Page 160 of Highland Spy

The king lifted his eyebrow with quiet interest.

Connor met the king’s gaze. “Release Ariana.”

King James pushed out of his chair and thrust himself upward onto his feet. “Absolutely not. She is a witch and will die. Your enchanted infatuation will die with her.” He strode toward the door but paused before opening it. “I’d recommend you consider my offer before you find it retracted.”

Without another word, the king stepped from the room and let the door close behind him.

She is a witch and will die.

Connor’s gut twisted around those words. He hadn’t truly expected the king to grant him his request, but at least he’d tried to save Ariana the safest way he knew how.

And he would not let her die.

With the king’s rejection came, too, the necessity for battle.

Before going to Percy’s room, where the women gathered, he did one last search through the false walls of the castle for Cora.

And once more did not find her.

She had left while they were locked in Percy’s room. Not been taken—left.

She’d said nothing to him before her departure, but he’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he’d first been arrested. He knew what the king had told her.

More determined now than ever before, he made his way to where the women were preparing for battle. Dawn would come soon and he intended for them to attack before the king’s Gentlemen Pensioners ever had a chance to touch Ariana.

He opened the door and looked at the solemn faces of the women.

“Are ye ready?” he asked. Liv was already gone. A good sign, as her task of loosing Fianna near the prison had to be completed before anything could truly begin.

Isabel slipped like a shadow into hiding, where there would be more false walls and staircases connecting throughout the castle.

Percy waited until the false door closed before giving a nod. “It’s time.”

• • •

The banging of mallets on wood had finally ceased. Ariana knew what it was they built just outside the prison doors. They’d spoken loudly enough for her to hear, no doubt intentionally.

A scaffold.

For her.

With the rising of the sun would come the hour of her death. Already a gray light seeped from under the crack beneath the prison door.

The idea of it welled inside her like a sob, helpless and hot.

To have lived her whole life without love, only to die when she finally found it—it was cruel.

She wanted more time to bask in the warmth of Connor’s affection, to revel in the happiness of love. But none of it would be. All the dreams her heart had summoned melted like snowflakes floating too near an open flame.

A ball of anguish knotted in the back of her throat.

Her heart broke with a sob that echoed around her. Her muscles tensed with unspent rage. She did not seek to quell it, not when it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t save her.

Nothing would.

She gripped her manacles as tightly as she could and wrenched them down hard, wanting to feel the bite of the metal against her wrists. At least physical pain might dull her inner torment.

The unyielding bonds tugged at her palms and left her hands tingling. But that was not all.