Page 125 of Highland Spy

Connor’s jaw set. “Aye, I know. They havena had a strong leader here since my da. The king owns the manor, but so many nobles come and go, it isna enough to maintain order. They’ve got a king, one who pays them no mind. They need a laird.”

A wooden sign with a boar’s head etched into it hung over the scarred door of the tavern. Connor pushed it open and they both entered the stuffy room.

The small windows along the wall did little to let in light, and most of the rows of tables seemed to fade into the darkness. Tallow candles sputtered out streams of thick, greasy smoke at several tables. The place was almost entirely empty.

But there was an underlying scent to the heavy odor of burning grease—the savory, tantalizing aroma of roasting meat.

“Two ales,” Connor told the woman who watched them from across the room.

Another woman appeared beside her, a brunette whose face looked entirely too familiar to ignore.

“Wait here,” he murmured to Ariana.

He made his way quickly across the empty room to where the other woman stood. Up close he was even more certain he knew her: the point of her nose, the small notch dimpling where the point of a chin would be. “Ye look familiar,” he said.

The woman glanced toward where Ariana sat before turning a coy smile on him. “I get that from all the lads.”

“I think I’ve seen ye before. At Urquhart.”

The upturn of her lips wilted and her eyes narrowed slightly. “Ye must be mistaken. I havena been to Urquhart in some time. No’ any of us have.”

There was something guarded about the way she crossed her arms, as if in stubborn defiance. The movement was even more familiar and gnawed at his memory.

He didn’t remember her name, but he knew one thing for certain—she would not be talking. Not with what his people had suffered.

But it did not dampen his spirits. If he’d found one of his clan, he would find more.

• • •

The throbbing in the pit of Ariana’s stomach had been present since she’d woken. Now, it was near pulsing with an almost frenzied excitement. She knew immediately what it was—dread.

The barmaid approached Ariana’s table and placed the two cups of ale before her.

Ariana nodded her thanks and glanced around the woman’s retreating frame to where Connor still spoke to the brunette on the opposite side of the room.

He was occupied.

This might be Ariana’s only chance.

She pulled the slender vial from the pocket in her dress, where she’d tucked it for accessibility and discretion. The clear liquid inside caught the meager light from the windows.

With one last glance toward Connor to ensure he was occupied, she tugged the small stopper from the vial. A bit of liquid splashed onto the heel of her palm. Not enough to matter, but enough to betray how badly her hands shook.

She emptied the contents into one mug with an almost imperceptible splash and pushed the offending mug away from her, to where Connor would likely sit.

Another glance confirmed he still had not turned toward her.

Her heart fluttered in a rush of panic and doubt.

Perhaps she should just ask him if she could leave.

Throughout their journey, the idea had rolled its way smooth by the constant churning of her thoughts. But Sylvi’s words always came back to her.

No one just walks away.

If she was correct, and there was no way to quietly leave it all behind, then Ariana was better off not asking Connor. He was a perceptive man and far too intelligent to trick if he knew a blow was coming. Her asking would be all the warning he’d need of what she intended to do. And she didn’t intend to hurt him—just leave him quietly sleeping.

Somehow the thought did not untangle the knot in her stomach.