Page 101 of Highland Spy

How could he answer her question honestly?

The truth clogged in his throat and left him momentarily mute.

Her hand came to rest on his forearm, feather light and warm. “I know Lady MacAlister killed her husband, but I don’t believe you knew that.” She paused and searched the air, as if she might find the words she needed to say there. “I know what I saw, but I need to hear it from you.”

His heartbeat thudded faster in his chest. She knew. Of course she did. There could be no denying it.

She deserved to know who he was at his core. He had nothing to offer her and nothing would prove it to her more than the truth.

“I was going to kill Angus MacAlister,” Connor said at last.

Her fingertips flinched on his forearm, as if she had intended to draw away but forced herself to stay where she was.

The rain came down harder outside now and the sound of it roared inside the room. Or perhaps it was the roaring in his ears.

“And Lady MacAlister, too?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Only Laird MacAlister. I’ve done it before, killing a man as he slept beside his wife.” His stomach clenched at the memory. “If one is quick and silent, it’s not impossible.”

“You’ve done this before,” she repeated. Her expression was unreadable, but the delicate muscles of her neck stood taut against her creamy throat.

There was no more for it, but to let her know—to let her see him. The real him. “Yes.”

Five times. Men he’d killed for the king, their faces blending with those of men Connor had slain in battle.

This time she did draw her hand away. Tears gleamed in her eyes, making them seem to glow in the muted light. “Connor, why?”

His stomach knotted and his muscles drew tight. Everything in him went on high alert. He couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, with a mixture of horror and desperation.

“Because I dinna have a choice,” he said in a rough tone. “Because it’s the only way to get all this back, and to help Cora.”

He turned from her and braced his arms over the massive fireplace. Black streaks of scorched stone and the sediment of ash long since cold greeted his misery.

Ariana did not make a sound, but he knew she was still nearby. He could sense her as surely as he could sense the heat of the sun on a clear day.

“I dinna tell ye everything about my da’s death.” He hung his head forward, dropping it between his outstretched arms. The weight of so many memories so difficult to bear.

“Will you tell me now?” Ariana asked quietly.

Connor drew a deep breath and nodded.

After all these years, he would finally confess the extent of his sins, and how he’d somehow secured a deal with the very devil himself.

• • •

Connor’s story was indeed one of heartbreak.

Ariana listened as he told her how he’d secured a convent for Cora with his father’s signet ring. He’d left both beloved things in Scotland and went to England on the coin stolen from his father.

To seek an audience with the king, or so he’d thought.

But then he had been refused.

“I broke into his rooms that night.” Connor turned from the hearth with a mirthless grin on his face. “I surprised the spit out of him. He’d thought his room impenetrable.”

Ariana moved closer to keep from missing anything. His voice had gone softer and the rain louder.

“I got permission to kill Laird Gordon, who had taken Urquhart, but had to promise the king wouldna be implicated were I caught.” He smirked. “Apparently I did so well, the king wished to appoint me as his personal assassin.”