying the proud set of his jaw, the ease with which he rode his horse. He loved her.

  No one had ever loved her.

  And she wouldn’t let him come to harm so long as she could help it. The churning rush of River Clunie met her ears before the peak of Kindrochit came into view. The roof, then the stone face with its dark windows. Then the castle appeared, with dozens of riderless horses bent over the lush grass.

  Ariana slowed her horse on instinct and did a quick count. There were at least forty horses with empty saddles upon their backs.

  Connor slowed beside her as well. “It’s the king.” There was something quiet and dark in his tone.

  “Why do you think he is here?”

  Connor smirked. “I’m going to guess it has something to do with my inability to kill Kenneth. A mercy I now find myself regretting.”

  As they descended the hill, a force of soldiers came into view. The telltale red and yellow uniforms of the Gentlemen Pensioners, the king’s personal guard.

  King James.

  As Connor had correctly guessed.

  They welcomed her and Connor with stern faces. “The king wishes to see you,” said a man with dark hair.

  Two guards came to stand beside them.

  “I’d assumed as much,” Connor said wryly.

  Ariana’s pulse quickened. This was no welcome.

  They were being treated like criminals.

  They strode in through the castle gates and through the courtyard to the great hall, inside which the king stood at the head of the room on the small, raised dais that usually sat empty. The king stood wearing the heavy mantle of authority, the typical scowl of disinterest on his face now a deeper shade of pink than Ariana remembered.

  A woman with thick brown hair stood at his side, her nose and eyes reddened as if she’d been crying.

  Connor surged forward, but was caught at the shoulders by the guards and held in position. “Cora.” He bellowed her name with such volume, it echoed around them and caught at Ariana’s heart.

  “Connor, what have ye done?” Cora’s voice was thin with emotion. “Why dinna ye tell me of all this?”

  Connor’s shoulders sagged and he looked more defeated than Ariana had ever seen him.

  “Connor Grant.” The king’s voice rang sharp on the bare stone walls. “I hereby arrest you for the act of treason.”

  Chapter 36

  Treason meant death.

  Ariana blinked in shock and turned to Connor to find him staring blankly at the king, as if he too could not believe the words.

  The guard at Connor’s side yanked his arms back and another came forward with manacles in his hands. They were large, clunky metal rings, stained dark from previous victims.

  The idea of those slipping on Connor’s wrists was more than she could bear.

  She grabbed the hands holding Connor and jerked them free. “Don’t touch him.”

  Before the man could react, she spun around a
nd kicked the manacles from the other guard. They landed with a heavy metallic crash on the floor.

  “I wouldn’t resist if I were you.” The king’s voice broke through her frenzied desire to fight.

  “Ariana, stop.” Connor’s warning made her cease.

  She turned and looked toward the dais, where a guard had secured a blade against Cora’s throat. Defiance flashed in Cora’s brown eyes and Ariana knew if she kept fighting, Cora might too.

  And Cora would likely die.

  Doubtless Connor knew as much.

  Ariana let her arms drop to her sides and did not move to stop the man who bent to reclaim the manacles from the ground before securing them on Connor’s wrists.

  “That’s better.” The king waved off the man threatening Cora. Although the man moved back, he stood close enough to secure her in his grasp again at a moment’s notice.

  Ariana glanced around the room, seeking faces she’d come to know well. Percy, Liv, Sylvi, Delilah, Murdoch—even Isabel.

  None were to be found.

  Poor Murdoch had been lying abed with an injury when she’d left. And he was the kind of man who would not have given up the castle without a fight.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Sylvi and Delilah would have fought as well.

  To the death.

  Was everyone dead? Captured? The weight of loss crushed her heart.

  “What is this treason ye accuse me of?” The rage simmering under the surface of Connor’s composure rippled through his demand.

  The king’s lip curled with disgust. “You knew of a treasonous plot against me and yet you sought to let it come to fruition.”

  Ariana remembered the assassination Delilah and Sylvi had been investigating.

  Perhaps this was not about Kenneth after all.

  The plot Sylvi and Delilah were working so hard to uncover had held no real urgency. The House of Lords was months away from meeting.

  Connor’s hands curled into fists behind his back and Ariana could almost feel the frustration pounding through him. “We dinna have all the names yet.”

  The king narrowed his eyes. “You had the most important one and you didn’t do anything with it. Kenneth Gordon is still alive.” The king lifted his head in authoritative insistence. “And my cousin is dead.”