Page 82 of Undercover Infidel
The flight to Blackmoor offered stunning views of the Highland landscape, though Con dozed through most of it, the medications and residual exhaustion claiming him despite his efforts to stay awake. I watched him sleep, still hardly believing we’d both survived.
When we arrived at Blackmoor,I was taken aback to find a welcoming committee gathered at the castle’s entrance. Mrs. Thorne stood front and center, flanked by Bastion and the other staff members. Tag waited with Gus, Ash, and Sullivan. Even Ambrose hovered at the edge of the group, his usual distracted demeanor replaced by genuine concern.
Seeing him reminded me of Dr. McLaren’s absence. Whatever her role in Labyrinth, she and Ambrose had been close. I wondered what he’d been told, if anything. I still didn’t know for certain whether she’d died in the explosion or, like us, had escaped. Another thought lingered. Did Ambrose know about the secret life she’d lived? Had anyone other than Bennett and Orlov?
Con woke as the helicopter landed, looking momentarily disoriented before recognition dawned. “Didn’t expect the welcome wagon,” he muttered.
“You’re loved,” I replied simply.
Mrs. Thorne approached first as we disembarked. “Welcome home, my lord.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she took in his pale complexion and hesitant movements. “Your rooms are prepared.”
“Thank you, Helena.” Con’s voice carried genuine warmth. “It’s good to be here.”
The others gathered around, offering support without overwhelming him. Bastion relieved Con of his minimal luggage, while Tag and Ash positioned themselves to assist if needed. Con waved them off, determined to walk under his own power.
“You look like hell,” Ash said with a grin that softened the words.
“Better than I feel,” Con replied.
As we moved toward the castle entrance, I fell into step beside Ambrose, my curiosity overcoming my hesitation.
“Did you know?” I asked quietly.
Ambrose glanced at me, genuine sorrow in his eyes. “No. Although I sensed she walked a difficult path. But don’t we all?”
Before I could press further, we reached the entrance, where Con paused, his strength visibly waning despite his determination.
“Perhaps you should rest before dinner, my lord,” Bastion suggested tactfully.
Con nodded, his arm tightening around my waist. “Lex will join me.”
No one raised a brow at his pronouncement—further evidence that the castle staff had already acceptedwhat I was only beginning to fully embrace. This was where I belonged now.
As we climbed the stairs to Con’s rooms—ourrooms, I corrected myself—I felt a sense of rightness settle over me. The pain and betrayal of the past week hadn’t disappeared, but they existed alongside this new certainty.
Con sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally claiming him. I knelt to remove his shoes, then helped him lie back against the pillows.
“Stay,” he murmured, catching my hand.
I slipped my own shoes off and stretched out beside him, careful not to jostle his wound. His arm curved around me, drawing me against his side.
“We’re home,” he whispered, his voice already thick with the approaching sleep.
As Con’s breathing deepened, I gazed around the room that would now be mine as well. The ancient castle walls had witnessed centuries of Carnegie history, and now, I would become part of that lineage—not through marriage, at least not yet, but through a bond forged in danger and sealed by choice.
Blackmoor called to something in me, just as Con did. The strength, the history, the sense of belonging—allthings I’d sought throughout my life without recognizing them. Here, I could be both the MI6 analyst and the woman who had found love when she least expected it.
I nestled closer to Con, listening to his heartbeat beneath my ear. Whatever challenges lay ahead—and there would be many, including the lingering questions about McLaren’s fate—we would face them together. I had found my place, and it was here, within these ancient walls, with him.
23
CON
Two weeks after the destruction of Orlov’s facility, I stood at my bedroom window, watching the Highland mist roll across the grounds of Blackmoor. Spring was showing its first signs, bringing new growth to the ancient estate, though my body still ached from the wounds I’d sustained.
The doctor had prescribed six weeks of rest, a directive I’d been fighting since the moment I regained consciousness. Lex, however, proved more formidable than any physician. Her stern glances and gentle insistence had kept me relatively compliant, though I’d compromised on my working from bed rather than the ops hub.
“Coffee?” Lex appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray with two steaming cups.
