Page 33 of Highland Spy

Where he was everything evil and wrong, she was everything innocent and right. Even her downfall from court had been born out of necessity.

Her gaze lured him with the promise that somehow just holding her, kissing her, would make him feel right—if only for one blissful moment.

He tightened his grip on the reins until his muscles ached and he rode as hard and as fast as possible to clear his mind of Ariana.

Only when he saw the small gray frame of the nunnery did he begin to slow. It had been the perfect place to put Cora, nearby enough to see her, and remote enough to not warrant many visitors. While he would have liked to have placed her in a wealthier convent, the poorer ones were more likely to escape notice.

As Connor made his way up the narrow trail leading to the entrance, a man on a large white destrier emerged from the small courtyard. He did not seem to notice Connor.

But Connor noticed him.

Wild, dark hair and a familiar face now lined with the effects of age and war… Angus MacAlister.

And within the walls of the abbey, where Cora was supposedly safe.

Fear gripped Connor in a chilling embrace.

He forced his pounding heart to slow and did a careful sweep of the courtyard, seeking evidence of nearby warriors waiting to ambush. Seeing none, he eased his boots from the stirrups of his horse for easy dismount. Just in case.

But there were no other warriors. Not that he could see… None hidden in the shadows, no fearful-looking nuns attempting to continue in their duties in a rigid pass at appearing normal.

Surely MacAlister would not travel without a retinue.

Connor leapt from his horse and handed the limp reins to an aging nun he’d seen before. “Where is she?”

The nun turned her head toward the small garden. “Where she always is.”

Connor nodded a stiff thanks and stalked toward the large plot of dirt where a pathetic show of plants coiled low to the warmth of the ground.

Every scenario spiraled through his mind, each one ending in the garden absent the one person in the world who mattered most to him.

But no—there, safe, and kneeling in the dark soil, was his sister.

Relief washed over him with such poignancy, it threatened to choke him.

“Cora.” It came out strained, but saying her name, seeing her safe, all of it eased the spike of fear jammed into his heart.

She looked up, then jumped to her feet and ran toward Connor as she’d done when she was a girl, arms wide and with fearless speed.

He caught her before she could slam into him and squeezed her in so fierce an embrace it lifted her feet from the ground.

But if MacAlister hadn’t taken Cora, then why the hell had he been there?

Connor set Cora on her feet and tried not to stare too hard at her. “What was MacAlister doing here?”

She brushed some dirt from Connor’s jacket and only succeeded in smearing more into the wool. “Who?”

She wasn’t looking at him, which made it impossible to tell if she was lying or not. Which she well knew.

“MacAlister,” Connor repeated. “The man who just left.”

Cora gave a nonchalant shrug. “I dinna know a MacAlister.”

Connor’s insides tightened. With fear, and frustration, and rage, and all those helpless feelings he’d discussed the very night before.

“How did he find ye? How did he know ye were here?” Connor clenched his fists at his sides in an effort to control his desperate, protective anger.

“I dinna know what ye’re talking about.” The warm happiness cooled from her eyes and an angry line showed between her brows. “Ye finally come here and ye want to accuse me of something?”