Page 5 of Confessions of a Highland Assassin

“When they said I was tae marry someone from yer clan, I hoped it would be ye,” she had smiled sweetly.

Boyd had laid eyes on her for the first time at a clan meeting to discuss the ongoing concerns between the families. He’d thought her the most beautiful lass he had ever seen in his life. They had talked and laughed together in a quiet corner of the banquet hall while the elders discussed their business.

She had been so polite and kind to him, that he’d thought her from a different clan. After all, there was no way that a member of the Steward clan would ever be so kind to a Cameron.

He’d fallen for her the instant he’d seen her. Cora’s laugh and gentle nature only sweetened the deal. Nonetheless, their clans were at odds, and would likely be for many years to come, as that night's discussions had demonstrated. Boyd had made peace with loving her from afar. All the clans in attendance that night had been their rivals.

Cora’s smile broadened. “I hope it’s a pleasant surprise, nae?” she asked demurely, her long lashes brushing her cheeks whenever she looked down.

“More pleasant than ye could ever imagine,” he’d taken a step forward.

She’d laughed then and placed her soft hands in his when he’d held out his hands to her. “My heart was poundin’ so fast waiting tae see how ye would respond. I hoped ye’d be as keen as I am,” her soft and elegant voice reminded him of the meadow pipits in the height of spring.

His throat tightened when he recalled just how lovely she was. They never even had the chance to really get to know each other before tragedy struck. Boyd cleared his throat and adjusted his soiled white shirt to conceal the fact that he was choking up.

“Ye have braved more storms than any other man I ken,” Rory’s words yanked him from his thoughts and solitude. “And while I have the greatest sympathy with all the loss ye have dealt with and the ones ye are still strugglin’ tae accept… Ye are Laird now, Boyd. Ye need tae dae what is best for the clan, and nae just yersel’. As hard as it may be, this is the reality of being ye.”

“The clan must come first,” Boyd said bitterly and straightened his back, doubting that fate would deal him another pleasant surprise as it had done before.

“Aye, harsh, but true. I dinnae mean that ye must throw love out the window altogether and marry just for convenience. But at least be open tae the chance of meeting someone new. I ken how ye feel about Cora, and I am nae saying that anyone else can ever come close, but even if they dinnae. Ye dinnae have tae be alone for the rest of yer life. I want ye tae be happy again.”

Boyd loved Rory like a brother and knew that he would eventually have to take his suggestions on board should Cora never return. But a year seemed like such a short time to move on with your life after having lost so many people. How could their memory be erased so swiftly?

“Apologies, my Laird,” a man approached them from the shadow of the castle. “I dinnae mean tae interrupt yer conversation, but the council has called for a meeting at once.”

They raised their eyebrows and exchanged worried glances before looking back to the messenger. The man had obviously been in a hurry, his kilt was soiled with dirt, and his sandy hair was a mess.

“At this hour?” Boyd asked with concern.

“Aye, one o’ the scouts returned with some particularly disturbing news. It seems like we may expect an attack on our borders sooner than expected, my Laird.”

“Dammit,” Rory cursed under his breath. “I ken things had been too quiet o’ late.”

Boyd quickly retrieved his sword before following the messenger with haste. If this report proved to be true, he may just have to push his own feelings aside and find a bride for the sake of the clans. And soon.

CHAPTER THREE

Ava stared at the sign swinging above the door that led into The Dark Horseman. She pulled her heavy cloak tightly around her shoulders, shivering slightly against the fine rain disrupting the darkness.

The Dark Horseman, Ava thought to herself, as if saying the name would help her accept what she was about to do.

With her black leather boots squelching in the slippery mud, she composed herself before making her way to the door, pressing on the mucky wood with both hands. The door swung open to reveal a dark room filled with hooded figures seated at small tables scattered across the dingy floor. Sweat, ale, and a hint of sick permeated the air. The whispered conversations came to a sudden stop as Ava stepped over the threshold.

She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the sparsely lit room. Thick black curtains had been drawn across the windows, allowing as much anonymity to the patrons as possible. The only source of light came from a few torches flickering on iron sconces against the stone walls.

There were only two reasons anyone would ever visit this particular tavern with its shady clientele. Either you were looking to get paid for trouble or seeking a permanent solution to your own. Ava shuddered as heads turned to watch her walk. But she kept her composure, as she always did in these situations, in which she found herself more often than not.

A shadowed figure paid close attention as she made her way through the throng of tables. For a second, Ava thought she caught the glimpse of a smile. But the face was hidden again in a matter of seconds.

More heads turned as she gingerly crossed the room toward the barkeep. Nobody spoke above a whisper as business was discussed. Ava could tell the assassins from the people who were looking to rid themselves of a problem.

Hired assassins watched your every move, completely aware of their surroundings at all times. Ordinary patrons tended to be a bit more nervous, fidgeting with their clothes, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

“Can I help ye…” a burly, balding man with a scar across his left eye addressed her. The color of his dark eyes reminded her of the mud she’d just squelched through. He held a bottle of ale in one hand and a dirty mug in the other. Clearly, niceties were not something to be expected here.

She’d eyed the stains on his filthy apron that bulged above a round belly. “I’m looking for work,” Ava lowered her voice.

The man sneered nastily with a knowing look in his eyes. “How complex o’ a job are ye lookin’ for, lass? This may nae be the place for ye,” he sniggered to himself before continuing. “I already have a maid.”