Highland Spy Page 5

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks, but her palms were just as hot. “I…”

  He squared his shoulders. “I need to speak with ye.”

  Relief swept over Ariana with the same refreshment as the icy air of the hall now bathing her face. “Of course.”

  She would never think of her imagined kiss again.

  Never.

  What a foolish thing to have done.

  “It’s Liv,” he said.

  Ariana’s heart sank in her chest, and she closed her eyes slowly against the sensation before opening them. The other woman had been deathly ill for too long. “Is she…”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  Ariana straightened in surprise.

  She’d thought Liv so sick, but no, the whole time she’d been pregnant.

  And it did make sense. The vomiting, the despondency, the exhaustion. Ariana had seen enough pregnant women that she ought to have realized.

  Those women had been lucky. Those women had not only been successfully married, but had the promise of family swelling their bellies. And poor Liv had a babe in her belly with no husband to see to her.

  “I can help care for her,” Ariana said quickly.

  “That isna necessary. Percy will cover the task.” His jaw tightened. “I told ye because ye share a room and I thought it best for ye to know.”

  Ariana nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He put a large hand on her shoulder. The heat of his thumb brushed at her collarbone where the neckline of her gown did not cover.

  Her pulse flitted faster.

  “Sylvi told me how ye cared for her while ye traveled here, how ye encouraged her and kept her spirits up.” His eyes met hers, a dazzling array of colors within the deep hazel. “The lass may be alive even now because of what ye did.”

  Ariana shook her head. “Liv is tougher than she looks, she—”

  “Dinna underestimate yerself, Ariana. There’s a courage in ye I dinna think ye can see.” His free hand touched the underside of her chin. Soft and gentle.

  Oh God.

  He tipped her face toward his and her lungs stopped accepting air.

  “I see yer strength and I believe in ye.”

  Her heart staggered erratically to find some clear rhythm and failed.

  He gave her a firm pat on the shoulder and nodded once before walking off.

  She spun away and grazed her cheek, where his touch still scalded, with shaking fingers.

  And though she had promised herself she would not, her thoughts slipped back into the beautiful fog of that glorious imagined kiss.

  • • •

  Connor settled back in the chair that wasn’t his and stared into the flames burning in the hearth of a solar that didn’t belong to him.

  The crumbling heap of a castle had been in the king’s negligent hands for decades, if not centuries.

  No one would want Kindrochit. Certainly not Connor.

  As the promising heir of a laird so long ago, he never thought he’d grow up to have nothing.

  Less than nothing.

  Obligations he couldn’t meet, a legacy he was so far from reclaiming it might as well be a legend. His people were dead. The only one still alive was Murdoch.

  Connor’s pact with the king only added weight to his mind, a scale forever tipping him further from the balance of morality. Then there was Cora, the sister he could barely protect, who resented him and whom he did not visit lest he face the fire of her disappointment. And now he had a sick woman with a babe to consider.

  Not to mention those names.

  Those damning names.

  Angus MacAlister and Kenneth Gordon.

  The muscles of his neck bunched, a knot drawn impossibly tight.

  The betrayal tangled in the thorned web of what had once been a brotherhood.

  Something thunked downstairs.

  Most likely Sylvi going through her nightly routine.

  Still, his shoulders rose with irritation.

  He pulled in a deep breath and dropped his head back onto the velvet-covered chair.

  When Murdoch returned from uncovering additional information on Angus MacAlister’s whereabouts, Connor would send him to the village to see—

  Thunk.

  He lifted his head and turned toward the door. It stood slightly ajar.

  Thunk.

  With all the thoughts crammed inside his mind, the last thing he needed was a distraction from sorting them out. He heaved himself from the chair, strode across the room, and closed it with a satisfactory push.

  A moment went by.

  Two.

  Silence.

  His shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch and he made his way back to the chair.

  Thunk.

  He wanted to roar like a beast, but flung the door open instead and followed the sound with the determination of a predator.

  Light framed the kitchen door.

  He shoved it open. “Damn it, Sylvi, a man canna think wi—”

  Feline green eyes, wide with shock, stared up at him, a slender hand held aloft midair with a dagger pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

  Ariana gasped. “Forgive me, Connor, I didn’t know you could hear. I thought I’d been quiet.”

  He looked to the opposite side of the kitchen and there, much farther than he’d set it that morning outside, was the target with several daggers jutting from its scarred face.

  He folded his arms over his chest and nodded appreciatively. “Well done.”

  “After I realized exactly how to hold them, light and easy. Like a card.” A pleased flush colored Ariana’s cheeks to the same red as her full lips, a bonny contrast to her fair skin and glossy black hair.

  “Now ye just need to hit the center,” he said. “Throw again.”

  She pursed her lips and closed one eye. Her arm pulled back, and the dagger slid from her fingers with incredible grace.

  Thunk.

  “Good, good,” he murmured. “Do it one more time with both yer eyes open. And square yer hips.”

  She shot him a questioning look.

  He reached out, grasped her hips and straightened her forward.

  She might be thin, but her hips were still round and feminine.

  He nodded. “Again.”

  Both eyes open, she loosed her dagger. It sank into the very center.

  Her chin lifted with obvious pride. “Thank you.”

  Connor shrugged. “It was yer own skill. I just showed ye what to adjust. Now let’s get this cleaned up. Ye need yer sleep or ye’ll be no good to me tomorrow.”

  Ariana immediately set to work scooping up the daggers.

  There was a quiet grace to her, a gentleness contradicting her show of courage and fortitude. And under the layer of powerful determination, an innocence.

  What the hell had Delilah said to her during their lesson?

  Aye, Ariana needed instruction on how to use flirtation to escape situations and glean information, but he certainly hadn’t wanted her being taught too much. Especially when Ariana had already demonstrated a habit of not backing down from a challenge.

  “What did Delilah say to ye today?” he asked.

  A dagger clattered to the floor. The color rose high in her cheeks. “Gaelic.”

  Clever girl. His mouth almost quirked into a smile. “I meant yer other lesson.” He set to work lowering the target to keep her from feeling as if she were being interrogated.

  Her tongue flicked out between her lips and she kept those large green eyes of hers fixed on him. “Kissing.”

  Kissing.

  He almost laughed with relief. While he trusted Delilah’s gentleness, he’d still have a talk with her to have a care with Ariana.

  “We call the lessons seduction.” He hefted the weight of the target into his hands. “But I want ye to know I dinna expect ye to seduce anyone. It’s tutelage on using yer beauty to get where ye need to go, to get out of situations, aye?”

  She nodded and suddenly
looked more uncertain than he’d seen her that day.

  He carried the target across the room and propped it against the wall. It could be returned to the chest in the morning.

  “Ye know how to use your beauty already.” Connor straightened and faced her. “I saw it the night I met ye.”

  Ariana’s lips parted, as if to protest.

  “Dinna try to lie and say ye dinna. Ye were quite good at it.” He winked. “And I think Delilah will make ye a force to be reckoned with.”

  A small smile touched her lips. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice. “Not just for the compliment, but for teaching me to throw a dagger. For bringing me here.”

  A knot of discomfort lodged itself in his chest. “For bringing ye here?”

  She nodded. “No one’s ever believed in me. No one’s taken a moment to look at me long enough to ever consider me as anything more than a mere nobleman’s daughter, a bargaining tool. Certainly never to assume I have potential for anything more. In all my life, you’re the only person who has ever thought more of me.” Her chin lifted a notch. “So, yes, thank you for bringing me here.”

  He stared at her, unsure of what to say. He didn’t save women. He damned them. “I dinna think ye know what ye say.”

  “I do.” She met his eyes with conviction. “We all are broken women. There is no place for us anywhere else.” Her hand gestured to the kitchen door. “Every woman here is strong. Life may have ruined us, but you’ve saved us.”

  Then she jerked forward, pressed her lips to his cheek in a quick kiss, and swept from the room.

  Chapter 6

  May 1605

  Connor’s breath billowed out in front of him in great white clouds, and frosted grass crunched beneath the fall of his boots.

  His muscles glided through their motions with familiar ease, and he reveled in the heat warming them. God, how he loved the morning routine of going for a run.

  The sky was clear, his body so wonderfully alive and powerful, and for one blissful moment while he ran, his thoughts were finally without burden.

  A black-clad figure ran past him. Her long, dark braid bounced against her back with each sure step.

  He bit back a grin and quickened his pace to keep up with Ariana.

  She’d surprised him with how quickly she’d adapted to training in the last two months.

  How damn fast she’d gotten when she ran.

  She’d plumped out nicely too, just as he’d imagined she would.

  In fact, almost too nicely. His gaze slipped to her bottom, a luscious curve against tight black breeches. Shame hit him like a slap and he quickly jerked his stare back toward the bounce of her braid.

  He was her trainer, her mentor. He was above ogling like some lewd tavern patron.

  Instead, he lowered his head and pushed his body harder, making his legs burn with the effort of going faster, singeing away all vestiges of unwanted masculine appreciation.

  He’d almost caught up with her when they reached their final lap. She finished mere seconds before him.

  Ariana’s blue-green eyes gleamed with victory. She wouldn’t gloat though. She never did.

  He wagged a finger. “I almost had ye.”

  “Maybe tomorrow morning.” She winked and gave him a brilliant smile.

  Delilah and Sylvi appeared around the castle wall together and drew to a stop. Their cheeks and noses were red from the cold, but sweat glistened at their brows. Their bright eyes and faces were lit with eagerness to train.

  Connor motioned to the neat stack of practice weapons set upon a blanket. “Delilah and Ariana, practice with swords. Sylvi, we’re doing hand-to-hand.”

  Delilah and Ariana gave each other an excited, shared smile. They were well matched. Delilah knew how to tutor Ariana while still challenging her, and Ariana didn’t hit as hard as Sylvi.

  All the women moved to comply, first tying on their boxy, padded armor and then taking their positions.

  Sylvi braced herself with bent knees in front of him, her arms locked in preparation to fend off his blow.

  Her pale blue gaze met his with a vehement determination that would throw most men off guard.

  He punched. She blocked and spun out of his reach, her stare calculating.

  The clang of swords and Delilah’s careful instructions sounded to their left.

  Sylvi ducked low and threw her fist at his stomach.

  Connor jerked his hand down to block the hit just as she switched her hand’s momentum, shoving it to the ground for support instead. Her leg swept at his ankles with the force of an iron pole and sent him crashing to the ground.

  She was on him before the image of the sky even registered in his vision.

  Her hands braced his shoulders and she glared down at him with the fierce anger she always showed when she fought.

  “Show me how to break a neck.” She panted around her words with an almost bloodthirsty frenzy. “Show me everything I know your father taught you.”

  They’d had this conversation before. Too many damn times. “Ye know I willna do that.”

  She shoved off him. “And you know why I chose to come here.” Her chest heaved with her frustration. “You know why I worked so damn hard to get here.”

  Connor rose to his feet. “It doesna give ye the authority to speak to me as ye do. Go run three times around the castle. I’ll no’ have ye hurting the others because of yer anger.”

  She gave a roar of frustration, but turned and obeyed his order.

  He dragged a hand through his hair. She was getting more difficult to control each day, with each new skill she mastered. This morning was the first time she’d taken him down, and with too much ease. Her move had been a good one. He’d commend her on it when she cooled down.

  Hell, he might even borrow it.

  But no matter how much she disagreed with him, he knew she wasn’t ready.

  Connor’s father, the Shadow, had been a famed warrior in the Highlands. He killed with a deft skill unparalleled by any other man in Scotland. He’d taught Connor many other lessons before teaching him how to kill. There was the responsibility, the appreciation, the impact of death, the understanding of what it could change—and what it could not.

  For those reasons, Sylvi was not ready.

  “I see ye’re training hard, Connor.” A masculine voice cut the air.

  He turned to find a large man with a mass of blond waves and braids stalking toward him.

  Murdoch.

  “About damn time,” Connor said with a grin. They locked forearms and embraced once before slapping each other on the back.

  “Ye’ve got news, aye?” Connor asked in a low voice.

  Murdoch opened his hands in a helpless gesture. “I wouldna have taken so long otherwise.”

  Connor jerked his head toward the castle. “Talk first, food later.”

  “Aye, that’s why I ate a bannock on the way in.” Murdoch flashed a smile, revealing a freshly broken front tooth.

  Connor led the way to the castle entrance. “I see ye’ve gotten prettier since ye’ve been gone.”

  “And I see the skinny one has become a nice bonny lass,” Murdoch mumbled to him. “If Delilah wants some help with teaching the girl some tips in the bedchamber, I’d like to volunteer my—”

  Connor hadn’t realized he was glaring at the man until Murdoch’s speech stopped.

  “She’s bonny is all,” Murdoch said with a shrug.

  “She’s a trainee is all.” Connor led Murdoch into the castle, where the darkness of the stone walls left him near blind after the brilliance of the sun. His body prickled as his sweat began to cool. “These girls work hard and deserve respect.”

  “Aye, I know that.”

  Even though Murdoch had admitted to his mistake, Connor had the overwhelming urge to knock Murdoch’s crooked nose farther across his face.

  Connor didn’t bother with idle chatter while they made their way to his solar. He’d never been one for it, especially not when such anger
simmered in his blood.

  Once they were inside, he folded his arms over his chest and counted through ticks of patience, a childhood lesson his mother had taught him. One he’d never outgrown, as he’d never seemed to acquire the patience age was supposed to render.

  Oblivious, Murdoch warmed his reddened hands by the fire.

  “What news do ye have?” Connor asked.

  “Ach, I’ve been all over Scotland in the dead of winter. I’m thinking James needs to pay me more.” Murdoch turned his head sharply to the side, and a deep, grinding pop sounded from the base of his neck. “First of all, I’ve almost found yer man. He moves fast, that one, so when he’s found, ye need to act, aye?”

  Connor nodded.

  Angus MacAlister.

  Connor had intentionally chosen the other man before Kenneth Gordon. In fact, he tried to not even think of Kenneth.

  “MacAlister’s a shite of a man,” Murdoch said in gruff voice. “I wouldna mind killing him myself.”

  There was usually a reason Connor received the names he did. They were men too powerful for the king to reprimand, or who needed to be removed from society.

  But with a diplomatic delicacy only Connor, the son of the notorious Shadow, could accomplish.

  “I’m only staying the night, then I’m back out. I think MacAlister is in the area.” Murdoch stepped away from the fireplace. Flames reflected off his pale hair, giving him an orange-cast glow. “Also, yer sister wants ye to visit.”

  Connor bit back a groan, and Murdoch grinned as if sensing his torment.

  “Ye canna keep putting her off forever,” Murdoch added. “She’s only going to get more agitated.”

  Connor nodded toward the door. “Go get yer food.”

  Murdoch winked and was gone before Connor could sit back in his chair.

  His friend was right. It’d been too long since he’d gone to see Cora. And he’d have hell to pay.

  • • •

  Two months had done little to ease the threat of death from Liv’s features. Ariana smoothed the hair from her friend’s pale cheek.

  While Liv had at least stopped retching, the nausea kept her from gaining much weight.

  Ariana had had no issues gaining weight. After mornings of training, she was ravenous and had maintained a healthy consumption of all the foods she hadn’t been able to afford in over a year.