Ariana brought a trembling hand to her hair and the chains still binding her wrists together clinked. Her fingers found a nasty lump upon her scalp, but came away dry.
At least she was not bleeding.
Something warm and covered in fur brushed against her hand. Ariana lurched away from it, squelching a scream.
But the creature wasn’t a rat.
Fianna nuzzled closer to her and rubbed her face against Ariana’s exposed shin. The pink of Fianna’s nose was cold and wet in contrast to the downy warmth of her head.
In a small cell of ugliness and impending death, the very sight of the small cat brought such lightness to Ariana’s heavy heart, tears sprang to her eyes.
She glanced toward a narrow hole near the corner of the prison, where a slit of gray light showed through. Just large enough for a determined cat.
“We must do what we can to escape,” she whispered to her companion.
Fianna rubbed against her shin once more in reply. Ariana bent to pet her and noticed something cool and stiff set on Fianna’s back. Like leather.
Curious, she followed the leathery texture. It seemed to be the same gray color as Fianna and wrapped around the small gray body like a harness.
No, it was a harness.
A flap caught at Ariana’s fingertip when she touched the leather over Fianna’s chest. Ariana flipped it upward and let her finger probe inside the small pocket.
The crinkle of paper met Ariana’s ears and her heart leaped. She pulled it free of the pouch, unfolded it and angled it toward the door where light was beginning to filter in.
Percy’s graceful writing curled across the page, legible even in the dim light.
If you can escape, wait for us. Then be prepared to play the role of a vengeful witch—we will ensure your powers are true.
Ariana tucked the note into her stays to ensure no one would see it.
Her powers? What did Percy possibly mean by that?
“We must be ready,” she said to Fianna in a quiet whisper. The cat stared up at her quizzically and licked at her front paw several times before rubbing it over her face.
Ariana pulled herself off the floor with a rattle of chains. The metal loop she’d pulled free from the wall hung from between the manacles like a heavy amulet. It would make things difficult, but not impossible.
She pushed her weight onto her right heel and twisted her foot. The base of the brown shoe Percy had given her swung open. Ariana worked her fingers into the open heel and pulled the dagger free from the underside of her foot.
It was not long, perhaps three inches, but the blade was sturdy and as thick as two thumbs set beside one another.
Enough to at least threaten, if nothing else.
She slid the sole of her shoe back into place and straightened, her fingers searching through the mess of her hair for the bit of silver.
Her fingertips met a cool line of metal.
Success.
She pulled the lockpick from her hair and settled before the locked gate. After having been locked in the room near Urquhart by Anise, Ariana had vowed to never forget the hairpin again. Footsteps crunched on the loose stones in front of the prison door.
She sucked in a deep breath and held it to keep her hands from trembling. She slid the pick blindly into the lock and searched…
The footsteps stopped.
Searched…
A key sounded in the heavy prison door.
Searched.
Click.
The pick gave under her fingertips and the cell door creaked open. Only a fraction of a second passed before the main door to the prison flew open and Murdoch stepped in.
He locked the door behind him, obviously assuming she was safely bolted to the wall.
Ariana had the advantage of his blindness on her side and could have attacked, but she held back and pulled the bars of her cell door into place.
Perhaps he might leave and his life would be spared.
Vile though he may be, she did not wish to kill again.
“I see ye got away from the wall,” Murdoch muttered. “Maybe ye’re a witch like ye claimed to be.”
“Maybe this place is falling apart faster than anyone realizes,” Ariana replied in a dry tone. Her heart roared so loudly in her ears, it was a wonder she could even hear her own voice.
Mudroch’s eyes fixed on something. “Or maybe ye had help.”
He strode across the room and Ariana saw but a flash of gray fur before Murdoch’s foot came down hard.
“No!” The word ripped uselessly from her mouth.
Fianna darted away from him in the scantest breadth of time.
Murdoch did not give up so easily. He chased the kitten across the room in great stomping footsteps.
Nearer to her cell.
He gave a roar of impatience and edged the terrified kitten into a corner. Poor Fianna balled up and issued forth a useless hiss. Murdoch lifted his foot with a sneer of malice.
Ariana exploded from her cell with all her pent-up anger seething inside her and unleashed it upon Murdoch. Her body crashed into him so violently, he slammed back against the wall and his head knocked back against the stone.
A low groan came from his mouth and he looked down between them to where her dagger jutted from his chest amid a wash of blood.
Horror at her own actions trickled through Ariana like drips of melting snow.
She hadn’t done it intentionally.
Had she?
It’d all happened so fast.
More footsteps sounded nearby. Not in front of the door, but close enough to set her heart on edge.
Ariana lowered Murdoch to the floor and pulled the key ring off his belt. Three iron keys jingled together.
Murdoch’s breathing was labored and thick and bright red blood was smeared over his teeth.
She wanted to close her eyes and block out the sight of the life she was taking, to blot out the odor of his blood staining the air, but already there was too little time.
The footsteps outside were louder now.
In front of the prison door.
Ariana tried to slide the key into the manacles, but her hands shook too badly. Fianna nuzzled close to her feet, as if attempting to calm her.
Focus.
Ariana gritted her teeth and forced herself to focus on the dark keyhole. Quickly, she unlocked both manacles from her wrists.
Murdoch’s glittering, narrowed gaze fixed on her while she worked in the semidark. He gave a long, low sigh, and finally his eyes slid closed.
“Forgive me,” Ariana whispered. She grasped the handle of the dagger and pulled. It came free with a sucking sound, but the blade was still stained with Murdoch’s blood.
The footsteps outside had stopped and the hairs on the back of Ariana’s neck rose. She scooped Fianna into her arms and deposited the little cat near the hole in the corner of the room.
The door rattled and Ariana’s heart lurched.
“Go,” she whispered, and nudged the little cat forward.
Regardless of who stood on the other side of the door, she would not put the kitten in jeopardy.
Much to Ariana’s great relief, Fianna darted through the hole and disappeared into the early gray of dawn.
The door swung open and Ariana spun to face her enemy, bloody dagger held at the ready.
Chapter 39
Ariana’s would-be attacker entered, silent as a shadow. He was clad in all black with a hood drawn over his face.
She couldn’t see who her opponent was, not that it would keep her from killing them if it meant her freedom.
“Ariana.”
Her heart skittered in her chest.
She knew the man’s voice, the honeyed burr with which he spoke her name.
Connor.
Relief crashed through her, washing away all the fear and stress and leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. As if all the tension from the last day and night had finally ceased and her body no longer had the strength to even
stand.
Her legs didn’t even have the chance to go soft before Connor’s arms were around her. Strong and warm and smelling so wonderfully of him. Tears prickled in her eyes.
He pushed the hood from his head and his mouth came down on hers, deliciously sweet and familiar. Her body flared to life with the heat of desire, with the joy of being reunited.
He pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. “Why did ye tell the king ye were a witch? They meant to kill ye.”
She stared deep into the hazel eyes she’d thought never to see again. “Because I love you.”
“Then ye know the pain ye caused me by taking my place. It was too risky.” His arms were around her once more. He stroked her face and she found herself wanting to close her eyes and surrender to his embrace. “We hoped ye’d free yerself and wait for me. It’s why we sent the note. We dinna want ye escaping on yer own.”
He went quiet then and stared at her for a long moment.
“I love ye, Ariana.” His hand smoothed over her hair, as if he couldn’t still his hands from touching her. “More than the sky above or the ground below or even the stone upon it which I gladly relinquish to save ye.”
She pulled back this time and looked up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll explain later.” He pulled a tube of clear liquid from his jacket pocket as well as a candle in a small sconce and some flint. All of which he set gently on the ground. “For now, we must go.”
He struck the flint, lighting the candle. The warm golden glow fell upon Murdoch’s slumped body.
Connor glanced toward the dead man, then his attention snapped back to Ariana, his gaze immediately falling on her ripped bodice. “Did he hurt ye?”
She shook her head, and the lump where she’d smacked herself on the prison grating throbbed. “No, but he was trying to hurt Fianna.”
“I’d have liked to have killed him myself.” Connor took one last look at Murdoch and set the candle on the ground. “Then ye got Percy’s note.”
“Yes, but I—”
Connor grasped the sleeves of her dress and pushed them up to her elbows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to set ye on fire, but dinna want yer clothes to catch.” He spoke the odd statement as simply as he might have explained they’d be having haddock for supper rather than lamb.
“Dinna worry, Percy made this. Hold out yer hands,” he instructed. “And dinna let this get on yer shoes or dress, aye?”
She bent forward at the waist to protect her shoes and the hem of her skirt and thrust her naked hands forward. “You should know about Murdoch,” she said. “Connor, he’s been trying to ruin you since the beginning.”
A clear liquid poured from the large vial and splashed against her fingers. It was greasy between her fingertips, but she did not complain. Not when she knew how many things were so much worse.
Connor nodded. “Aye, I figured as much. He was the constable’s son. A trusted man of our clan. He and his da both were.”
“He killed his own father, Connor.” She said it softly, hating to remind Connor of that awful day.
His jaw went hard. “Aye.”
“But, Connor, that wasn’t it. The king—”
“Enough.” He nudged her forward. “The liquid will burn yer skin if we let it set too long. I’ll set yer hands on fire, they’ll stay lit for but a moment. The girls are ready to make ye a true witch in the eyes of the Crown.”
He lifted the candle to her hands and pulled a glass globe from his pocket. “Go and dinna look back. I’ll be at yer side after this.” He pressed his lips in a hard kiss before resting his forehead against hers. “I love ye, Ariana.”
“But Connor, the king—”
The single flame of the candle licked across the heel of her palm, and both hands erupted into flame.
“Now!” He spun her around toward the open door.
She strode outside, where the dawn made the sky softer than the stubborn night. Her hands glowed orange in the half light and several men stopped to stare in her direction.
She could sense the blistering heat from the fire dancing over her skin, but whatever oil Percy had fashioned left her flesh untouched.
“How dare you put me in a prison?” she shouted into the thin morning air. “Do you have any idea what I can do?”
Hesitation stalled her into place for a moment, accentuated by the fear of having said the wrong thing or acted the wrong way.
She stretched her arms over her head, where the flames sputtered around her fingers and went out.
An explosion sounded behind her and smoke billowed out on either side of her. It filled her vision with a gray white fog and bloomed around the courtyard.
A strong hand grabbed her arm. “This way,” Connor said. “Percy and the others will ensure there is smoke everywhere.”
Several more blasts sounded in the distance. Ariana fought her instinct to duck and remained confidently upright, as if she’d truly been the one to set the world aflame.
“We need to find the king,” Connor said in her ear. “We need him to fear you so greatly, he’ll never seek you out again after this.”
She nodded, but wasn’t certain if he saw or sensed the action. She continued to press forward, through the ubiquitous cloud.
Several men sputtered and called out to one another in the milky blindness. Yet no one stopped them or even approached them as Connor led her into the castle.
The air cleared immediately, and her eyes widened in relief to finally see the distinct outline of everything familiar once more.
Connor’s hand was warm on her arm, his grip firm.
There, on the other side of the great hall, was exactly the man she knew she was supposed to trick. King James.
He stood about forty feet away with an arrogant tilt to his head, his shoulders artfully squared. Delilah stood at his side with a hand in the crook of his arm.
The king stopped when his gaze landed on Ariana. His face colored. “It’s you.”
Ariana strode forward with all the confidence she would need to pull off the ruse. “Don’t you know witches are not easily killed?”
His face went pale, and she let herself smile to see it.
“I know a lot about you, James.” His Christian name sounded odd on her tongue, as it had before, and speaking to him with such disrespect felt wrong in the giddiest of ways.
“More than just how you have your top nobles killed one at a time.” She sauntered forward again, and a chair shoved back from its place when she passed.
The king stared at the chair then turned to Delilah, who slipped her hand from his arm and turned to go.
“Don’t leave me.” All his pretenses had fled and he sounded like a child having a tantrum. “You know how to fight. Protect me.”
Delilah looked over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps I don’t remember you well enough to help.” Her voice was cool and held an unnatural edge to it, suggesting there was more to her discussion with the king than there appeared.
Delilah left the room without once turning around.
King James let his gaze move back to Ariana. “Please, I’m a monarch. I have all of England and Scot—”
“Enough!” Ariana shouted the word and threw her arms out in front of her.
Every piece of furniture in the room—the chairs and small card tables, even the clock—all jerked back against the far walls in a unified shriek of wood on stone.
King James’s eyes went large in his white face.
“I know it’s because of you that Connor is an assassin.” She tilted her head. “Care to find out what else I know? It’s something I’m sure Connor would love to hear.”
The king shook his head with such vigor that the black felt hat he wore shifted from its position and lay slightly cocked atop his brow.
No false magic was needed for the impact of a truthful declaration, for no amount of explosions or moving furniture could have had the force o
f what she was about to say.
Ariana strode forward again. “The reason Connor’s father is dead, the reason so many of his people died, the reason you have possession of Urquhart and Connor at all, is because it was your order which let Urquhart fall. It was you who gave permission for Laird Gordon to attack.”
• • •
All this time, the hell of Connor’s world had been caused by the king.
Everything seemed to shrink around him until the only thing left in his vision was King James and the fearful look he cast down the hall.
“Is this true?” Connor asked.
But he didn’t need to. Ariana would never say it if it weren’t, and certainly the king would not be looking at him with such pathetic fear.
“It was ye. All this time. It was ye and ye dinna tell me.” Connor stepped forward and the king stepped backward.
The last three years came crashing down around Connor and dragged him under the current of his emotions. The hurt, the anger, the fear, the loss. So much loss.
Connor balled his hands into fists, but could still feel the tremor in them. “Ye took everything from me.”
He took another step forward. “My da.” Another step. “Cora’s youth.”
And another step.
“The lives of good people.”
He stopped.
“My freedom.”
The king looked to both sides and saw there was no way out. He was cornered.
Rather than cower, he straightened his back with his chest puffed out in what was most likely his idea of a regal look. An impossible achievement, given the way his hat had settled crookedly on his head.
“It was necessary,” King James said. “Yer father had a great amount of wealth, but while he was a respectful servant, he did not offer to fund the Crown. Laird Gordon proposed the attack and said he’d generously support the building of several new ships. I couldn’t refuse.”
Connor stalked closer now, past Ariana. “And why dinna ye tell me?”
The king sniffed. “Don’t be a fool. Why would I possibly allow myself to lose someone so valuable as you?”
Highland Spy Page 32