The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Tara Kingston

  God above, it all made sense now. Johanna’s abrupt, almost frantic departure from London. Her willingness to do business with men like Ross and Munro. Her desperation to deliver the prize and conclude her bargain with the devil.

  A child’s life hung in the balance.

  Damn Richard Benedict. Damn the man to hell. What had the man been thinking, hauling his daughter with him to the Highlands? Did he think Cranston wouldn’t know he’d fled London? Had the child been part of his disguise? Benedict was a lot of things, but a blundering fool wasn’t one of them. Was it possible he truly couldn’t bear to leave the girl behind? Had he possessed a single decent quality—devotion to his daughter that would ultimately end in disaster?

  For her part, Miss Templeton looked as though she’d been defeated. Revealing the truth had been painful for her. Surely she realized Connor’s knowledge of her circumstances made her even more vulnerable. What had it taken for her to disclose such a crucial part of the puzzle to him—a man she thought of as a potential enemy?

  He settled his hand on her forearm, a light touch he intended to be reassuring. She was a bonny one, wasn’t she? But more than that, she had courage. Her spine might not have been lined with steel, but she did an admirable job of pretending it was. This was hard on her, harder than she’d ever admit. The tension edging the corners of her soft, rosy mouth attested to that truth. She wouldn’t abandon the child, no matter how dear the cost. No matter the sacrifice.

  No matter that her own life was in danger.

  And now, the truth of her quest had made Connor’s task immeasurably more difficult.

  He had a mission, and he had a duty to complete it.

  But could he endanger a child in his pursuit of the relic? Could he leave an innocent in harm’s way to ensure Cranston never got the supposedly cursed heirloom under his control?

  Blast it, why did he have to give a damn?

  “Tell me about the child,” he finally said, feeling Johanna’s gaze bore into his soul.

  “She’s nine.” Johanna pressed her fingertips to her temples and rubbed the pads of her fingers against her flesh. “Quite precocious. The very image of her mother.”

  “You’ve been caring for her?” Christ, why did he ask such a question? It didn’t matter to the Crown whether or not Johanna Templeton had nurtured the missing girl.

  But somehow, it did to him.

  Her lips pulled tight. A shimmer of moisture intensified the blue of her irises, but she blinked it away.

  Ah, hell, he’d upset her. Fool that he was.

  “I came to London last year, during my sister’s illness. She’d weakened, and her husband was not well suited to looking after anyone, much less a spirited young girl who was losing her mother.”

  “You were aware he planned to take the child to Scotland?”

  She nodded. Her eyes filled with regret. “Of course. I thought nothing of it at the time.” She gave her head a little shake. “No, that’s not entirely true. I found it unusual for Mr. Abbott to restrain his activities with a child’s presence. But he loved the girl. Anyone could see that.”

  “He gave no indication that he knew he was in danger?”

  Again, she shook her head. “None whatsoever. If anything, he seemed excited about the prospect of escaping the clamor of the city. He’d planned to bring Laurel to visit relatives in the Highlands, family I’d never known of before he announced his holiday.”

  The bounder was a relentless liar. That much was sure. What the hell had he been thinking, involving a wee lass in his plans? For a heartbeat, Connor debated his next words. “You believe the man had no kin in Scotland?”

  “I now suspect that to be the case, but my position in their lives was built on shifting sand. I am Laurel’s aunt, with no true authority over the girl. It was not my place to question her father’s decision. My sister would have seen me appointed the child’s guardian, but…well, that simply couldn’t be done. For all his flaws, Mr. Abbott loved his daughter and doted on her when he was inclined to spend a day with her.”

  A copper-tinged curl dangled against Johanna’s cheek. Unable to stop himself, Connor gently swept it behind her ear. He’d half expected her to balk at the small, intimate gesture, but instead, she offered a soft smile the Mona Lisa might have envied. The first sparks of wary trust gleamed in her eyes. The fist in his gut twisted. He didn’t want to shatter the fragile truce forming between them with what might seem an interrogation. But there were questions to be asked. Too much was at stake to waste time sheltering her emotions. He needed to determine what she knew about the book. Did she have any idea what she really had?

  “And the book? How did you come to possess it?”

  Her mouth firmed as her eyes narrowed, taking him in with a cautious gaze. “You already know the answer to that.” Her flat tone revealed little. “It was a gift from Mr. Abbott.”

  “When did he give it to you?”

  Her shoulders squared, as if she braced herself for battle. “The night before he departed, if you really must know. He’d offered it with his gratitude for my assistance with the household.”

  “That didn’t surprise you?”

  A scoffing little laugh escaped her. “Of course it surprised me. He was not known for his thoughtfulness. Or his generosity, for that matter. Mr. Abbott wasn’t a man to readily part with his acquisitions. Quite honestly, I’d have been less shocked if he’d pressed a sovereign in my palm and sent me on my way.”

  So, she was letting her protective armor display a few cracks. Good. The tasks he faced would be easier if she trusted him with the truth. “Why do you think he chose that work?”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I suppose he knew I admired Mrs. Shelley. I’ve often counted her as an inspiration.”

  “Do you know the value of that manuscript?”

  “Not in pound notes and pence. But it is irreplaceable and precious to me.”

  “To a man like Cranston, that book represents little more than a stack of pages with a worn leather binding. Ye’re certain this is the ransom he demanded?”

  She dropped her gaze to the Aubusson carpet and offered a soft nod. “His instructions were explicit. He requires the book in exchange for my niece.”

  “Something is wrong. This does not fit Geoffrey Cranston’s profile.” Turning, he went to the window and stared into the darkness for any sign they’d been pursued. He heard Johanna’s abruptly indrawn breath and pictured her mouth in his mind. How he’d enjoy easing the terse set of those plump lips with another kiss.

  God above, he’d gone daft to even think of it. This was not some amorous lass ripe for a randy seduction. No, this was a woman so driven by fierce devotion to a child that she’d cast her fear and better judgment to the wind. It was bad enough he’d already tasted Johanna’s mouth. But now—now that he knew what had spurred her dealings with Cranston—he had to rein in his desire. She was a temptation he couldn’t afford.

  “You doubt my word? What reason might I have to lie?” Her words were clipped and tightly controlled, an undercurrent of ire simmering just below the smooth surface.

  “You’d have reason enough to conceal the truth. I’m naught but a stranger to ye. But it’s not you I believe who’s behind this deception.” He leaned against the window, meeting her questioning eyes. “I’d sooner believe the queen swam the bluidy Channel than trust that those lying thieves are interested in a book.”

  The shimmer in her eyes intensified. Damnation. He hadn’t meant to distress her. But Johanna had to know the kind of men she was dealing with. “If you don’t believe they want the book, what do you think they’re really after?”

  “A fortune.” Now it was his turn to veil the truth with a vague response, not quite a lie. If his sources were correct, the man Johanna knew as Richard Abbott had stumbled upon an artifact of great historical significance, a treasure rumored to harness powers beyond the realm of possibility; indeed, the stuff of legend. Abbott most likely would never have guessed at t
he properties the gem was rumored to bestow upon the person who controlled it. Far-fetched tales, as unbelievable as the stories Connor’s grandmother had told of spirits that could bring good fortune and abundant garden harvests.

  But Geoffrey Cranston was a true believer. If Connor’s sources were right, the Englishman would stop at nothing to claim the artifact.

  Somehow, Johanna Templeton held a key to locating the stone—a key she didn’t even realize she possessed. And it needed to stay that way.

  Her feathered brows arched. “How do you propose my brother-in-law might have hidden a fortune within the pages of that book? Perhaps he wove diamonds and rubies into the binding. I shall have to investigate.”

  Cheeky lass. At least she didn’t look on the verge of tears now. He far preferred her spirit to her sadness. “I’d say that’s unlikely, Miss Templeton.”

  “Pity we’re not dealing with pirates. We might look for a map leading to a treasure chest—stolen riches, gold coins, and bright, shiny gems.” Her words came out with an air of flippant dismissal.

  “These men are not pirates. Buccaneers have a code, a semblance of honor. Cranston and his thugs know nothing but cruelty and greed.”

  Understanding lit her eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?” She poked him in the chest with one pointed finger. “You think there’s a map.”

  He should’ve known she’d puzzle it out. But he hadn’t guessed she’d fathom the truth so soon. “That is the most likely scenario.”

  She snatched up the satchel. “You’ve gone mad. You will not damage this masterpiece in search of some imaginary document.”

  “I have no intention of destroying the book in that bag.”

  Her forehead furrowed, and that tempting mouth of hers thinned to a taut line. Her eyes narrowed with sudden comprehension. Tearing open the case, she yanked out the leather-bound volume he’d substituted for her treasure. The book dangled from her fingers as if she’d fished vermin from a sewer.

  He bit back a smile. Did she have any idea how damnably pretty she was when her eyes flashed like that?

  “Ye dinnae think me such a fool that I’d chance ye running off with yer prize? Despite what ye may believe, I’ve a brain in this thick skull.”

  “You believed I’d flee?”

  “Why would I think ye wouldnae? I’m not fool enough to underestimate any lass mad enough to deal with the likes of Ross and Munro.”

  “As you well know, I had little choice in the matter. Just as I have no better alternative at the moment than to remain in your presence. What have you done with the book?”

  “It’s secure. Even if those bastards find their way in here, they won’t get to it.”

  The fire in her eyes softened. Emotion turned her irises a stormy blue gray. What had come over her? She’d faced danger without cowering, but now, the realization that he’d tricked her threatened to set her to weeping. Confounding woman. He’d never understand the likes of her.

  He watched her gulp. Had she choked back tears? When she met his gaze, her eyes still shimmered.

  “If any harm comes to that volume—or my niece—the guilt will lie on your shoulders.” Her voice did not waver.

  “Your precious Frankenstein will come to no harm. For now.” The words slipped easily off his tongue. Not a falsehood. Not exactly. He’d no intention of tearing the tome apart in his quest. That honor would belong to his sister, Serena. If anything was hidden within the book’s pages, the canny scholar would be the one to detect it.

  Anger hardened her sapphire gaze. “Very well. I’ve no choice but to go along with you. For now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Connor stalked from the room to summon Harrison. His brother leaned against the kitchen doorway, devouring a square of Mrs. Duncan’s shortbread. The woman’s ability to blend a bit of flour, sugar, and butter into a near delicacy more than compensated for her less-than-proper demeanor.

  A smile tugged at Connor’s mouth. God above, the biddy had shocked even him with her commentary on Johanna’s escape route. As for Johanna…well, the lass had gone six shades of red, that sweet mouth of hers pulled into a stunned O. If he lived to be a very old man, he doubted he’d forget the look on her beautiful face.

  “You think it’s wise to leave Miss Templeton in reach of a window?” Harrison’s question came between bites of shortbread.

  “She’s not going anywhere. Not now.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  “She knows those bastards are after her.” He met Harrison’s questioning stare. “As it turns out, she has good cause to be desperate. We will head out in the morning. She’ll need a bed for the night.”

  “You believe it’s wise to leave so soon? Cranston’s thugs may still be in the area.”

  “We dinnae have a choice. A bairn’s life is at stake.”

  Harrison cocked his head. “A child?”

  “The damnable fool brought his daughter to the Highlands. Cranston has her.”

  Ever skeptical, Harrison cocked a brow. “You now believe Miss Templeton is telling the truth?”

  “Aye, I do. If the lass is lying to me, a more convincing act I’ve never witnessed.”

  Harrison stroked his jaw as he offered a solemn nod. “Bluidy hell, it all makes sense now.”

  “What was the man thinking, involving his own child in his schemes?”

  “Greed can make a man irrational. So can fear.” As usual, Harrison was the voice of reason. “I take it you’re heading to the castle.”

  “What better place to pursue this matter?”

  His brother shrugged. “For Miss Templeton’s sake, you’d be better advised to shelter her here while you await firm intelligence. You don’t know what you’re dealing with—Cranston may not be the only jackal involved in this scheme.”

  “That willnae work. That blasted book is a ransom. Operatives have tracked Cranston to a village near Loch Ness. Miss Templeton is expected to seek him out. We wouldnae want to disappoint the son of a bitch.”

  …

  Since arriving in the Highlands, Johanna had faced armed villains and a roguish devil who might well be her hero. Or her downfall. Somehow, she’d managed to rein in her distress without shattering into a million sobs. So how was it that a bird-thin housekeeper’s cagey stare threatened to unnerve her?

  Mrs. Duncan planted her fists on her narrow hips and canted her head, surveying Johanna with a look that spoke louder than the words uttered by her pinched lips. “Dr. MacMasters asked me t’settle ye in a chamber for the night.”

  “Thank you, but that’s quite unnecessary. I doubt I’ll sleep.”

  “What ye do when ye’re in there is yer concern, lass. But the doctor—”

  “Is there a problem?” Harrison entered the study.

  “Not of this woman’s making,” Johanna said, meeting the physician’s questioning gaze. “I see no need to trouble her with preparing a room. I’ll be no more comfortable in a chamber than I am here.”

  “You need to rest, Miss Templeton. You have a long day ahead of you. Once you allow yourself to relax, the sedative I administered should ensure at least a few hours’ sleep.”

  At her side, the housekeeper wrung her bony hands. Johanna considered her words carefully. She certainly didn’t intend to cause trouble for the matron.

  “Very well. If you insist.” If Johanna’s voice betrayed that she’d rather face a nest of vipers than bed down in this house, so be it.

  “Ye’ll find the room to yer likin’. The queen’s linens are nae as clean.” Mrs. Duncan’s attention drifted to Johanna’s valise. “Do ye have any clothin’ in that bag?”

  Johanna shook her head. “Unfortunately, my traveling case was left behind at an inn. I’d no cause to believe I wouldn’t return for it…until events took a turn for the worse.”

  Harrison MacMasters raked a hand through his hair. “Was there anything of significance in your case?”

  “Of significance? Perhaps not to you, but I assure you my
garments are of great value to me.”

  “Aside from your clothing, what were you carrying?”

  “Toiletries. Stationery and writing implements. One of my notebooks.”

  “You keep a journal?” Interest flavored his otherwise bland tone.

  “Of sorts. I find it helpful to record ideas for my novels and such.”

  “I’ll send someone to retrieve the case. Your notes may hold some value to the situation.”

  “I assure you there’s no intrigue to be found in my scribblings.”

  “We can’t be sure until we examine it. The slightest clue might prove vital. You may not have recognized its significance at the time you recorded the thought.”

  Connor MacMasters’s boots thudded over the polished floor. “There’s no need to go after the journal. I already have it.”

  “You have it?” Comprehension set in, and Johanna’s blood heated. “You. Took. My. Traveling. Bag.”

  “Nay.” He shook his dark head. “I left the clothes and niceties behind. I only took what I could use.”

  “You have her notes?” Harrison confirmed.

  “Aye.”

  If Connor MacMasters had turned into a dragon before her eyes, Johanna might’ve been less dumbfounded. The bollocks of the man! “You’ve been following me!”

  He nodded. “Since you stepped foot in Scotland.”

  “You knew I was coming?”

  Another nod. “So did others who aren’t as pleasant as I am.”

  “You trailed me to the inn?” She spoke each word slowly, deliberately, as if processing the reality that she’d been a target since she’d left England. “You searched my things?”

  “Aye, and a less pleasurable task I’ve seldom faced. Ye might at least have packed something tantalizing to make it worth my time. Sensible to a fault she is,” Connor said with a rueful shake of his head.

  “You—” She struggled to find words adequate to convey her fury. “You…coarse…!”

  Harrison MacMasters’s jaw had gone rigid. “I don’t give a damn about her underclothes. Did you uncover anything of interest in the journal?”