Page 151 of Highland Spy

A small sob hiccuped out of Cora and Connor’s head turned in her direction.

“Why?” she mouthed.

Realization splintered through Ariana. Cora knew what Connor had done, and judging from the sick expression on his face, he had just realized as much.

“You lied to me.” The king’s voice pitched. “I trusted you to see those men dead in four months. You had your orders. You disobeyed and you killed a member of my own blood. My dear cousin, Isabel.”

Cora was weeping softly now and Connor let his head fall forward.

Ariana’s breathing came harder. Connor would have no explanation for the king. Lying would do little more than buy him time.

Movement occurred at the side window and snagged her attention. Several soldiers spoke to a man she recognized all too well.

The blond hair, the overly large frame, the chipped-toothed smile.

Murdoch.

“I dinna know she was yer cousin, your grace,” Connor said. “And Laird Gordon was harder to get to than anticipated.” His voice lacked the conviction it needed.

This would not go well.

Ariana turned her attention back to Murdoch. One of the soldiers clapped him on the shoulder like a brother and let him stroll away.

No arrest.

No manacles.

A dizzying rush of triumph tingled through her. It all clicked perfectly in her head, like a lockpick blindly stabbing through the darkness before catching.

It all made sense now.

The length of time Murdoch had been gone when initially searching for MacAlister when she’d first arrived. The way he’d led Connor to believe the people of Urquhart were all dead—it had been no mere coincidence or misunderstanding.

And the injury he’d sustained, the way he’d appeared to have slept for so long when he’d arrived and how her horse had been in the wrong stall.

He had killed Renny, and he’d taken a knife in the gut for his crime. The wound had looked fresh despite his claim it was several days old. She’d seen the confusion on Percy’s face when she’d cared for it. But gentle Percy did not question his lie.

“I know you’ve lied to me, Connor.” The king motioned to his guards with a sweep of his finger, and they inched closer to Connor. “After years of trusted friendship, I was going to give you an opportunity to tell me the truth. It appears even now you are unable to do so.”

Ariana’s mind swam.

Murdoch. All this time it was Murdoch.

But her newfound knowledge would do nothing stop the king.

There had to be something else. Some other way.

She scoured her brain for something to get them out, a way to free Connor, and sucked in a hard breath at what unraveled before her.

Isabel had once told her in confidence of the king’s fear of witches. It was a dangerous gamble considering what was done to witches, but Connor would be safe.

Ariana’s heart slammed harder in her chest.

This could be her death.

But it would save Connor.

“Connor Grant,” the king said in a booming voice. “I hereby arrest—”