Highland Spy

by Madeline Martin

  “No’ feeling much like answering?” He snorted. “Ye’ll be spending some time with me tonight and can answer then.”

  His hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around so her back faced him. “I’m verra proud of how it all worked out.” The sour odor of liquor bathed over her neck and cheek. “But first I need to check ye. The lot of ye think ye’re so clever, hiding yer weapons everywhere.” His hands slid over her arms and down her waist. “I’m sure I’ll find at least one.”

  Ariana closed her eyes against the assault of his greedy hands, but it only made her concentrate on his touch more. His fingers glided down her legs and slid across her thigh, where it was obvious no blade had been strapped.

  He paused a little too long at her waist and pulled her back against him, where his enjoyment of his search was evident.

  Ariana gritted her teeth and couldn’t stop wondering at her own odds of defeating four people.

  Murdoch’s hands slid over her chest and danced over the top of her bodice.

  The hidden dagger there.

  Damn.

  She straightened before he could notice it. “That is about enough. A woman can only endure so much offense upon her person.”

  Murdoch grabbed her by the throat in a painful squeeze and shoved his hand in to the confines between her breasts. His fingers were cold and rough.

  He’d clumsily bumped the dagger several times and yet he allowed his probing fingers to prod within her bodice.

  The cur.

  With all the strength Ariana could muster, she exploded forward and used her head as a battering ram against his face. Pain blossomed over the front of her forehead and Murdoch jerked back from her with a curse.

  His hand had clung to her dagger and tugged it free from her bodice with a savage rending that echoed around them.

  Blood coursed down his mouth and chin. He held his free hand to the bridge of his nose. “Ye broke by dose, ye bitch.” His ms came out like bs and his ns like ds, evidence that he was most likely correct.

  Ariana glared at him and let all the hatred and anger within her radiate in his direction. “I’d have broken more had you not bound my arms behind me, you coward.”

  Murdoch looked behind Ariana to where the guards stood. “Get the hell out.” His gaze shifted to her and a chill moved down her spine. “I’ve got her from here.”

  The men’s echoing footsteps thunked out of the narrow cell and left the prison disconcertingly quiet.

  Ariana bent her knees slightly and braced herself for a blow.

  She wasn’t disappointed.

  Murdoch rushed upon her with such speed, even her preparation for the impact was not enough to keep her upright. His body slammed into her and she fell back against the hard floor.

  She twisted herself when she landed so the solid part of her upper arm slapped against the stone rather than the back of her head.

  The way Connor had taught her.

  Murdoch grabbed her other arm and dragged her backward. She tried to drop her weight to the ground and make herself heavy, but he lifted her with ease regardless. Her feet kicked helplessly beneath her until she was shoved back against the wall.

  “Ye found a way to save him today.” Murdoch’s broken nose made his speech difficult to discern. “Ye’ll no’ be here to save him next time.”

  Ariana twisted and fought against his hold. To no avail. If only her arms hadn’t been bound. If only she were free. “Why? Why are you doing this to him? You both survived the attack at Urquhart. You stayed with him all these years, and now this?”

  His lack of a reply scraped over her ragged nerves. “What does it matter?” she demanded. “If I’m going to die anyway, why not tell me?”

  “Because they were always better than everyone else.” Murdoch practically shouted the words, as if they’d been so long repressed, he had no choice but to let them explode from him. He turned his head and spit onto the ground. “Because that sister of his dinna even know I existed. But she thought the sun shone outta that Gordon lad’s arse.”

  He pulled out the key and undid one of her manacles. Before she could let a fist fly toward his face, he trapped her wrist in his large hand.

  “So when I was offered a chance to get a higher lot in life than a constable’s son could ever hope for, I took it.” He threaded the manacle and chain through an iron loop bolted to the wall and clasped the cold cuff around her wrist once more.

  “What chance?” she pressed. “Murdoch, what did you do?”

  He grinned a broken-toothed, bloody smile at her. “What do ye think?”

  Her world spun as if she’d been slapped. “It was you?” she asked, incredulous. “It was you who let Gordon in?”

  “Aye. Killed my own da, who was trying to keep me from getting to the portcullis lever.” His admission came with a sick sense of pride. “But before I could get my due, Connor swept in and killed Laird Gordon. When Connor found me, I had no choice but to go with him.” His lips curled in disgust. “He had nothing to offer me, nothing but living in this shite place and being his hunting dog.”

  Her shoulder throbbed where she’d broken her fall, and she let her body relax slightly, not bothering to fight the metal bonds.

  Contempt twisted his features, his appearance made all the more vicious by the glistening blood. “I even approached the king in London once for recompense for my part, to get the due owed to me from Laird Gordon. After all, it was the king who’d suggested the attack to Laird Gordon in the first place. And all he gave me was another shite position, this time playing watchdog.”

  Murdoch spit again and grimaced in pain at the obvious discomfort caused by his broken nose.

  She was glad it hurt him, and that he suffered.

  He’d made Connor grieve all these years.

  “I knew somehow I’d get him then, when I had the ear of the king. I just dinna know it’d be through ye.” Murdoch turned with a smirk. He locked her cell and jerked open the prison door.

  The fading light of day flooded the room with such brilliance she was momentarily blinded before the door slammed shut and she was plunged in darkness once more.

  Alone.

  Fated to die.

  With Murdoch’s confession, which she would never be able to share with Connor.

  • • •

  The large area of Percy’s workspace was beginning to feel like a cage. Connor paced its length again and again and again.

  “If we all try to save her, we’ll die.” He kept his words quiet enough that the guards wouldn’t hear, but firm enough that the women knew the severity of what he said.

  Cora looked between him and the other girls with large eyes.

  “Is it possible you underestimate us?” Sylvi tilted her head in challenging defiance and lifted a pale eyebrow.

  He sighed. “Ye know I dinna underestimate ye.”

  Sylvi shrugged and walked off to examine a bottle on Percy’s workspace. “We’d risk it for her, the same as she’d risk it for us.”

  Isabel left the entrance to the false wall and approached their clustered group. “What if we convince them she’s a witch?” she offered. She wore full black clothing now and had covered the brilliant red of her hair with spare black cloth.

  Liv folded her arms over her chest. “I think they’re already pretty convinced.”

  “No, I mean we really convince them.” Isabel grinned and the light of the room glinted off her sharp white teeth. “If they already think she’s a witch, we can use her as a weapon. All we have to do is rescue her from the prison, then when she’s in the courtyard, we’ll make it appear as if she has incredible powers.”

  Isabel laughed, a stark sound in the otherwise quiet atmosphere. “They’ll be so frightened of her, they won’t even try to stop her.”

  After having seen how readily the king had fallen for Ariana’s ruse, Connor had no doubt King James could be further tricked into believing her to have otherworldly powers.

  But if the plan didn’t wo
rk, they could all end up dead.

  Then again, if they fought hand-to-hand against the guards, they could still end up dead.

  “It just might work.” Connor nodded to himself as a plan began to form in his mind. “Percy, see what ye have in yer stores to make Ariana look like she has powers. If anything needs to be detonated or thrown, have Isabel do it from the safety of the shadows.”

  Both women nodded.

  “We’ll need to let Ariana know somehow,” Liv said. “The more she can act like a witch, the better this shall go.” She scratched the kitten’s chin. “Leave that part to me and Fianna.” The gray cat lifted her chin and gave in to the stroking affection with a squinting look of exquisite happiness.

  Percy studied Fianna. “Are you sure she’s ready?”

  Liv shrugged. “Now is as good a time as ever to try.”

  “Sylvi and Delilah.” Both women turned to look at Connor. “I want ye to act as guards against the king’s soldiers. Ensure nothing goes wrong.”

  “I can take on the guards myself and distract the king,” Sylvi said with a slight frown.

  Delilah regarded her with a long look. “Yes, the king will need to be distracted. I’d like to—”

  “Delilah.” Sylvi stared at her. “You don’t have to do this. I know what he did to you.”

  “There are questions I should have asked him a long time ago.” Delilah’s face appeared pale despite the bravado of her words. “Now seems the right time. And the perfect distraction.”

  Something uneasy settled in the pit of Connor’s gut.

  Then there was just Cora.

  Connor glanced around her room to find his sister.

  “Where did Cora get off to?” he asked.

  The other women searched the room as well and confirmed Connor’s sudden fear.

  Cora was missing.

  Chapter 38

  Connor was a visitor in his own chamber.

  He sat in a large chair in front of the fire, awaiting the king, who had quickly commandeered the room as his own.

  Cora still had not been found despite their search effort.

  All the remaining possibilities of where she might be left Connor with more anxious energy than his body could stand. His foot bounced against the floor.

  Perhaps she had hid in the walls like Isabel, preparing her own attack on the king.

  Or maybe she was among the soldiers, playing hostess, though he did not consider the idea any more likely than that Ariana was a real witch.

  Or mayhap Cora was meeting with the king herself, to further vouch for Connor’s innocence—which could also explain why he had been summoned.

  The door opened and the king walked in.

  Alone.

  Connor hadn’t been alone with the king since he’d first been offered the opportunity to become the king’s assassin.

  The realization did not bring fond memories.

  “It would appear I owe you more than a great apology. I owe you my thanks as well.” The king settled into the opposite seat in front of the fire.

  Darkness had fallen outside and the firelight glinted and winked off the king’s gilded clothing.

  “I asked around about what you’ve told me of Thomas Percy.” King James’s words were drawn and slow, calculated, and it ate at Connor’s patience like acid. He needed to find Cora.

  The king flicked a finger at where the hem of his jacket had flipped up, revealing the silken underside. It fell into place unceremoniously. “You were right. My men are already investigating what they can while in Scotland and will return to London posthaste to gather the remainder of the information we need.”

  King James leaned forward in the seat. The chair groaned beneath him. “You saved my life.”

  Connor did not reply. He hadn’t done it because it was expected of him, nor for a great love of the king himself. He’d done it in the hope one day the king would finally grant him the home he’d sought to reclaim all these long years.

  “I know you’re unhappy in your position and would like to get your land back.” The king’s eyebrows rose. “Urquhart.”

  Connor’s heartbeat quickened, but he kept his face impassive.

  “You’ve been a loyal servant,” the king said magnanimously. “I’d like to give you Urquhart, but under two conditions.”

  The hope was crushed from Connor’s chest. He knew too well how conditional favors with the king worked.

  “First, I’d like you to be available for the occasional…task.”

  He still wanted Connor as his personal assassin. More people to die at Connor’s hand, more faces to haunt his dreams.

  “And second?” Connor asked in a wary tone.

  “I’d like the woman, Sylvi, to stay in touch with me on any potential treasonous plots.”

  Connor wanted to slam the offer back in the king’s face. But his people rose forefront to his mind.

  Anise.

  Tavin.

  Tavish.

  Renny.

  Had he been the laird he was supposed to have been, Renny would still be alive.

  However, Connor had not known they’d survived before. Now he knew. Now he would ensure they were never without his aid.

  He could have Urquhart back.

  Or he could ask for something more.

  The king’s offer was everything Connor had spent the last three years trying to obtain, but there was something far more pressing on his heart.

  Ariana.

  He could not let her die.

  Even if it meant suffering another seven years of service to the king to reclaim his rightful home.

  Connor had once tasted the idea of life without Ariana. It was a bitter reality. She’d brought joy to his somber life and eased away the burden of his sins with her optimism.

  To see her light snuffed out and the world robbed of her beautiful soul was more than Connor could bear.

  “It’s a fine offer ye’ve extended, Your Majesty, but I’d like to ask something else of ye.”

  The king lifted his eyebrow with quiet interest.

  Connor met the king’s gaze. “Release Ariana.”

  King James pushed out of his chair and thrust himself upward onto his feet. “Absolutely not. She is a witch and will die. Your enchanted infatuation will die with her.” He strode toward the door but paused before opening it. “I’d recommend you consider my offer before you find it retracted.”

  Without another word, the king stepped from the room and let the door close behind him.

  She is a witch and will die.

  Connor’s gut twisted around those words. He hadn’t truly expected the king to grant him his request, but at least he’d tried to save Ariana the safest way he knew how.

  And he would not let her die.

  With the king’s rejection came, too, the necessity for battle.

  Before going to Percy’s room, where the women gathered, he did one last search through the false walls of the castle for Cora.

  And once more did not find her.

  She had left while they were locked in Percy’s room. Not been taken—left.

  She’d said nothing to him before her departure, but he’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he’d first been arrested. He knew what the king had told her.

  More determined now than ever before, he made his way to where the women were preparing for battle. Dawn would come soon and he intended for them to attack before the king’s Gentlemen Pensioners ever had a chance to touch Ariana.

  He opened the door and looked at the solemn faces of the women.

  “Are ye ready?” he asked. Liv was already gone. A good sign, as her task of loosing Fianna near the prison had to be completed before anything could truly begin.

  Isabel slipped like a shadow into hiding, where there would be more false walls and staircases connecting throughout the castle.

  Percy waited until the false door closed before giving a nod. “It’s time.”

  • • •

  The banging of mallets
on wood had finally ceased. Ariana knew what it was they built just outside the prison doors. They’d spoken loudly enough for her to hear, no doubt intentionally.

  A scaffold.

  For her.

  With the rising of the sun would come the hour of her death. Already a gray light seeped from under the crack beneath the prison door.

  The idea of it welled inside her like a sob, helpless and hot.

  To have lived her whole life without love, only to die when she finally found it—it was cruel.

  She wanted more time to bask in the warmth of Connor’s affection, to revel in the happiness of love. But none of it would be. All the dreams her heart had summoned melted like snowflakes floating too near an open flame.

  A ball of anguish knotted in the back of her throat.

  Her heart broke with a sob that echoed around her. Her muscles tensed with unspent rage. She did not seek to quell it, not when it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t save her.

  Nothing would.

  She gripped her manacles as tightly as she could and wrenched them down hard, wanting to feel the bite of the metal against her wrists. At least physical pain might dull her inner torment.

  The unyielding bonds tugged at her palms and left her hands tingling. But that was not all.

  A fine sifting of mortar floated from the rusted metal in the wall. Her heart went still and then renewed its beating with vigor. She gripped the heavy chains between her hands and shook them.

  The metal loop wiggled where it was embedded in the wall. Kindrochit’s deteriorating state might very well be the thing to save her.

  Ariana sucked in a hard breath of air. The chains were cold against her already icy hands, but she paid that no mind and tightened her grip.

  She widened her stance and jerked the chain toward her with everything she had. The metal bolt shot upward and then sagged an inch lower in a crumbling of mortar.

  Her fingers ached with the effort and she flexed them to get feeling back in them before she tried again. The stink of rusted metal hung in the air from where it had warmed against her palms.

  She grit her teeth and tugged at the chain once more.

  The bolt shot free of the wall and the momentum of her effort sent her staggering backward. She fell hard to the ground and her head slammed back against the iron bars. The room flared with bright spots that didn’t go away, even when she closed her eyes.