“That sounds delicious. I must admit I’m famished.”
Maggie settled into a plump, upholstered wingback chair. “Cook offered to prepare a fine haggis for ye, but I suspected it might not be to yer taste.”
“I cannot say I’ve ever tasted the dish.”
Maggie offered a thoughtful nod. “Ye’re newly arrived in the Highlands?”
Johanna sipped the tea, a delicious, hearty brew. Just the thing to warm her and lift her spirits. “Quite so. I’ve taken up residence in London. I’m afraid I’ve never ventured far from the city.”
“London, ye say?” Maggie’s brow furrowed. “What brought ye to England from America?”
“Ah, you’ve a keen ear. I did not realize my accent was so readily identifiable. I’ve been told I picked up some British inflections in the last year.”
Maggie shook her head. “Nay, it’s nae yer way of speaking, though I would’ve figured it, after a time.”
Johanna studied Maggie’s face. Mischief danced in the girl’s eyes. “Then what gave it away?”
A grin tugged at Maggie’s mouth. “I happened to hear my brother discussing ye with Serena. His precise words were ‘daft American writer’.”
Why, the gall of the man! Pity she could not fully express her thoughts on the matter. After all, his sister did not deserve to be exposed to the gutter epithets that coursed through Johanna’s mind. Stalling as she searched her brain for a civilized response, she took another sip of tea and swallowed it.
“My, that does sound like him,” she managed finally. “I cannot say I appreciate being described as daft, but I cannot deny the rest of his statement.”
“Connor does have a unique way with description.” Maggie smiled, then nibbled at a tempting raisin-filled crescent. “Well, now, ye’ve left that dank, dreary city behind and come to a glorious place. There’s no more beautiful place on this earth than the Highlands in autumn. Pity the circumstances aren’t better for ye.”
Johanna kept her eyes on Maggie. “That’s rather a peculiar thing to say.”
She gave a little shrug. “Ye’re here with Connor, decked out like a crow in black crepe. It cannae be good news that brings ye to our door.”
“I prefer to look upon my association with your brother as an adventure.” Johanna forced the words past her lips. It wouldn’t do to give away secrets to this young woman who most likely fancied herself a sly interrogator.
A laugh bubbled from Maggie’s throat, hearty and so unpretentious, Johanna had no doubt it was genuine. “Aye, that’s one way t’be looking at it.” She lifted her cup to her lips and sipped. “What is the nature of this adventure ye plan to embark on with my brother? Is it riches ye’re after?”
“Nothing of the sort.” Johanna took a bite of scone, chewing it slowly, savoring the rich flavors of butter and spice.
“Come now, Miss Templeton, surely ye don’t take me for a fool. No one with the sense of a goat would involve herself with Connor’s adventures if there wasnae some reward waiting at the end.”
“Please, call me Johanna.” She dabbed at her mouth with a serviette. Truth be told, she was stalling, struggling to ferret out the deeper meaning behind the girl’s flippant remarks.
“Whatever it is ye’re involved in, it’s clear ye harbor no tender feelings for him. Ye’ve got daggers in yer eyes every time ye look at him.” Maggie dropped her gaze to the scone on her saucer. “Connor’s not an easy man to know. He’s a bit rough about the edges. But whatever ye’re involved in, ye can trust him. My brother is a man of honor.”
Honor among thieves? The words danced on the tip of Johanna’s tongue. Taking another bite, she silenced the question. It wouldn’t do to reveal much to this inquisitive woman.
“Honor.” She let out a little breath, almost a sigh, then allowed her mouth to quirk in something not quite a smile. “I’ll try to remember that, Miss MacMasters.”
“I’m Maggie to ye,” she said as she came to her feet. Strolling to the sideboard, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. “More tea, Johanna?”
“No, thank you.”
Maggie returned to her chair, holding the tea cup between her fingers. A few drops of liquid sloshed over the side onto the saucer and trickled over her fingers. With a little shake of her head, she ignored the small mess and shifted her attention back to Johanna. “Tell me, then, what is between the two of ye? I can sense the tension.”
“We’ve a business arrangement. Nothing more.”
Tendrils of Maggie’s dark hair bobbed as she shook her head. “I know better, Johanna. Ye’re not a fool. Ye wouldn’t be here without good reason, and ye’re not driven by avarice. I can see that in yer eyes.”
Johanna’s fingers tensed around the handle of the tea cup. She stood and crossed to the sideboard. “Perhaps I will have more tea.”
“Ye can confide in me,” Maggie pressed on. “We do want to help ye.”
Johanna poured more of the piping hot liquid in her cup. If only her insides didn’t quake at the very thought of spending precious time in this house. She should be out and about, searching for Laurel, not sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits.
She wanted so desperately to have faith in MacMasters. Such a shame he’d already proven his true nature. He’d taken the book, the ransom Laurel’s kidnapper had demanded. To protect the volume, or so he claimed. True motive or not, that scarcely signified. Before she’d ever laid eyes on the blackguard, he’d rummaged through her things, taken her journal and helped himself to her private thoughts. And now, he’d transported her to a home that seemed more like a garrison, for purposes she couldn’t entirely discern. How could she ever trust the man?
“Miss MacMasters—Maggie—please do not take offense, but I am weary.” Johanna stared down at the miniature flowers adorning the cup. “I’d be most appreciative if you could show me to my chamber.”
“Aye, I can do that.” The inquisitive gleam in Maggie’s eyes softened, revealing a warmth she’d kept tucked away before that moment. “Ye’ve had a long and trying day.”
Johanna tugged at the scratchy lace at her collar with her unencumbered hand. Devil take the annoyance. “Thank you.”
Maggie picked up on her discomfort. “I’ll see about finding ye a more comfortable dress. We are of similar proportions. I think I have something that will suit ye better than that shroud my brother’s dressed ye in.”
“That would be lovely. I’d be in your debt.”
“Come along, then. Ye need to freshen up a bit before ye sup.” Kindness gleamed in Maggie’s gaze. “I know this isn’t easy for ye. Ye’re in a strange place, with a clan ye know nothing of. Ye don’t know who to trust. I don’t blame ye, not one whit. I meant what I said about my brother. Connor can be an arrogant arse. But ye can trust him, Johanna. He won’t let any harm come to ye. I can see that in his eyes. He’ll protect ye with his life.”
…
“Ye believe the lass can lead ye to the Deamhan’s Cridhe?”
Connor’s father spoke in that low, gruff way of his. Keeping his attention focused ahead as they walked the perimeter of the castle, he radiated wariness honed by years of danger.
“Aye. There’s something concealed in that book she brought from London. I feel it in my bones.”
Da shot him a sidelong glance. “Ye’re sure she’s not out to deceive ye? Playing the damsel in distress—what better way to infiltrate this place?”
The implication roiled Connor’s guts. Johanna was driven by desperation, not some nefarious connection to Cranston. Of course, he couldn’t blame his father for harboring suspicion. His brother had trusted the wrong woman, and he’d paid for his mistake with his life. Da and Maw still hadn’t fully recovered from that loss. Truth be told, neither had Connor. The memory of Andrew’s blood pooled on the waterfront street was etched in his memory, a bitter recollection he struggled to confine to the recesses of his mind.
“She’s not allied with Cranston or any of the curs we’ve dealt with in the past. S
he’s a brave, foolhardy lass, but she’s not out for gain. A bairn’s life is at stake.”
Da’s grim nod was filled with meaning. “A perfect ruse. Crafted to tug at yer heart strings.”
“She’s here to ransom her niece.”
His father’s bushy brows hiked. “Cranston has the bairn?”
“Aye. The bastard’s low as a serpent, holding a child hostage.”
Another nod, and Da fell silent. Seeming to digest the information he’d been presented, he lifted the lantern in his right hand to illuminate their path. He kept his left hand at his sidearm. Always vigilant. Always at the ready to confront danger.
The nightly inspection of the grounds was a ritual for the MacMasters family. As long as Connor could remember, he’d joined his father on the purposeful march around the acres adjacent to the main house. As a lad, Da had witnessed two brothers slaughtered by intruders—not Sassenach, but rival clansmen, out to get their hands on treasure rumored to be hidden within Dunnhaven’s walls. The evening patrol was only one of many safeguards Da had enacted to ensure the safety of his family.
Connor broke the silence. “Ye’re convinced the ruby exists, are ye not? Cranston shares that belief.”
Lamplight illuminated the years etched on his father’s face. The craggy lines pulled more taut as he contemplated Connor’s question. “The cursed stone plagued this land for centuries, until Laird Robert MacMasters ensured the wretched thing could bring no more harm. ’Tis said James of Scotland honored the laird for his service.”
A peculiar crunch of leaves drew Da’s attention. He lifted his lantern over a patch of brush, examining the source of the sound. A rabbit stared into the light, wide-eyed with fear, then darted away.
Da shifted the lamp higher. Connor blinked against the sudden brightness. “Surely ye don’t believe that rubbish. Curses and spells and evil—bah!”
Standing eye to eye with his father, it seemed Connor looked upon a portrait of himself painted three decades in the future. Sixty years of life had streaked Douglas MacMasters’s dark hair with silver and carved lines of wisdom and hardship on his face, but the gaze and angled jaw might have been Connor’s own.
Lowering the lantern, Da slowly shook his head. “I’ve lived long enough to know there’s much in this life I cannae explain. Yer forefathers had good reason for keeping the ruby out of the reach of men who’d exploit its power and its worth. Even if the curse only exists in the mind, ’tis a force for evil.”
“I never thought ye gave the tales any credence.”
“The lairds of old recognized the stone’s connection with tragedy. With evil. Who am I to dispute their judgment?” Da dragged a hand through his hair. “’Tis yer judgment I question. Ye took a hell of a risk, bringing the lass here. I trust the matter is dire indeed for ye to toss the security of Dunnhaven into the fire and piss on the ashes.”
“The lass can be trusted.”
“A bonny face means nothing. I’d think ye’d have learned that lesson.” Anger simmered in Da’s tone. “The assassin that gutted yer brother was fetching as an angel. ’Til she put her dagger to use.”
“Damnation. Miss Templeton is not up to some treacherous purpose. She’s not an agent.”
“As I recall, yer brother believed Ella Kirkbride was a grieving widow, a lass in danger.”
“Andrew was young. Naive. I’m nae so easily fooled.”
“Is that so? What of that thieving tart in Edinburgh, the one who damn near danced a jig out of the inn with the Stuart brooch tucked in her bosom? Good thing ye had Harrison along to keep a level head. That bonny harlot sure as hell had yer cock do the thinking.”
“One couldnae say that about Miss Templeton. Ye willnae find a colder fish on ice in a fishmonger’s shop.”
Da eyed him in the dim light. Eyes narrowed, the hard set of his jaw eased. “Ye believe she’s in danger, do ye?”
“Aye. Cranston won’t let her live after he gets his hands on that stone. And there’s a wee lass’s life at stake. Richard Benedict’s daughter.”
Da scratched his chin. “Benedict? That unscrupulous son-of-a-bitch has a bairn?”
“It seems the bastard’s had a wife and child in London all these years. Even his name’s a lie, though damned if I know which one he was born with and which one he snatched out of the air. Miss Templeton knew him as Richard Abbott.”
Da slowly shook his head. “Bluidy hell. Living two lives with his wife none the wiser.”
“Now, the man’s dead. Suffice it to say his dealings with Cranston didnae go well for him. Now Cranston has his child.”
Da rubbed his chin the way he always did when he puzzled out a riddle. “Ye’re sure of this? It could be a trap, meant to play on yer good nature.”
Connor considered his father’s words. He’d mulled the possibility himself. Johanna Templeton had not revealed the girl’s existence until she’d been pressed to the breaking point. She’d kept that bit of intelligence held close until she’d had little choice but to reveal the nature of her arrangement with Cranston. Had she feared her desperation to free the child would be leveraged against her? Or had she conjured the tale of a child in peril to play on Connor’s sympathy and garner his cooperation?
“It is possible.” The words were bitter on his tongue. “She could be a fine actress. But I dinnae think that’s the case.”
“Ye believe her?”
“Aye. The task that lies ahead would be a hell of a lot simpler if I didn’t.”
Lifting the lamp again, Da met Connor’s gaze. Eyes so much like his own flickered with understanding and the strength of conviction.
“We’ll do what we can to protect her.” Da’s voice was quiet yet strong. “Whatever ye need of us, consider it done.”
Chapter Sixteen
Johanna followed Maggie into the kitchen. Indulging her senses in the blend of aromas, she drank in the savory scent of hot stew. The family’s cook turned from the kettle she’d been stirring. Mrs. Bailey’s pleasant features brightened as Maggie introduced Johanna as their guest.
“Pleased t’be making yer acquaintance.” The cook offered a small curtsy, all the while scanning Johanna from head to toe. Her keen blue eyes narrowed, and she gave her head a slow, rueful shake. “Maggie MacMasters, this has t’be yer doin’. Do ye intend t’corrupt the lass?”
Maggie offered a cheeky, unrepentant smile. “Miss Templeton was in need of attire. This suits her.”
Mrs. Bailey’s lips pursed tight as a drumskin. “Trousers…on a woman. ’Twas bad enough when ye started wearin’ that get-up, but now ye’ve gone and done it. ’Tis unseemly for a well-bred lass.”
“It’s quite an improvement over that scratchy black shroud she was wearing.” Maggie’s eyes glimmered with rebellion. “She’ll be comfortable, at least for this night. Heaven only knows Connor willnae permit such a thing once they depart Dunnhaven. No whiff of scandal for my brother.”
A twinkle lightened Mrs. Bailey’s eyes. And then she laughed. No trace of decorum there. “Unless he’s the one causing the ruckus, I’d say.”
“Scandal?” Connor MacMasters appeared in the doorway. “Why, I’ve never allowed gossip to tarnish the sheen on the family name.”
Another laugh—softer, gentler—escaped the cook’s lips. “Perhaps ye can convince yer lady ye’re unsullied as new snow. But ye won’t erase this old woman’s memories.”
He strode into the kitchen, marching to the source of the tempting aroma. “My favorite stew. Ye might be a cranky old crow, but ye’re the finest cook in the land.”
Mrs. Bailey hiked her chin. “Cranky old crow, is it? Just for that, I won’t whip up a batch of my shortbread.”
A look of contrition, no doubt feigned, fell over MacMasters’s features. “Och, yer hearing must be fading. I merely remarked on the bird that followed our coach along the way. Black as night it was.”
The cook cocked her head. “Ye expect me t’believe that malarkey?”
He cracked a broad grin. �
�I’d hoped ye might, but my luck has run out. At least where shortbread is concerned.”
She gave the pot another stir. “Bah, I’ve already got a batch in the oven. I know what ye like. Always have.”
MacMasters’s grin faded as his attention settled on Johanna. One did not need to possess mind-reading abilities to discern the nature of his thoughts. He boldly brushed a fingertip over the fabric flowing over her legs. His dark green eyes warmed, and he held the touch far longer than was proper. His gaze wandered, lingering over her mouth, and for a heartbeat, she actually believed he might be so brazen as to kiss her.
The taste of his lips against hers would be sweet. Would he be gentle as the first time his mouth had brushed hers? Or perhaps, he would claim her mouth in a bold seduction, by turns tender and powerful, taking and giving. He’d leave her breathless with a kiss that would be wicked and tinged with passion.
And oh, so very delicious.
He jerked his gaze away. Johanna let out the breath she’d been holding; whether from relief or disappointment, she couldn’t tell. She slowly pulled in air, filling her lungs, struggling to clear her head. Surely she could not want this brash, so very arrogant man to kiss her. No, she’d allowed her imagination to get the better of her once again. Ah, she’d have ample inspiration for her next hero upon her return to London. Of that, she had no doubt.
His expression cooled. “The trousers are more suitable than what Miss Templeton arrived in. But not by much. Maggie, ye’ll need to find her a dress in the morning.”
“I rather like this ensemble.” Johanna spoke up. The sage green blouse and black trousers fit as if they’d been made for her. “The garments feel quite natural, and they facilitate movement.”
He scrubbed his hand against his chin. “Natural? That’s a matter of debate.”
“As long as I am modestly covered, what I’m wearing should be of no concern to you.”
He shrugged, though she knew the discussion was far from over. “I’m too tired and too hungry to spend another minute yammering on about women’s clothing. Maggie, ye’re to provide Miss Templeton an assortment of sensible—and inconspicuous—garments from which to choose. I trust ye’re clear on that.”
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 13
