Such nonsensical talk had no place in the nineteenth century. Johanna bit back her scoffing words. She’d no reason to openly challenge Maggie’s convictions. Let the girl believe what she wanted. The clan legends would have no impact on Johanna’s actions. After all, she was a modern woman. She’d be a fool to succumb to irrational fright. Heaven knew she had enough fear to face—flesh-and-blood villains who used violence and terror to destroy anyone who stood in their path.
At least Connor MacMasters did not place any stock in the legend. His interest in the stone was practical and most likely, mercenary. He knew the ruby’s value and no doubt wanted to claim it. If doing so meant depriving Cranston of his prize, so much the better for MacMasters.
He’d promised her that he’d go after Laurel. But could she believe the word of a man who’d pursued her all the way from London to get his hands on the treasure demanded by his enemy? MacMasters had courage, she’d give him that. He’d protected her. But he’d had reason to ensure she stayed alive. Could she trust him to protect a life that held no benefit to him? Would Connor MacMasters cast aside his own quest in order to save a child he didn’t know, the daughter of a man he regarded as a blackguard?
Even now, Johanna could not fathom the Highlander’s true intentions.
She had to change that. She would insist on being a part of whatever scheme he had in mind. And she’d use any means necessary to derive as much information as she could from the man.
He desired her. He hadn’t been able to hide that fact. Surely she could use that to her advantage. Of course, she’d have to keep her head about her, steel herself against the heady physical response to his touch. When Connor kissed her, her desire ran roughshod over her logical mind. But she’d be prepared this time. She’d know to brace herself against her body’s demands. Dash it all if she wouldn’t do just that.
“Connor has always done things his own way.” Maggie’s tone was firm, but notes of concern laced her voice. “I can only pray his pursuit of the stone does not lead to disaster.”
“Where has your brother gone? I’ve seen no sign of him since our morning meal.”
Maggie’s shoulders lifted and fell. “When he’s in a foul mood—and I assure ye he is—he often takes off on his big beast of a horse. If he’s still on the grounds, ye can likely find him in the stables. When he was younger, guests to Dunnhaven often mistook him for a stable boy.”
A recollection wafted through Johanna’s mind, mingled scents of leather and whisky. Embers of response stirred to flame low in her core. Swallowing hard against her body’s betrayal, she forced a bland expression.
“I should speak with him. I need to know what’s on his mind, what his plans are.”
Maggie’s lips pulled to a sliver, and she nodded. “Aye, ye’d best be direct with him. Understanding subtlety isnae my brother’s strength.”
“Will you take me to the stable, given that’s my best hope of finding him?”
“Of course. But I’ll stay out of sight once I point ye on yer way. If Connor sees me, he’ll say I’m meddling in his affairs.”
“Thank you. I completely understand.”
Maggie swung her long legs off the settee. Worry darkened her eyes. “Ye’ll try to talk some sense into him, won’t ye, Johanna?”
“By sense, I assume you mean leaving the stone in its hiding place.”
“Aye. But more than that, ye need to temper his actions where Cranston is concerned. Connor has reason to hate the man. Good reason. But I’ve no desire to lose another brother to that heartless bastard’s treachery.”
…
The sun streamed through a thick haze of clouds, bathing the grounds and surrounding countryside in shades of pink and pale yellow light. Johanna pulled in a lungful of fresh air and drank in her surroundings. Rugged mountains touched the sky. Decked out in their splendor of red and gold and orange, trees cloaked the mountainside, a brilliant patchwork quilt against the gorgeous peaks. In the valley, a brook gurgled peacefully. Not far from where they stood, a large building, simple in its lines but sturdy in its construction—the stable, no doubt—beckoned her with wide doors flung open.
“Dinnae let him do anything foolish,” Maggie whispered against her ear. “Convince him not to tempt fate.”
Johanna shot her a questioning glance. “Convince him? I’d have better luck telling a mule what to do.”
“Aye, I cannae argue with that. But still, he wants to please ye. I can see it when he looks at ye.”
Johanna met Maggie’s softly smiling eyes. Whatever Maggie had observed in her brother’s gaze, it certainly had nothing to do with abiding by Johanna’s wishes.
“I’ll do my best,” Johanna said, simply because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Ye’ll keep him out of a bitter fix. I know ye will.” Maggie motioned toward the stable. “He’s there. I spotted him through the window. Ye dinnae fear being alone with him, do ye?”
“Of course not,” Johanna said. If only she was completely certain of her words. Not that she feared he’d harm her. No, it was her own primal reaction to the brawny Scot that she needed to keep under tight rein.
“He’s a gentleman at heart. Even if he does scowl like some fearsome beast.” Maggie gave a nod toward the plain building. “I’ll head back to the house now if ye’re sure about going to speak to him.”
“Thank you, Maggie.” Johanna gave a nod of agreement, and Maggie turned and walked briskly toward the house.
Looking toward the stable, Johanna fought the tiny tremors that rippled through her belly, the faintest twinges of hesitation. Could she coax the Highlander’s cooperation without losing her heart?
One of the stable doors closed, moved by unseen hands. Connor filled the remaining space, staring out at her, a mixture of surprise and questions in his eyes. He’d been working, judging from the way his blue cambric work shirt clung to his powerful shoulders, slightly dampened by exertion. He’d rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. Perspiration glistened on his powerful forearms, over the sinew and muscle. A current of anticipation raced through Johanna’s body with a potency that startled her.
“So, Maggie sent ye to talk some sense into me, meddler that she is.” No anger flickered in his penetrating eyes. Rather, a sense of intrigue tinted his irises an even deeper green.
“Yes.” Heaven knew there was no point lying to the man. He’d see through any attempt at deception. At least, he would while his brain was not fogged with desire.
“Verrae well, Johanna. Tell me, what does a sensible American think of all this damnable talk of curses?”
“I believe it is hogwash.” She closed the distance between them, each step measured and deliberate, lest she lose her nerve.
“Hogwash, ye say. Ye’re not one to mince words, lass.”
“I’ve never been one to hold my tongue. Even when it might be to my benefit.”
“And when might that have been?” Tiny crinkles around his eyes deepened with curiosity.
“Surely you’ve taken note that I am still a Miss at an age when I’m considered a spinster. The men I’ve known wanted a docile lady, a woman who understands how to defer to her man in all matters. I’ve never possessed that trait.”
“Those men were fools.”
Peculiar, how his blunt words filled her with a wicked warmth. She stood toe-to-toe with him now. He looked her up and down, settling on her mouth. Something carnal marked that look. She should’ve been offended. But to the contrary, a frisson of excitement washed over her.
Never considered petite, she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “I cannot say that I disagree. And I’ve never been one to tolerate fools. Nor liars.”
One brow cocked challengingly. “Does that mean ye dinnae consider me a fool?”
“Never a fool. And I am trusting your blunt speech is not intended as camouflage for deception.”
“I haven’t lied to ye. And I dinnae intend to.”
“Good.” She wove her fingers together to st
ill them. “I can only pray your character continues to be strong.”
“I wouldnae go that far.” He riveted her with his gaze. “I’ve done many a thing I’ve not been proud of, but I’ve been truthful with ye.”
My, the man’s gravelly tone generated such heat within her. The barely leashed hunger in his expression spurred her pulse to a gallop.
“I’m counting on you to continue your commitment to honesty.”
“Aye. Now, Johanna, tell me what ye think about the grim legend of the Deamhan’s Cridhe.”
“I believe it is nothing more than a ruse intended to frighten away treasure hunters. Egyptians spun curses to deter grave robbers from pillaging tombs. This is no different.”
“Ye dinnae believe there’s truth to the tale?”
“No.” She dropped her attention to her knotted hands. “I’ve far more to fear than some ancient hex.”
His hand, warm and firm and gentle, cupped her chin and tipped it up. Meeting her eyes, he seemed to look deep inside her, stripping away the armor she had erected around her heart.
“Do ye fear me, Johanna?”
Ah, the sound of her name on his lips, each note colored by the rich Highland burr of his voice. Heat filled her belly, warm and liquid. Treacherous longings infused her, like a slow current through her veins. She pulled in a long draught of air, calming her stuttering pulse, slowing her breaths. Drat it all, such ridiculous stirrings. She must keep her head about her, whatever the cost.
“No.” She spoke the truth. Fright had nothing to do with the tiny tremors coursing through her body.
His eyes narrowed, and he studied her. “Ye’re sure of that.”
“Quite so.” Amazing, how cool the words sounded on her tongue while his nearness kindled warmth throughout her body.
“Come, then. Ye’ve not had the chance to see my prize Arabian. Persian Star is a beauty. Ye’ll seldom come upon a finer filly. Good bloodlines. Swift as the wind.”
“I’d like that,” she said, allowing him to lead her into the stable. Two rows of neatly kept stalls lined the enclosure. The scent of leather and hay and horses surrounded them. Rather than an unpleasant odor, the earthy essences seemed vibrant. Alive.
He stopped at the fifth stall. The horse within whinnied and whiffled, as if preening for her master.
“She’d be perfect for ye.” He turned to Johanna. “Well-trained and fast, that one is.”
She kept her smile controlled, a simple hint of approval. “How did you know I ride?”
“I know a lot about ye, Johanna Templeton.”
Something in his low rasp touched her heart. A note of caring infused his words, as if he’d come to appreciate her as a woman and not merely her connection to some mystical, long-coveted treasure.
“And how might that be?” Such a struggle to keep her tone neutral when her pulse danced a fierce jig.
“At first, it was part of my duty.” He reached for her then, threading his fingers through the loose strands of her untidy bun. “But then, ye intrigued me.”
The rough texture of his callused fingertips contrasted with the exquisite gentleness with which he wielded his touch. She swallowed against the impulse to look away, but held her gaze level.
“And how is it that a daft American like myself has captured the interest of a Scottish spy?”
“I’m no spy. I’m no hero, either, and I’ve little interest in anything besides keeping the damnable stone out of Cranston’s hands. But ye’re a courageous woman.” His mouth tilted slyly at the corners. “Those wolves would’ve devoured ye. But ye weren’t thinking about yerself. Ye’ve done all this for the bairn. Ye will save her. And I will help you.”
The mention of Laurel sobered Johanna. “I will save my niece. No matter the cost. I need that map and whatever else I can barter for Laurel’s safe return.”
“Cranston does not bargain. The man cannae be trusted. Once the cur gets what he wants, ye’ll be nothing more than a complication. He’ll kill ye both.”
“He has no reason to kill a child.”
“Ye think not?” Connor’s dark brows hiked. “Why does a mad dog do anything?”
“There is no choice.”
Connor circled her wrist with his long fingers. Grim determination filled his gaze. “I cannae let ye near the bastard. Ye’ll be another pawn in his filthy games.”
“I cannot abandon my niece. I’ll take my chances.”
“He’ll kill ye, Johanna. Or worse.”
Johanna jerked away from his light touch. “Or worse? How very melodramatic. Perhaps you’ve missed your calling.”
“Ye’re a beautiful woman. Ye think a thieving murderer has scruples when it comes to taking what he wants?” Harsh notes edged Connor’s throaty brogue. “He’ll use yer beauty ’til he tires of ye. If he doesn’t kill ye then, he’ll pass ye off to those buffoons who do his dirty work.”
The rawness in his tone triggered an alarm deep within her, but Johanna pushed it aside. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, even as wariness crept over her, stealthy as a serpent.
“Ye dinnae know what ye’re dealing with, lass. Cranston looks upon beautiful women with the same greed he shows for precious objects.”
“I assure you the man has no interest in me.”
“Ye’re wrong. Those curs he sent after ye would’ve slit yer throat and taken the book without blinking if Cranston hadn’t given the order to bring ye to him.”
“If you are trying to frighten me, such tactics will not work.”
“If anyone is going to deal with that bastard, it will be me.” Connor’s words were hard, the look in his eyes that of a man making a vow.
Johanna took a step back, then another. She had to clear her head. This was not going the way she’d planned. She’d come to the stables to entice him to reveal his plans, not to engage in a debate over Cranston’s intentions. If Connor refused to take her to Cranston, she needed to discern what he knew and use that to her advantage. She might be able to glean enough information on Cranston’s location to make her way to the blackguard on her own.
“You know the man, don’t you?” She softened both her tone and her expression, taking in the man behind the hardened stare.
“I know the nature of the cur. I know what he’s capable of, the way he inflicts pain on his victims. He’s vicious as a rabid hound.”
“This is personal for you.”
“Aye.” A sharp nod, and then, Connor snapped his gaze to the ground. “This is not fit conversation for a lady.”
“For a lady? Hmmmm.” Though she repeated the phrase with a slightly mocking lilt to her tone, his words pleased her beyond reason. “As I recall, you recently referred to me as a dragon.”
His mouth cocked in a half-smile. “Ah, ye remembered that.”
“’Twas not more than twenty-four hours ago.”
“There are some things that are nae fit for a lady’s or a dragon’s ears. Ye must trust me when I tell you that Cranston is a man to be feared—especially by a lass like yerself.”
“He wants the book. Nothing more.”
“There’s always more.” Connor closed the small distance between them, cradling his palm against her cheek. “He’s a man with a taste for beautiful things. That includes women, Johanna.”
Hearing Connor MacMasters describe her as beautiful was a sweet temptation, but she could not allow herself to be drawn in. She squared her shoulders and cocked her chin. “The idea that Geoffrey Cranston would engineer this scheme to get his hands on me is preposterous.”
“He would not go to such lengths to get a woman under his control, unless a hefty ransom was in his sights. But he knows more about you than you believe. Cranston wants ye there for a reason. And you can be sure negotiation is nae in his plans.”
He pinned her with that intense gaze, dark and forbidding as the Highlands at midnight. This time, when he reached for her, she did not pull away. Rather, she stilled, drinking in the feel of his fingers against her ungloved hand
.
He drew her closer. A breath hovered in her lungs. She released it, then gulped in another.
Think, Johanna. You must find out what he knows. You must use that information.
“This is most improper,” she said finally, dropping her voice to a throaty tone. Despite her statement, she made no move to release herself from his touch.
“I know.” His soft burr stroked her ears like velvet. As he dipped his head, his lips brushed hers. “Nothing between us has ever been proper, Miss Templeton.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Connor’s warm breath blended with hers. He was going to kiss her. Thoroughly. Decadently. Maddeningly.
She wouldn’t stop him. After all, if he desired her, he would be more malleable, more easily led to reveal what she needed to know. Spies throughout history had pried secrets out of the mouths of men while in the heat of passion.
Or so Johanna told herself. Of course, that did not ease the pounding of her heart and the anticipation flooding her veins. The heat low in her belly had nothing to do with securing his cooperation. No, her mouth had gone dry at the mere thought of his touch. Her yearning for him seemed an insanity, a madness she could neither explain nor deny.
It simply wasn’t possible. She couldn’t want this man.
Pity she was such a poor liar. She couldn’t even fool herself.
Pushing herself up to her tiptoes, she brushed her lips to his, the sweetest, most fleeting of caresses. My heavens, the slightest whisper-touch of this man’s flesh to hers was delicious.
He coiled an arm around her, his big hand splaying against her back. Heat infused her, stirring hungers she wondered if she’d ever be able to fully sate.
“You’re the kind of woman who catches a man’s interest and doesn’t let go.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Ye intrigue me, Johanna. But I know what ye’re up to, lass. I might be a lot of things, but a fool is not one of them.”
“A fool?” Had the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her? Perhaps he would not notice the tiny waver of her tone.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 19
