Page 85 of Highland Spy

“We walked,” he said finally, and rubbed his palms up and down her arms to help create some heat.

Her trembling seemed to quell, but a slight frown tugged at her full lips. “I don’t remember walking.” She shook her head. “I remember being behind a bush and watching you climb the wall.”

“We dinna have to talk about this,” Connor interjected quickly.

“No.” She shook her head again. “I can’t remember. This isn’t like me.” Tears welled in her eyes and she dropped her head down.

Her sharp gasp punctuated the air and she lifted her hands in the air.

Dried blood flecked her skin, lining the creases and flaking from her knuckles like bits of rust.

Connor’s heart sank deep into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t yet had a chance to clean her hands.

Her fingers plucked frantically at the plaid wrapped around her. The wool peeled away and revealed the blood-soaked gown beneath.

Connor tried to pull the shawl from the iron grip of her hands to cover the sight once more. “Lass, ye dinna—”

“You climbed the wall and almost got caught.” Her breath was coming faster and her eyes had a wild shine to them. “I called to the guard and I had his attention, but then something made him look at you. I didn’t think, I just grabbed my dagger and threw it.”

Her eyes shut and a tear leaked from beneath her pressed-together lids. “Oh God, I killed him.”

She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands in silent horror.

Her eyes widened and shifted back to him. “I killed a man.” She held her palms out to him, putting the evidence of her act on display.

Connor grabbed the bowl of water and sloshed the cloth over her hands. Orange-red water trickled from her hands and pooled unseen against the dark floor.

She did not stop his efforts.

“He would have killed us,” Connor said, as gently as he could.

A choked cry came from deep within her chest and cut through his heart as sharp and sure as any blade.

Her hands were clean now, but she continued to stare at them as if they were still creased with blood. “No, no. I should have waited. I should have called to him. Surely there was more I could have—”

He dropped the rag and gripped her by the shoulders. “Ye did what ye had to.”

Her lower lip quivered and her eyes were lit with the gleam of unshed tears. She looked so painfully tortured, he did the only thing he could think to help—he pulled her into his arms and let her bury her head in his chest.

Her sobs came then, in great racking gulps.

As he stood there, holding her trembling back and bearing witness to the sound of her innocence breaking, he knew he’d been correct in not teaching the girls to kill.

It was best left to him, the one whose hands were already stained with blood.

• • •

Almost all the blood was gone.

Small flecks of maroon dotted Ariana’s knuckles and formed narrow lines in the creases of her palms, only visible if she stared hard enough.

Which she did now.

She dragged a fingernail across the sensitive pad of her hand, ignoring the discomfort in the interest of clearing her hands of their guilt.

For surely her soul would forever be stained.

The fire blazed with deceptively merry energy to her right and dried her freshly washed hair. Scrubbing her skin and changing her clothing had only made her feel physically more comfortable.