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  Thick, crusty bread, fine cheese that stuck in her back teeth, and various game with roasted golden skin and tender, juicy meat.

  When Ariana saw her reflection now, no longer were her cheeks gaunt and her chest sunken—no, she had a rosiness to her face and everything had plumped rather nicely.

  She felt like a woman.

  One who was healthy and strong and capable.

  She wanted that for Liv too.

  When Ariana trained, in the many moments when her body trembled with exhaustion and she felt she could no longer go on, she would think of Liv upstairs, trapped in the torment of her own body. And she would push that much harder—not for herself, but for Liv. As if making herself stronger might somehow be enough for the both of them.

  Liv tilted back the cup of Percy’s special tea and set it on her bedside table. Various glass bottles crowded the narrow surface.

  Liv’s skin had taken on a gray pallor and her gleaming copper waves seemed to have faded to a muddy, sallow brown.

  Seeing her thus squeezed Ariana’s heart.

  She wished she could give some of the vitality of her body to her friend, to share the burning power, the incredible energy she’d never dreamed possible.

  The best she’d been able to do was share stories of what she’d been going through with her training and the silly class on seduction. Omitting, of course, the imagined kiss with Connor.

  “You don’t have to look at me like that.” Liv’s lips barely moved as she spoke.

  Ariana forced her face into an expression of impassivity. “Like what?”

  “Like you’re so worried.” Liv pulled the shawl of blankets around her more tightly. Her fingers were thin white twigs against the dark fabric. “Everyone is so worried. I see it in their faces when they tell me everything will be fine.” Tears glossed her dull eyes. “But it’s not fine. I can feel it. I can’t stand for you of all people to look at me thus too.”

  Liv’s hands cupped the sad little mound of her stomach, where her child fought to live with more desperation than its mother.

  Sympathy clogged Ariana’s throat. “We worry because we care.”

  Liv gave a subtle shake of her head, stopped, and clenched her jaw.

  Ariana reached over the rumpled sheets and gripped Liv’s hand. Her palm was cold and damp, her fingers limp.

  An ache settled in Ariana’s shoulder from where Sylvi had slammed into her that morning, but she did not move. Liv did not like to be touched. Her accepting the small semblance of comfort was indicative of the closeness of their bond and it warmed Ariana’s heart.

  “Wesley, my beloved.” Liv’s eyelids slid lower. Percy’s tea was starting to take effect. “He’s dead. And he never knew…”

  She pulled her hand from Ariana’s and curled her arms around her stomach once more.

  Wesley? Ariana had never heard of him during their long discussions at night when they traveled.

  “We all care for you,” Ariana said. “This will pass and you’ll be stronger. We’re spies together, right?”

  It was a pathetic comfort in light of the burden her friend carried, but it was all she could think to offer.

  A smile touched Liv’s colorless lips, and she closed her eyes with the corners of her mouth still upturned.

  Ariana waited until her friend’s breathing was deep and even before she rose from the bed, but she did not go to her own. Not when such sorrow burdened her mind and pain still radiated from her shoulder.

  Percy would have given her a tonic had she asked, but stubborn pride had kept Ariana from doing so.

  She regretted such pride now.

  Rather than stay in the room and risk waking Liv, Ariana slipped into the hallway. She had to pause a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. After being in the warmth of her room, the moist chill of the hallway pressed against her flesh.

  Though she’d been in the castle for two months and had walked into almost every room and knew the layout, she suddenly had the disorienting sensation of being lost. Uncertain where to go, but certain where she did not want to be.

  Perhaps the kitchen, where the hearth was still warm and the homey scent of baking bread hung in the air.

  Ariana trod down the stairs and was just about to pass the second floor when a clink of glass from one of the rooms caught her attention. A light glowed down the long hall, framing the outline of a door.

  The solar.

  She ran a hand over her shoulder, gently probing to decipher if the pain was worth interrupting Percy from studying the books she always pored over. Even the careful touch was almost too much for her bruised flesh.

  Yes, she would swallow her pride for one night and seek the aid, and companionable comfort, of Percy.

  Ariana made her way down the hall and pushed open the door.

  But it was not Percy standing over her bottles and her meager stack of precious books, as Ariana had expected. The light of the fire framed the back of a leanly muscled man with broad, square shoulders.

  Connor.

  “Come in.” His voice was deep and rich, not stark with authority as she was used to.

  She stepped into the room and her heart thudded a little faster in her chest.

  This was the first time they’d been alone since she’d so foolishly pressed her lips to his cheek. She still recalled the prickle of his stubble against her lips, the warm, clean scent of him. How very close she’d been to the heat of his mouth.

  She’d thought of it more times than she cared to admit and always a twist of humiliation following the memory.

  He turned and his brows lifted. “Ariana.”

  Connor had traded his trews for a kilt after the most bitter of the cold had swept away with winter. He now wore the pleated plaid slung around his narrow hips, the wool stopping just above his knees and revealing finely sculpted legs. More so in the firelight, with the way the golden glow teased out the shadowed lines of sinewy flesh.

  Ariana forced herself to pull her gaze from his legs. “I thought you were Percy.”

  “Is something wrong?” Concern pulled at his brow.

  She shook her head quickly, realizing he most likely thought something was amiss with Liv. “No, nothing. Liv is fine.” The warmth of the large hearth beckoned her, especially with the chill of the hall still at her back. “I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake her.”

  A small smile teased the corners of his full mouth and he nodded. “In that case, ye’re welcome to join the sleepless.” He tilted the cup he held in his hand toward her. “Close the door behind ye. It’s colder than a witch’s soul tonight.”

  Ariana did as she was told and strode into the room. Though she’d been in the solar several times, it looked different during the daytime, when light touched the dark wood shelves and turned the overstuffed green chairs the color of a lush meadow. Now shadows lingered in corners and left everything dark with the unknown.

  Connor strode toward a small table with a decanter set upon it. She noticed then his feet were bare. Somehow, seeing him thus lent an intimacy to the large room.

  He poured a splash of liquid into a second cup. “Come in and warm yerself by the fire.”

  Ariana walked deeper into the room, toward the glow of the hearth. Its heat enveloped her skin and eased away the chill with such expediency, she almost sighed.

  Connor appeared beside her with a metal cup extended. “I canna sleep often myself.”

  She closed her fingers around the cool surface and glanced at the dark liquid within. A sharp scent hit her nostrils.

  “Whisky,” Connor said.

  He was perfection in the firelight. Shadows etched his jaw while the light softened his face, his lips. The powerful lines of his chest were visible at the neck of his léine, as well as a dark peppering of small curling black hairs.

  “Whisky,” Ariana said with a forced stare at the cup instead of him. “Of course. I drink this all the time.”

  “Aye, I knew that about ye. When I first saw ye, I
thought, ‘Now there’s a lass who can handle her whisky.’” Connor winked at her with disarming playfulness. “It’ll do ye some good. Take off the chill and settle yer thoughts.”

  “Why do you assume my thoughts are unsettled?” she asked.

  He took a swallow from his cup. “Because sleep comes easily to those without weight on their minds.”

  Ariana took a careful sip from her own cup, the way she’d seen men at the card tables drink. The liquid burned like sin down her throat and caught in her chest.

  She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard several times to keep from sputtering.

  Though she’d hoped to keep her reaction discreet, the grin on Connor’s face told her he saw through her guise.

  “It’s good.” Her voice came out in a croak and Connor laughed. It was a warm, rich sound and she found it terribly pleasing.

  His eyes crinkled. “Now that we’ve discovered yer love of whisky, why dinna ye tell me what’s got yer thoughts heavy?”

  Uncertainty warred in her thoughts. This was the man who trained her in combat, who pushed her harder and demanded toughness. And now he was asking her to be vulnerable, to share her innermost thoughts.

  Could he mean it?

  Those hazel eyes of his rested on her, fixing her with his full attention.

  Yes, he did.

  Heat stirred in her chest and made her stomach flutter.

  Part of her wanted to open up to him. It was the part which had imagined his kiss in her mind and made her think on it far more often than she should. But there was another part of her, one which wanted his respect and demanded the world think her stronger than she thought even herself.

  Could she let herself open up to him?

  Chapter 7

  Connor watched the emotions play out over Ariana’s face, the furrow of uncertainty on her brow, crinkling a small line where her face had been smooth and honest before. Ariana didn’t trust him.

  But then, he didn’t blame her, considering the circumstances which had led her into his care in the first place.

  He had taken her from everything she knew, everything she wanted.

  Guilt was a familiar companion to him.

  Connor was about to tell her she didn’t need to speak when she pulled in a soft breath.

  “It’s Liv,” she confessed. “Percy tries so hard to help, and I do too, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

  “Why do ye say that?”

  Ariana lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip of her whisky. This time she did not flinch. “She’s not getting better. She’s getting worse. No one’s saying it. But deep down, we all know.” A pained look pinched her brows. “She knows.”

  What Ariana said was true—there was no denying it. But Connor said nothing. He’d been around women long enough to know they needed time to say what lingered on their minds, and once they were no longer burdened, they felt better.

  If only it were so easy for men.

  “I’ve seen women with child before,” Ariana continued. “They’re plump and glowing with excitement. But not Liv. She fades more every day, grows weaker every day. The little bump where her baby grows…” Her gaze lowered. “It’s so pathetic and small.”

  Connor placed a hand on her shoulder, but Ariana shifted away.

  “You asked me to be strong for her.” The look in Ariana’s eyes went hard. “But nothing is working.”

  Guilt cut into him. He’d said that to encourage her, not to tear her down.

  “Percy is the best healer I’ve ever known,” he said. “And ye have been strong, extraordinarily so. That’s all ye can do, lass.”

  Her jaw clenched and she swallowed hard. “I’ve seen people die and never has it struck so deep. My parents and my brother, they all died. But I didn’t—”

  She stopped speaking and turned sharply to look into the fire smoldering in the hearth. Firelight played over her features, the smoothness of her skin, and the rounded arc of her cheekbones.

  “But ye dinna what?” he asked.

  When she did not answer, he touched the cheek facing away from him. She was warm beneath his fingertips, her skin silky.

  He gently turned her face toward him, her eyes large and lit with something he realized he wanted desperately to know.

  He dropped his hand from her face, but his fingers tingled with the memory of the sensation. “But ye dinna what?”

  She lifted her chin with her usual determined strength. “When my parents and brother died, I didn’t know them well enough to feel.” Her free hand clenched into a fist. “This is different, Connor. I know Liv. I care for her. I worry about her every day.”

  Her compassion was palpable and it pulled at something deep inside him. “Percy would let ye help more if ye like. Yer lessons can be shortened.”

  He’d meant to reassure her, but Ariana’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “It’s not that. I’ve tried to help more, but end up underfoot. It’s just—every day I grow stronger and every day Liv grows weaker. I wish I could do something more than sit by and watch her waste away. I feel so helpless.”

  Her eyes glowed with emotion and her smooth brow puckered. It made him want do whatever it took, say whatever she needed to hear, to soothe her.

  “Being helpless is difficult,” he admitted.

  “I can’t imagine you ever being helpless.”

  “My sister was ill once,” he said. “No’ like Liv, but verra sick.” He drank from his cup and let the burn of liquor warm his throat and insides. “With the plague.”

  “Did she…?”

  “Survive? Aye, but she was verra bad before she got better. Like ye, I could only stand by and watch. I couldna fight the sickness for her, I couldna make her better, and though I wanted it more than anything, I couldna take her place.”

  The unwanted memory of Cora rose in his mind. Her small body had been so still, her lips and cheeks without color as death cradled her ever closer. Helplessness had raged within him, like a clawing beast writhing to be free from a cage with no doors.

  “I’m glad you still have her,” Ariana said.

  The thought of Cora, her long mane of wild brown waves and her laughing brown eyes, touched a smile to his lips. “I’m glad to still have her too. My ma died giving birth to her and it was as though all the kindness of my ma passed into Cora.”

  He didn’t know why he’d shared that about his mother, but the quiet look on Ariana’s face compelled him to continue. “I was a lad of ten and though I knew I should be a man about it, my ma’s death devastated me. I wanted to hate Cora for having taken her from me. But then I saw Cora. She was a bitty wee thing and she smiled at me, all sweetness and love, and I knew then I’d no’ ever hate the lass.”

  Aye, Connor was glad his sister was still alive, and he’d done a poor job of showing it. Murdoch was right. He needed to see her again.

  Ariana watched him with a quiet smile on her face and the realization of just how much of himself he’d shared struck him as sure and quick as lightning.

  “Ach, ye need to get yer sleep,” he said with a gruffness he hadn’t intended. “It’ll be another hard day tomorrow.”

  “I’d be disappointed otherwise.” Ariana handed her cup to him and had started to walk away when she stopped and turned back toward him. The firelight played across her beautiful features, on the delicate curl of her dark hair where it fell around her shoulders.

  On the bruised skin visible just under her dress on her left shoulder.

  “Thank you, Connor. Good night.”

  He nodded absentmindedly, unable to pull his gaze from her discolored flesh.

  She turned and strode from the room, her slippers silent on the floor.

  He wanted to stop her, to demand she tell him who’d hit her with such force. But he already knew the answer.

  Sylvi.

  • • •

  Ariana tightened her grip on the pole in her hands. The wood was cold beneath her fingers, but her body was warm. Ready to fight.

 
Delilah stood in front of her, her face calm and her dark eyes watching Ariana with matched intensity.

  “Go,” Delilah said sharply.

  Ariana’s coiled muscles fired into action, propelling her forward. The pole whistled in the air and smacked harmlessly against Delilah’s padded armor with a muted thwock.

  Delilah grinned. “Perfect.” She swept a hand over her apron, smoothing out the puckered dent as if the fabric were a fine gown. “Again.”

  Ariana’s shoulder glowed with pain, but she whipped the pole around again and slammed it into Delilah’s side with all the strength she could muster.

  Delilah staggered slightly against the blow. “Even better.” An errant curl slipped from her perfectly pinned hair and fluttered against her cheek. “You’re picking this up far quicker than even Sylvi did.”

  She leaned closer and the floral notes of her perfume surrounded Ariana like a friend’s embrace. “But don’t tell her I said that.” Delilah’s doe-like brown eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, never,” Ariana agreed in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Delilah grinned. “Now let’s get out of this ugly armor and see what Percy’s made for us to eat. I wanted to ask you about the masquerade balls you attended.”

  “Of course.” Ariana felt herself smile in response. Delilah was full of questions about court. What gowns were being worn, what food was being eaten, what dances were being done.

  From what Ariana had gathered, Delilah had spent her life dreaming of attending court. While she finally had made it there, something had prevented her from staying very long.

  Ariana was sure it was the reason she was now at Kindrochit.

  They were both almost out of their padding when the clangs of a weapon against steel rang out, sharp and in quick succession.

  Delilah’s head jerked up and her mouth fell open.

  Ariana plucked the last tie of her armor loose and looked up toward where Sylvi and Connor were training.

  Sylvi was a bolt of lightning, lithe and fast, striking at Connor, making him step back and back and back. She moved with such haste, Ariana would never have been able to keep up with her. But Connor matched the speed of her blows, smooth and graceful.