Connor shrugged. “Nothing I cannae eliminate with my pistol and my blade.”
His harsh words unleashed a prickle of fear along the length of Johanna’s spine. Her stomach did a flip. The possibility of harm coming to the bold Scot speared her. How she yearned to touch him, to kiss him and tell him how her heart ached at the thought. But she could not give her emotions the chance to run wild. She had to remain calm. Composed. Determined.
“Connor, tell me you will take care.” Could he hear the undercurrents of feeling in her voice?
He covered her hand with his. “Ye’ve no reason to concern yerself over me. But ye need to be honest. With me. With yerself. Ye dinnae have to put yerself in the devil’s reach.”
Emotion burned her throat. “I must…I must go to her.”
“Ye dinnae have to do this, Johanna. Trust us to bring the bairn to ye.”
“I cannot leave her. Not even to the two of you. I know in my heart…you’ll bring Laurel to me. But I must be there for her.” As he squeezed her hand so very gently, tears she refused to shed brimmed in her eyes. “She needs me.”
“Aye, then ye must go.” Connor’s gaze cooled to jade. He pulled her close, his lips nearly touching hers. Yet, he kept the smallest of distances between their flesh. “Trust Gerard to keep ye safe. Use the weapons we’ve given ye. And know I’ll be there when ye need me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Johanna studied the rugged surroundings, drinking in the beauty of the magnificent mountains and lush landscape as she contemplated the isolation of the countryside. She had not seen a soul for miles. No inns. No taverns. Nothing but the wild, sweeping splendor of the Highlands.
It wouldn’t be long now until they arrived at Cranston’s fortress. Gerard estimated they’d breach the grounds of Granloch Castle by sundown. The sun dipped lower, still not nearing the horizon, but definitely on the wane. Soon, she’d lay eyes on the man who had upended her existence.
The prospect kindled a fresh wave of emotion. Talons pierced her heart. If only she had the luxury of shedding tears at this moment. She could not let her fortitude falter. Not now. It seemed as though she’d endured this weight on her soul for ages. In truth, a mere fortnight had passed since she’d received Cranston’s summons. But that brief expanse of time seemed endless. Surely she’d manage another few hours. And then, Laurel would be free.
Johanna could return to her well-ordered existence. There was no room in her life for a love affair with a man who lived a life far removed from her predictable days and nights. The arrogant Scot would likely chafe at the notion of confining his hours to one place…and his amorous attentions to one woman.
The carriage jostled along at a brisk pace. Gerard held the reins with an assured competence. Such a handsome man, that one. So similar in features and manner to his brother. Yet, his voice did not unfurl heat through her body. His smile did not send her pulse racing in a wild gallop. His nearness did not fill her every cell with longing.
So very unlike her inborn response to his brother. Her body sensed Connor’s presence at the merest contact, attuned to his scent and heat and the passion in his wicked gaze. She’d allowed that awareness to overrule her good sense. She couldn’t allow her yearnings to trump the stability that would provide a firm foundation for raising a child.
A jarring thump startled her from her thoughts. Goodness, such a rut they’d encountered. Or had the carriage wheel struck a rock? She grasped the seat, bracing herself as the coach rumbled over another obstruction. Much more of this, and the bit of food she’d downed before their journey would be making a most unfortunate reappearance.
A sound—an explosive crack—tore through the glen. Then another.
Gunfire!
“Get down!” Gerard’s hoarse shout confirmed her horrifying conclusion. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Had they happened upon bandits?
Or worse?
Another sharp report rang out. The carriage shuddered to a halt. The roar of Gerard’s long gun thundered against her ears. Snatching her revolver from her traveling bag, she dropped to the floor, pulled in a breath, and prepared to pull the trigger.
A peculiar silence fell over the coach. The hammering of her own pulse nearly deafened her. She peered over the side of the carriage.
Dear God! Gerard lay crumpled several feet beyond the front wheel of the carriage. She saw no blood, but the sight of his still body threatened to gut her fragile courage.
A hulk of a man moved into view. Munro. How had he known their path?
Ross trailed his movements, his steps more cautious than his burly conspirator. “She’s in the coach. Who the hell is this bloke?”
Munro nudged Gerard with the toe of his boot. “Damned if I know. Some unlucky bastard she hired t’drive her, I suspect.” He stared down at the unconscious man. Shadows from the trees concealed Gerard’s features—his youth—as waning sunlight flickered through the leaves and over the gray strands of his hair.
Ross confiscated the long gun. “She must’ve paid well. He came prepared.”
“No sign of that son of a bitch, MacMasters.”
Raking a hand through a greasy mop of hair, Munro turned from Gerard. She saw the blood then, trickling from Gerard’s forehead. Nauseous bile rose to her throat. She choked it back.
No!
The word played in her thoughts, over and over, a litany of horror. Gerard could not be dead. It wasn’t possible. He’d put his own neck on the block to rescue Laurel, even after he and his brother had the family’s damned precious stone. And now, he’d paid the price.
She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Perhaps he still breathed. Perhaps—
Munro approached the carriage. Johanna lowered her pistol and slipped it into her traveling bag. As much as she despised the leering face that met her gaze, she could not turn her weapon on him. The bastard would be no help to her dead. She needed him to take her to Cranston.
His filthy hand tore open the door. Summoning what remained of her strength, Johanna prayed for the ability to lie to these despicable souls without flinching.
“Well, well, if it ain’t the esteemed Miss Templeton.” The sneer on Munro’s face made his mouth slant crookedly, exaggerating the unevenness of his blunt features.
She steadied her breath. “Attacking my driver was quite unnecessary. He was only a hired man, conveying me to your employer.”
Munro shrugged. “That old mon’s the least of yer concerns now. We’ve been lookin’ fer ye. Cranston has not been pleased by the delay.” He pointed to a fresh cut on his cheek, a vicious slice over the bone. If the oaf lived long enough, he’d have quite an ugly scar. “Next time, he’ll take my ear. I cannae part with it. Ye’re coming with us.”
“If you had not assaulted my driver, I would be on my way at this very moment. Where, precisely, did the two of you believe I was going in this godforsaken patch of wilderness?”
“I dinnae give a bluidy damn if ye were heading t’a picnic with the Duke of Clarence.”
He attempted to take her elbow, as if to pretend he was a gentleman assisting a lady, but she evaded his touch.
“I assure you, I need no help from the likes of you,” she spoke crisply. A miracle, that, given how her pulse raced with desperation.
She stepped from the coach. Her gaze shot to Gerard, careful not to linger lest she betray any feeling beyond the most basic compassion. She could make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
He was still alive!
Relief cascaded over her, but she tamped it down to resemble nothing beyond human decency. Composing her features into a bland mask, she moved closer, but Ross blocked her with an outstretched arm.
She stared at the obstruction as if he’d dangled refuse beneath her nose. “I will need to assist my driver before we depart.”
Ross shook his head. “The bloke’s still breathing. If you want him to stay that way, you’ll come with us now.”
“Very well.” She decided not to press the matt
er. Anything that drew attention to Gerard would endanger his chances for survival far more than her unskilled attention might enhance his odds.
She turned to the carriage. “The coach appears serviceable enough. Perhaps your associate might drive us.”
Ross shot a glance to his horse, lurking beyond the brush. His forehead creased as he scratched his chin. It was then that Johanna noticed his ring finger was considerably shorter than the rest. A grimy bandage surrounded the tip. Sickening understanding filled her, and she averted her gaze.
“Munro, secure our mounts. We’ll return for them later. The carriage will be suitable, seeing how Cranston wants to treat her like a lady.” He shot Johanna a smirk. “At least, until he gets his hands on her.”
His words triggered a fresh wave of revulsion, but she choked it back. Ross intended to frighten her. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing he’d succeeded.
“Cranston’s a cagey one, he is. He knows how to get what he wants.” Ross caught her within the vise of one hand. “He doesn’t tolerate failure.”
Jerking against his restraint, she stared down at his brutally tight fingers. The injured digit rested over the bone at her wrist, its pressure far lighter than the other fingers. His eyes had gone hard, the ugly amusement stripped from his features.
With a slow shake of his head, he released her, lifting his hand to display the mutilation. “You see what he’s done, don’t you? He took my finger—part of it, for now. He stopped at the knuckle. Next time, he’ll take another bit, and another, ’til I’ve nothing left but a stump. Now, you don’t want that to happen, do you?”
Suddenly lightheaded, she pulled in a breath to compose herself. “No…of course not.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to check you for weapons.”
Damnation, the man had more brains than she’d credited him. Perhaps, with some luck, her heavy skirts would obscure the dagger strapped to her leg.
She held her body stiff as a laundress’s ironing board and gritted her teeth. He skimmed his palms along the length of her body, slowing over the curve of her hips. Even through her clothing, his exploring hands repelled her. She counted her heartbeats, distracting herself from his revolting touch.
Finally, after what seemed minutes but in truth had been mere seconds, he met her purposefully bland expression with eyes that revealed nothing of his thoughts. In his hand, he brandished a pistol.
“Remove the knife,” he ordered. “Throw it to the ground.”
Her heart plummeted. She let out the air in her lungs with a whoosh. There was no point resisting his command. She still had two weapons he wouldn’t think to question.
“Aren’t you the clever one?” She forced a lightness to her tone. Crouching, she unfastened the sheath and tossed the knife aside. “You didn’t expect that I’d travel with such a treasure and no means of defense.”
He caught her arm and tugged her upright. “You and I are going to get into that carriage. Munro is going to drive. And you…you are going to cooperate.”
“We have a mutual goal. I intend to reach Mr. Cranston.”
His attention fell upon her bag. “What’ve you got there? Besides the book?”
She heaved a sigh for effect. “Ah, you’re clever. Here.” Johanna fished the gun from the satchel and placed it in his hand. “In good faith.”
“What else? If ye’ve got another weapon—”
“Take it. See for yourself.” She handed him the case.
After a cursory examination, he returned it to her. “You’re getting smarter. You’ll live longer that way.” Ross stared down at his hand. “We all will.”
With a sharp nod, he ushered her into the coach. He barked several orders to his hulking accomplice, then joined her, taking the opposite bench.
“Have we far to go?” she inquired, forcing a calm tone.
He ignored her question. “All of this would’ve been avoided if you hadn’t gone with that bloody Scotsman.”
She pursed her lips in a show of annoyance. “As if I had a choice in the matter.”
Ross set his mouth in a scowl. “Cranston’s holding all the cards now. For your sake—and the brat’s—you need to remember that.”
The brat. He’d given confirmation Laurel was still alive. She dragged in air and exhaled, steadying her nerves. “My niece…she is well?”
He met her question with a grim smile. “For now.”
Seeming to race against the sun’s descent, Munro drove the horses at a breakneck pace. The carriage rumbled along, jarring Johanna’s teeth to chattering as she stared from the window. Trees and sky blurred as the wheels of the barouche rattled over the crude path. An image of Gerard lying unconscious on the ground invaded her thoughts. Did he continue to breathe? Or had he sacrificed himself to save her and a child he’d never met?
Quiet misery embedded itself in the pit of her stomach. She blinked back tears she couldn’t afford to shed, swiping away the rogue drop that slipped from the corner of her eye. There’d be time for grief later. After she’d taken Laurel from the clutches of desperate men and the ruthless bastard they feared.
She slanted Ross a glance. He gave a small nod that told her he’d been watching her, but he kept his silence.
Twilight fell over the countryside like a shroud. A castle loomed against the horizon, a mammoth structure of stone and brick, marked with towers so high, she’d no doubt one could see for miles from their peak. Imposing and uniquely beautiful, yet gray and dead against the natural flora of the countryside. A place of ancient war and living evil.
Staring into the darkness, she mentally swept away the morbid rot. Cranston was not evil. He was a businessman. He’d conclude their transaction and send her on her way. She had to believe that. Her gaze flickered to the brooch pinned to her traveling suit. She’d come prepared for the worst. She could only pray such precautions were unnecessary.
She met Ross’s cold eyes. A smirk twisted his ugly mouth. “Well, well, seems you’ll be reunited with the brat soon enough. Mouthy little chit, she is.”
“Good for her,” Johanna said, nearly under her breath. “I can only hope her feet left their mark on your shins.”
“Bah.” Ross scowled and stared out the window. Johanna followed his gaze, taking in the monolithic structure she knew to be Cranston’s fortress.
The conveyance slowed to a stop, and Ross led Johanna from the carriage to a massive entry portal. A bronze dragon’s head stared down at her, its expression oddly somber for a creature that spent its mythological days breathing fire and destroying hapless villagers.
The door creaked open, and Johanna wondered if dealing with a dragon might indeed be more pleasant than what awaited her. A tall—not tall, she corrected herself, but towering—man filled the portal. Lean as Munro was burly, he wore a crisply pressed suit that sagged on his lanky frame. His washed-out blue eyes roamed over her before cutting to Ross.
His aged features creased with what looked to be lines of bitterness. “It’s about time ye returned. Her majesty’s got herself riled up. Thinks the two of ye are out to double cross her.”
Ross glanced down at his bandaged finger. He lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “I’m no fool. I know better than to cross that witch.”
Witch. So, she hadn’t misunderstood the old man. A woman was involved in this blood-drenched business—a woman who thought nothing of dragging a child into Cranston’s vile scheme.
Ross seemed to read her thoughts. He slowly shook his head, as if offering a warning. “So, you’ve puzzled it out. The fairer sex ain’t necessarily gentle. Beware of angering the countess. If ye stay on her good side, the brat will probably make it to you in one piece.”
“The countess?” she kept her tone quiet.
“Christ, you’ve said too bloody much,” the old man said, low and surly.
“What does it matter now?” Ross gave a shrug as he caught her elbow in his non-mutilated hand. “She’ll see soon enough.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Connor spurred his mount over the crude roads that led to Granloch Castle. Finn had taken the damnable stone to its next vault, leaving Connor to return to Johanna’s side. Whether the lass wanted to admit it or not, she needed him. She needed his particular skills, violent as they might be. She needed his experience with Cranston’s conniving ways. And she needed to know he was there, defending her with every ounce of strength he possessed.
Not much longer now. The thought stirred the urgency in his gut. Damned if he’d allow Johanna to encounter Cranston’s brutality without being at her side to protect her.
The sunset hovered over the horizon. Before long, darkness would cloak the land. With quick presses of his heels, he urged Phantom on, each sure gallop bringing him closer to Johanna.
Coming upon a patch of woods, he glimpsed what looked like a man lying in his path. Only the dwindling rays of daylight that penetrated the shadows enabled him to spot the motionless form. God above, he’d nearly trampled the helpless bloke. What the bluidy hell—
He slowed his mount, veering around the deathly still body. Gray hair splayed over the grass. A dark blotch stained the elderly man’s back.
Sickening reality slammed into Connor.
Gerard!
Face down in the dirt. Unconscious. Or worse.
Reining Phantom to a halt, Connor swung from the saddle and knelt at his brother’s side. The faint rise and fall of Gerard’s breath eased some of the pain in his gut. He lived. For now.
But where was Johanna? She’d vanished, along with the carriage.
Gently, he turned his brother onto his side. Gerard’s lids lifted, and he studied Connor, as if trying to remember who he was.
“Can you speak?”
Gerard hesitated, then gave a nod. “The bastard shot me. But it’s not bad.”
“Ye’re pale as a specter.”
“Hurts like the swivin’ devil himself, but I’m still breathing.”
“Ye’re strong as an ox, ye are.”
“It’d take a lot more than a slug to the shoulder to put me in the ground.”
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 28
