Page 105 of Highland Spy

“Is that why ye killed yer husband?” Connor asked. “To protect yer cousin?”

Isabel cast her gaze toward Ariana before looking back at him, her back stiffening to a regal, if not affronted, manner. “No.”

Connor didn’t need to know the reason why, but he did know one thing for certain—he would ask every necessary question, note every subtle look and every shift in her voice. He would get the entire story by the time they arrived.

The sooner he had what he needed from her and had deposited her at Kindrochit, the sooner he could return to Urquhart and seek out his people.

• • •

Once again, the journey was cold and wet, but this time Ariana found it far more miserable.

She hunched over her horse in an effort to borrow some of its warmth and breathed out in a slow, steady exhale. Her breath fogged in front of her, swelling against the pouring rain before dissipating.

Irritation clawed at her insides. It raked against her nerves and left her throat burning with the need to scream.

The cold, the wet, the discomfort of every part of her body from so much riding.

She could scarce stand another second.

The trip, which had only taken three days on the way to Urquhart, had taken five on the way back. Perhaps six if they did not reach the castle by nightfall.

Already the sky was beginning to cast the pallor of dusk upon the surrounding forest.

Connor had said they were close, but how could one discern one forest from another?

She looked several feet in front of her to where Connor rode beside Isabel, who sat on the small brown mare he’d purchased for her. They’d been side by side almost the entire journey, their heads bent toward each other to conceal Isabel’s secrets. Such nearness made them look like lovers.

Pain sluiced through Ariana’s heart, just as fresh and painful as it’d been the first time she had experienced it. A foolish emotion, when she knew Connor needed information from Isabel. And yet, Ariana could not tamp it down.

Surely after several days, the discomfort would have diminished.

But, no, it had not. And she found her gaze wandering periodically to the two, like touching a wound to see if it still ached.

It did.

She knew the feeling for what it was and hated herself for it.

Jealousy.

She wrenched her eyes from them, but still the pain throbbed, hollow and hot in her belly. The stab of discomfort was entirely unwarranted.

Connor had given her no promises. She’d had no expectations when she’d lain with him.

Had she?

Thoughts swirled in a dizzying whirl in her head and tangled with the fragile web of her memory from that night. So much had happened then.

If anything, Ariana should have been grateful for Isabel, and truly, deep down, she was. While Isabel had slowed their pace considerably, she had also tried to help where she could and had readily answered all questions she was asked. From her, they’d learned Kenneth had been promised a betrothal from MacAlister, though Isabel didn’t know to whom, and that Kenneth had been forced to find more allies for them. The plan to depose the king was simple—unite the Highlands and overwhelm the Lowlands. Take Scotland back, as its own entity, free of the rule of England.

Isabel had been kind and helpful. Impossible to hate.

Not that Ariana wanted to hate her. And so she hated herself and the jealousy burning inside her—an ember of pain fanned by each innocent interaction between Connor and Isabel.

Connor looked back at her over his shoulder and smiled. Her poor, stupidly bruised heart flinched.

She cared for him too much.

The way she’d once tried to love her parents, and her brother—when she was far too young to understand they would never even warm toward her.