Page 34 of Highland Spy

Cora never got angry, unless she was feeling defensive.

“I’m accusing ye because I see it in yer eyes. I see it in the way ye’re acting now. Ye’re lying and I know it.”

A gust of wind shoved her hair into her face. She pushed it back and crossed her arms over her chest, mute.

“Ye were there that day, Cora,” Connor said, trying to keep his voice level. “Ye saw what they did to Da. Ye know what they almost did to ye.”

Cora closed her eyes slowly, as if the action pained her, and nodded. “I know,” she said.

“There could be others still seeking us out.” She looked so small with her petulant stance, and he was reminded of when she’d been such a wee, innocent thing. Like the time he’d told her she couldn’t follow him around all the time, and she’d put her fists on her hips, declaring she only did it because she loved him.

Pulled toward her by such memories, he put his arms around her and hugged her to his chest.

Her hair smelled soft and sweet, like chamomile flowers, the same as it always had. The familiarity warmed him. “I keep ye here so ye’ll be safe.”

She pushed away from him, and the warmth they’d shared went cold. “But what is a life that isna being lived? I havena any friends. I have ye, aye, the few times ye come to visit. Look at me, Connor.”

She’d once been a proud laird’s daughter in fine clothes, a happy girl with a ready smile on her lips. But her gown was a dull brown, muddy with black dirt from where she’d knelt on the ground. There were lines on her face he’d never seen before, and the glint of her eyes had faded.

Even the gleam of her hair was not as he remembered.

Like all of the life was draining from her.

She looked like Liv.

His heart went heavy.

“I canna let ye die like Da,” he said softly.

“And yet ye canna let me live,” she replied.

He knew what she wanted—placement in a castle where she could be restored to her former glory. Hell, Connor wanted that too. But it wasn’t safe.

Perhaps he might be able to find another abbey, one with more wealth. “I’ll find ye another place,” he conceded. “If ye tell me why MacAlister was here.”

She gave a hard smile—an expression he’d never seen cross her sweet face. “Another abbey, I’m sure,” she said. “Where I’ll be safe.” The last word was cold and brittle.

Desperation tightened Connor’s chest. “I need to know why he was here. I need to know who else has been here.”

Damn it, there was a reason MacAlister’s name had come to him, why the king wanted him dead.

What the hell had Cora gotten herself into?

She looked up at him. “No one else has come, and no one else knows I’m here. I’ll say no more.”

Her face was open and honest. And characteristically stubborn. He’d never get the reason for MacAlister’s visit from her. The realization was like a blade being driven into his gut.

Connor reached for her, but she stepped away from him and grabbed a sack from where it lay propped against the fence. The clink of tools sounded from within.

Their visit was done.

He didn’t want it to be. He wanted to make this right, to promise she could live a life with fine gowns and a home and a clan again. He wanted to see the gleam of happiness in her eyes and the smile restored to her face.

But he was helpless to do so.

Seven more years.

“I only want to see ye safe,” he said. “I love ye, Cora.”