Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  Isabel.

  Ariana’s stomach dropped.

  They thought her dead.

  Connor tried to step forward again, but the king held up his hand and several pairs of arms pulled Connor back.

  “You needn’t explain why,” King James said. “I already know. You want so badly to be free of your role with me.”

  A small sob hiccuped out of Cora and Connor’s head turned in her direction.

  “Why?” she mouthed.

  Realization splintered through Ariana. Cora knew what Connor had done, and judging from the sick expression on his face, he had just realized as much.

  “You lied to me.” The king’s voice pitched. “I trusted you to see those men dead in four months. You had your orders. You disobeyed and you killed a member of my own blood. My dear cousin, Isabel.”

  Cora was weeping softly now and Connor let his head fall forward.

  Ariana’s breathing came harder. Connor would have no explanation for the king. Lying would do little more than buy him time.

  Movement occurred at the side window and snagged her attention. Several soldiers spoke to a man she recognized all too well.

  The blond hair, the overly large frame, the chipped-toothed smile.

  Murdoch.

  “I dinna know she was yer cousin, your grace,” Connor said. “And Laird Gordon was harder to get to than anticipated.” His voice lacked the conviction it needed.

  This would not go well.

  Ariana turned her attention back to Murdoch. One of the soldiers clapped him on the shoulder like a brother and let him stroll away.

  No arrest.

  No manacles.

  A dizzying rush of triumph tingled through her. It all clicked perfectly in her head, like a lockpick blindly stabbing through the darkness before catching.

  It all made sense now.

  The length of time Murdoch had been gone when initially searching for MacAlister when she’d first arrived. The way he’d led Connor to believe the people of Urquhart were all dead—it had been no mere coincidence or misunderstanding.

  And the injury he’d sustained, the way he’d appeared to have slept for so long when he’d arrived and how her horse had been in the wrong stall.

  He had killed Renny, and he’d taken a knife in the gut for his crime. The wound had looked fresh despite his claim it was several days old. She’d seen the confusion on Percy’s face when she’d cared for it. But gentle Percy did not question his lie.

  “I know you’ve lied to me, Connor.” The king motioned to his guards with a sweep of his finger, and they inched closer to Connor. “After years of trusted friendship, I was going to give you an opportunity to tell me the truth. It appears even now you are unable to do so.”

  Ariana’s mind swam.

  Murdoch. All this time it was Murdoch.

  But her newfound knowledge would do nothing stop the king.

  There had to be something else. Some other way.

  She scoured her brain for something to get them out, a way to free Connor, and sucked in a hard breath at what unraveled before her.

  Isabel had once told her in confidence of the king’s fear of witches. It was a dangerous gamble considering what was done to witches, but Connor would be safe.

  Ariana’s heart slammed harder in her chest.

  This could be her death.

  But it would save Connor.

  “Connor Grant,” the king said in a booming voice. “I hereby arrest—”

  “It was me,” Ariana said. She didn’t let it scream from her as the clawing desperation inside her longed to do. No, she said it with the careful calm of one who had long since weighed her words.

  The king stopped. “What did you say?”

  Everyone turned to stare at her and the impact of what she was about to do slammed into her as though she’d run headlong into a stone wall.

  Her pulse was jagged and wild.

  Connor stared at her, confusion evident in the amber warmth of his eyes. She would never forget those eyes. And she would not regret this.

  Love was a far greater reward than death was a punishment.

  “I said…” Ariana stepped forward. Fear nipped at her waning bravery, but she swept it aside. “It was me.”

  • • •

  What the hell was Ariana doing?

  Connor stared in horror as she came forward to stand at his side in the fire of the king’s accusation. She strode with a confident gait.

  “Killing Laird Gordon and MacAlister were tasked to me.” She spoke without looking at Connor.

  He’d once told her the king didn’t know the girls didn’t kill. He regretted that now. “That isna—”

  “I didn’t tell Connor about Lady MacAlister—she was merely caught in the middle by accident. And I told him I did kill Laird Gordon.” Ariana tilted her head in an arrogant manner. “But I did not.”

  The king cast an incredulous look at Connor. “And you believed this?”

  “She’s lying,” Connor growled the words through his teeth, as if he could somehow convince the king with the force of his vehemence.

  “I compelled him,” Ariana said in a cool tone.

  Everything inside Connor chilled to brittle ice.

  No.

  She was not going to do this.

  The king went still and the color faded from his cheeks.

  “I lied to him and compelled him to believe me,” she said.

  “Compelled.” The king repeated the words with wide eyes. “Ye witch. Why?”

  “Because I know a lot about you.” She sneered. “Like all these years you’ve left Urquhart unguarded. And how Laird Gordon kept Connor’s people safe when you failed.”

  Frantic fear clawed its way deep into Connor’s heart. “Stop this, Ariana.”

  She turned to him and gave a gentle smile. “My hold on you is so deep, you cannot help but defend me.”

  Connor fought the manacles behind his back. They rattled with his effort and cut into the heels of his palms, all to no avail. “Dinna do this.” He looked up at the king, whose face had gone completely white. “Dinna listen to her. She’s lying.”

  But King James was not listening to him. He stared at Ariana with bulging eyes, his arms protectively crossed over his heart like a child who’d been frightened.

  Ariana regarded the king once more. “I know it’s you who betrayed Connor.”

  King James flicked an anxious glance toward Connor. He swallowed—a soft thunk in the great silence.

  “I know many, many things, James.” She said the king’s Christian name as if it were a curse. “More than how you’ve dangled Connor’s lands over him and how you’ve let his people go without a leader. Like how you worked behind his back.”

  “Stop this,” the king hissed.

  “No. I know how you’ve worked against him.” She looked at Connor when she finished the sentence. “With Murdoch.”

  Connor ceased struggling and his body tingled as if he’d just been doused with water from the loch in winter.

  Murdoch.

  Connor looked to King James, but the monarch would not meet his eye.

  King James shifted backward, almost cowering behind Cora, and shot an accusing finger toward Ariana. “Arrest her. Arrest the witch.”

  Soldiers shoved past Connor to do their master’s bidding. Connor tried to lurch to the side, to do what he could to protect Ariana.

  But it was no use. They surrounded her and she did not bother to fight.

  Damn it, why didn’t she even fight?

  But he knew the answer.

  It wasn’t just Cora. It was him.

  She knew that by accepting the blame herself, he would be free.

  He watched her face through the bustle of activity. The manacles were unclasped from his wrists and snapped onto hers.

  I’m sorry, she mouthed. I love you.

  The words embedded themselves in his heart like a wickedly thorned burr. His body tightened with the need to fight.


  As if sensing his intent, several guards grabbed him and held him back.

  They took Ariana from him then. She walked calmly, with the authority of a queen.

  And she did not look at him again.

  Connor stared at her until she disappeared from view. “What will happen to her?” He unleashed his rage in a roar of words.

  The king gave Connor a shrewd look. “Her hooks are in deep with you. She has truly bewitched you.”

  No mirth showed on his face. Connor had known of the king’s paranoia against witches—there were many in Scotland who shared his fears—but never had he witnessed such a powerful man with such a dangerous fear.

  “What will happen to her?” Connor asked again, more calmly this time.

  “The same as what happens to all witches, and all other traitors against the crown—she’ll be put to death.” The king glanced out the window, where the day’s sunlight was beginning to fade. “In the morning.”

  Connor had expected the answer, but it was still a gut punch. Ariana was slated to die.

  For having saved him.

  He wanted to bolt from the room and race after the soldiers who took her. A quick sword thrust to both their necks and she’d be free.

  But he knew it wasn’t that easy. After those two guards there would be dozens more. No amount of training could make those odds work in his favor.

  He would need time to form a plan, and he’d have until morning.

  “Forgive the barbarous nature of my threat earlier. It was wrong to obtain your sister, though I imagine you understand such things better than most.” The king motioned to Cora to step down.

  She cast a hesitant look at him before running off the dais and into Connor’s embrace. He curled her trembling body in his arms. Her eyes and cheeks were wet with tears and she stared into his face with a wide, frightened gaze.

  “And forgive me for what I’ve confessed on your behalf,” the king added without emotion.

  The understanding of Cora’s words earlier, of her reaction now, crashed through Connor.

  Cora knew the horrors of what he’d done, the men he’d murdered by order of the king.

  Nausea clenched at his stomach. Not her.

  Not Cora.

  Connor’s thoughts mired in his frustration.

  All the years Connor had worked for him, had sacrificed his moral integrity and stained his soul the color of blood, and this, this, was how the king repaid his loyalty?

  Stealing his sister and killing the woman he loved.

  Connor shook his head. “After all I’ve done for ye, ye work with Murdoch to bring my demise.”

  “I couldn’t have a powerful force such as you without a leash, could I?” the king asked. “Surely you don’t blame me. After all, I have already extended my apology. And I’ll be speaking with Murdoch later about his inability to provide me with correct information.”

  Cora was weeping softly now. Each shuddering breath she drew, no matter how discreet, was a blow to his heart. He held her to him and laid her head on his chest. He couldn’t look down at her and see her pain, or even what might lie beyond.

  Accusation.

  Disgust.

  Cora knew.

  “And here is your retinue.” The king indicated the far door where Sylvi led the other women toward him. Her gait was stiff and her face a storm cloud of fury.

  “I must commend you for what you’ve been able to do with these women,” the king said. “Who knew such softness could be turned to steel?”

  Sylvi slid him a steely look from the corner of her eye. Respectful from a distance, but he knew what was grinding in her head.

  Delilah followed behind Sylvi, then Percy and Liv.

  Isabel was nowhere in sight.

  Connor’s world was spinning out of control. All the carefully woven lies were unraveling like a loose thread subjected to a hard pull, and he felt it all laid around him in a messy, ugly pile.

  “Were you truly arrested for treason?” Sylvi demanded. Her gaze settled on where Connor held Cora in his arms for a moment, but she cut her stare back to him.

  She gave the king a hard look. “This man’s life has revolved around keeping you safe for the last three years. Our lives are spent ensuring all threats against you are dispelled. He is honorable and he is just.”

  The king smiled at her with the condescending patience one gives a petulant child. “I take it ye’re the lass five men had to bring down. Impressive.”

  Sylvi’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, an indication his praise had not pleased her. “There are a lot of people who want to kill you,” she said in reply.

  Connor knew she wanted to say more, but she wisely held her tongue.

  If only Ariana had done the same. His gut clenched at the thought of her.

  At least with the other girls now released, they could somehow band together—a unified force against the king’s army.

  If ever a small group stood a chance, it was them.

  But it would still be dangerous.

  The smile on the king’s face faded. “Who wishes to kill me?”

  Sylvi turned and regarded Connor with a look inviting him to speak. He released Cora with a gentle pat. “Delilah and I have been tracking a plot to assassinate you. Thomas Percy and several other men are responsible.”

  The sooner he told the king the information they had on the gunpowder gathering plot, the sooner they would be free to devise a plan to rescue Ariana.

  And God help Murdoch if Connor saw him any time soon.

  Chapter 37

  The walls had ears and eyes.

  It made speaking openly to the other women difficult, but certainly not impossible.

  Connor had gathered them all in Percy’s large room, including Cora. His sister regarded him with questions in her eyes, and he knew she wanted to talk with him. But not here. Not now. Not around everyone.

  The familiar clean scent of herbs in Percy’s workroom was a comfort, however small, in such perilous times.

  “Where is Ariana?” Percy’s pupils narrowed to small dots of black in her large blue eyes.

  “One of the guards said she was under arrest.” Sylvi spoke in a somber tone. Her gaze was sharp and Connor knew everything in her was on guard.

  He understood all too well. His own body was tight with the threat of an impending attack, his senses on high alert and his nerves strung taut.

  “They took her to the prison,” Cora added.

  The very thought of Ariana in prison coiled around his heart like a chain, heavy and tight and cold.

  Delilah turned a horrified look on Connor. “Is that true?”

  He nodded, unable to say the words aloud. “Where’s Isabel?” “Right here,” came a feminine voice.

  Connor glanced over his shoulder to find Isabel emerging from a false door in the wall. She wore a low cut gown garishly adorned with paste gems. Her eyes were lined with kohl and her lips smeared with carmine, as they had been the last time he’d seen her.

  And truly he was grateful to see her now. After having been accused of killing her, it would not do well for the king to now find her alive and in Connor’s care.

  “I knew of Isabel’s predicament.” Percy sifted through a cabinet while she spoke. “I knew she couldn’t be caught and so I hid her in the false wall here.” She handed a neat stack of black clothing to Isabel and nodded toward the back wall, where Connor had built several false walls with hidden stairs around the castle. They all connected and had an exit from the castle to allow for escape should the need arise. With the crumbling deterioration of Kindrochit, he hadn’t needed much skill, and the construction was almost easy. It had taken over two years to accomplish. Initially, he’d felt as though he’d wasted his time in constructing it. Now he was glad he had.

  Isabel disappeared behind a screen.

  “Connor.” Liv stepped forward, the small gray kitten clutched to her chest. “Tell us what happened to Ariana. What are they going to do to her?” Desperation sh
arpened her voice and it made Connor wish he didn’t have to recount the painful tale.

  They all needed to know what fate would befall their friend, and then they could decide if they were willing to risk everything to save her.

  • • •

  The manacles cut into Ariana’s wrists. They’d been drawn too tight across her skin. She’d tried rolling her wrists and wriggling them in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, but all her effort was in vain.

  They’d forced her to walk through the courtyard under the encouragement of an army’s glare, and they were now stopped in front of the prison. The smaller building was set apart from the main part of the castle and housed not only the prison but the larder as well.

  She’d only ever seen the inside of the larder, where the weapons they used for practice were typically kept in a neat row along the walls.

  “What will you do with me?” Ariana asked. “How long am I to stay your prisoner?”

  The guards opened the door to the prison and an aggressive shove sent her sprawling inside. She staggered into the darkened room, momentarily blinded by the sudden absence of light.

  The scrape of stones under her feet echoed around her, mimicking her unsure footing. A distinct mustiness inside mingled with the wet scent of earth and stone. A very thin crack of light showed from a bit of broken stone in one far corner, though it was meager enough to be nonexistent.

  “Dinna worry.” Murdoch’s familiar voice sounded beside her ear. “Ye willna be here long.”

  She sensed more than felt him lean over her.

  Her instincts lurched into action and she managed to jerk away from his face, but he caught the chain tethering her hands together before she could escape.

  The darkness of the room became less impenetrable as her vision adjusted, and Murdoch’s wild blond braids and hard face came into view.

  His eyes narrowed with hatred. “How did ye know I was working with the king?”

  She glanced around the room, confirming several other guards were in there with them. Were it just the two of them, she would have already managed to flee.