Page 81 of Highland Spy

She jerked toward the touch to find Connor leaning over her, his finger at his lips in a silent shushing motion.

The baritone of male voices nearby carried toward them, their words indiscernible.

Ariana bolted upright on shaky legs and almost collapsed. Her entire body trembled as if she’d just spent days training without sleep.

Someone was coming.

Energy fired through her veins and pumped into her exhausted limbs, but she could not move. Her brain staggered over itself in an attempt to formulate a plan, to come up with something except to run.

And so she stood, staring up toward where the voices had emerged.

They were getting closer.

Her breathing came faster and though the air burned in her lungs, she did not feel the effects of a breath well taken. The world spun around her.

Something jerked at her cloak.

She looked forward and found Connor in front of her. He had tugged her dark cloak over her bloodstained clothing and his lips were moving.

His hand came to her shoulder and he met her eyes, recalling her full attention. “Follow my lead,” he whispered.

He made his way to the dead man. A final, weak trickle of blood trailed from the guard’s neck. The leather handle of her dagger still jutted from the mortal wound.

Connor pulled off his own dark cloak and jerked the man upright by his shoulder. The man’s back sagged and his head lolled to the side in a grotesque display.

Ariana rushed forward and assisted in holding the man well enough to secure the cloak over his shoulders.

The voices were louder now. Too close.

Anxiety prickled through her veins like needles of ice.

Shapes were beginning to materialize in the fog.

Faster.

The word echoed in her head over and over as they worked. Surely it only took moments, but in her mind, it seemed lifetimes had passed.

Connor indicated she should pull the man’s arm over her shoulder. The man’s limb was oddly heavy and noncompliant. She had to grip his skin hard to keep his arm drawn across her back.

No sooner had they propped him between them than two soldiers appeared above.

The figures stopped and one pointed toward them. “What are ye doing here?”

“Coming to get my drunk friend.” Connor’s voice slurred as though he’d consumed far too much whisky himself. “He fell asleep here in this ditch. I figured ye wouldna want him staying…”

“Aye,” said the second man. “Ye figured right. Get him out of here.”

Connor started to turn them and Ariana leaned farther forward to ensure the dead man’s weight did not tip him backward.

“Wait.” The first man spoke, his voice hard and authoritative.

Both Connor and Ariana stopped.

“What happened to yer face, lass?” the first man asked.

Her face?

Ariana resisted touching her hands to her cheek, realizing it was no doubt covered in a smear of blood.