The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Tara Kingston

  “Do you intend to blather on, Ella?” Cranston crooked a brow. “Or do you think to compel our guest’s cooperation with the threat of intolerable boredom?”

  The countess gave a sniff. “If it wasn’t for these buffoons, we would not be in this situation.” She fixed Johanna with a look that was all the more threatening for its veil of civility. “We have much to discuss. Shall I call one of my maids to attend the child?”

  “I’ve no intention of letting her out of my sight. Not after what she’s endured.”

  The countess cocked her head, a small but meaningful gesture. “Is that so?”

  Johanna’s heart thudded, but she jutted out her chin. Blast it all, she was not a caged bird staring into the eyes of a hungry cat. She would not let this slip of woman intimidate her, no matter how piercing her tone.

  “At this point, I do not see that we’ve anything left to discuss beyond arrangements for transportation to Inverness.” Johanna gave Laurel’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “As you may know, these men disabled my hired driver and commandeered the carriage. If you’d see fit to providing a driver to the nearest town, I shall procure another coach from there.”

  The countess’s mouth tensed to a slash. She shook her head, the gesture so slight, Johanna wasn’t sure it had been intentional. “I’d taken you for a woman of good sense. Driven to claim what’s dear to you. Like myself.” She stared down at her well-groomed nails. “Sadly, you’ve chosen to disappoint me.”

  The countess’s words speared her courage, but Johanna steadied her resolve. She tugged Laurel closer to her skirts. “I’ve met the terms as set forth. I’ve delivered the volume. Intact and undamaged. You’ve returned my niece to me. I see no reason for further discourse.”

  “I fear I may have misjudged you.” The countess stood, making a show of smoothing her skirts before closing the distance between Johanna and herself. “Mr. Ross, I will need your assistance.”

  Strong hands clamped over Johanna’s arms. She fought the henchman’s hold, but he restrained her against his wiry body as Munro snatched up the child.

  “No!” Laurel’s cry echoed through the chamber. Munro’s filthy hand formed a crude gag over her mouth.

  The countess beckoned him. “Bring the chit to me.”

  Anguish slammed into Johanna like a physical blow. She tore against Ross’s vise-like hold.

  “Such a defiant child.” The countess peered down at Laurel, her mouth twisting as if she’d encountered something quite foul. “Poor breeding, obviously.”

  “Leave her alone,” Johanna cried. “She’s so young. She doesn’t understand.”

  Cranston pinned Johanna with his piercing stare. “You are the one who does not understand the way things work. We had an arrangement, but you have attempted to deceive us. And now, you defy our civilized attempts to negotiate. There are consequences to be dealt, Miss Templeton.” He shifted his attention to Laurel. “Sadly, it’s often the young who must suffer.”

  “No! Don’t hurt her.” Johanna bucked against Ross’s restraint. “She has no part in this.”

  “Sadly, you are again mistaken.” The gleam in Cranston’s eyes betrayed his enjoyment at the cruel game he played. “The girl may be nothing more than a pawn. But a pawn’s sacrifice may play a vital role on the path to checkmate.”

  “Don’t…don’t touch her.”

  “You think I would hurt this darling child?” The countess smiled, then shot Munro a look of disdain. “Let her go, you buffoon.”

  Munro dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. Then another.

  “Move away,” the countess said. “We no longer require your services.”

  “Aye.” He bobbed his head like a marionette whose strings had gone limp. Without taking his eyes from the woman, he sidestepped out of her reach.

  The countess’s gaze shot to Ross. “There is no need for violence. Not yet.”

  With a grunt of acknowledgment, he released Johanna. Keeping Laurel in her sight, she edged away.

  The countess tipped up Laurel’s chin with one finger. “So, my dear, tell me what you would like to do.”

  “I want to go home…to London…with Aunt Jo.” Laurel’s voice was clear and steady. Brave girl.

  “We would like that as well,” the countess said. “But first, your aunt must give us what belongs to us.”

  “I have given you the book.” Johanna fought the apprehension that threatened to shred her fragile composure. “I came a long way to bring you what you required.”

  The countess drew a fingertip over Laurel’s rounded cheek. “What have you been taught about telling the truth?”

  Laurel looked away, as if she sensed the malice in the countess’s syrupy tones. “One must always tell the truth.”

  “Then tell me, why is your dear aunt lying to me?”

  Laurel’s face fixed in a frown, and she met the countess’s gaze. “Aunt Jo is not lying. If she is not telling you everything, it is because she knows…how very evil you are.”

  Cold rage flared in the countess’s eyes. “Ah, child, you’ve no idea.”

  “Let her go.” Johanna swallowed against the bile in her throat. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just let her go.”

  “The chit needs to be taught to respect her betters.” The countess slid a hand along her skirts, seeming to smooth them as she’d done moments earlier. But this time, she produced a dagger. The excitement in her eyes betrayed her bloodlust as beams of light from the chandelier glittered over the razor-honed blade.

  Johanna’s mind raced. Connor had vowed to rescue Laurel, to be there when Johanna needed him. In her heart, his words rang true. But deadly obstacles surrounded Cranston and his fortress. Connor would come to her if…no, she banished the doubt…when he could.

  But that might be too late.

  She could not wait to be rescued. She’d come to bring Laurel home.

  And she would, whatever the cost.

  The ivory hair comb would serve as a first line of defense. But the brooch with its hidden knife was a more effective weapon. How could she access the piece while Cranston and his evil shrew watched her every move? She needed a more powerful distraction, a convincing reason to remove the pin.

  First, she needed to buy time.

  “If you hurt her, I won’t tell you about the stone.”

  “That’s better,” Cranston said. “I know MacMasters took the map. He’d think to look for it, even if you were fool enough to believe I’d gone to these lengths for a bloody book.”

  “I don’t know anything about a map. I don’t need one.” Johanna prayed the lie sounded convincing. “You see, I have the stone.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cranston and the countess studied Johanna, as if trying to work out the truth for themselves. Clearly, her declaration had set them off base, and for the moment, she’d gotten the upper hand on the curs. Now, to maintain that slight advantage.

  The countess’s flinty stare reflected her distrust. “You have the Demon’s Heart?”

  “Yes.” The single syllable was bitter on Johanna’s tongue. The words that followed were no less unpalatable. But they were necessary as a pungent tonic. “Did you really think I’d trust that ruffian with the jewel?”

  Cranston surveyed her with an assessing eye. “So, you admit you planned to deceive us.”

  “You are a man of the world. Is it reasonable to expect honor among thieves?”

  His lips thinned. “You try my patience. You may be too bold for your own good.”

  “Meekness is not an asset in negotiation.” Johanna held his piercing gaze. “You specified the book in exchange for my niece. Initially, I took your demand at face value. MacMasters’s involvement led me to believe there was more at stake. I convinced him to lead me to the gem. And then, I took it. A bit of insurance, so to speak.”

  Cranston’s gray eyes betrayed no sign of anger. Merely a sharp and admiring—grudgingly so, no doubt—curiosity as to her cunning ways.

/>   “Do you expect me to believe you came here intending to surrender the stone?”

  Johanna longed to glance at Laurel, to reassure her with her gaze, but she kept her attention squarely on Cranston.

  “I would not insult your intellect with so bold a lie.” Quite ironic, those words. She swallowed hard against the acrid taste in her mouth. It wouldn’t do to appear desperate. She’d hold her ground until she could wrest Laurel from the countess’s control. “I had nothing to lose. If the book truly was your prize, the stone would provide a comfortable life for me and my niece. But if it was not—if you sought something beside that volume as payment—I would be in a position to meet your demand.”

  “It appears we’ve underestimated you.” Cranston shot the countess a speaking glance. “So now, the question is, what do you require to turn over the jewel over?”

  “I am prepared to deliver the gem in exchange for my niece. On my terms, of course.”

  “Your terms?” The countess crooked a delicate brow. “You are the cheeky one, aren’t you?”

  Johanna met her scathing glare. “Not at all. Merely direct.”

  “What is it that you want?” Cranston continued to study her, suspicion clear in his almost casual expression.

  “As I’ve said, I require a driver to transport me and my niece to Inverness. At that time, I will surrender the stone to whomever you entrust to receive it.”

  Cranston shook his head. “I trust no one other than myself.”

  The countess gave a little huff. “You wound me, darling.”

  “I’ve no desire to go the route of your husband.” His expression as bland as a man deciding between Earl Grey or oolong, he shifted his focus back to Johanna. “Miss Templeton, I hadn’t taken you for a fool. You’re welcome to continue this charade. Convincing you to reveal the stone’s location would prove…stimulating.”

  The threat slashed through Johanna’s thin-as-gauze confidence, but she maintained eye contact through sheer will. She added a curve to her lips that bespoke boldness. A hint of fear would make her all the more vulnerable. She had to stay strong.

  “You will not resort to violence,” she said, her voice quiet yet firm. “Believe me when I tell you it would not be in your best interests.”

  Cranston shrugged, though he didn’t look away. “I’m not so sure of that. Tell me, why would I not take the path of least resistance?”

  She defied the apprehension twisting her belly into knots. “There is much about the Deamhan Cridhe—about its powers—you have not yet learned. I possess highly specific knowledge that will make it worth your while to keep me…and my niece…alive. And unharmed.”

  “More lies?” The countess scoffed.

  “Judge for yourself.” Johanna centered her attention on Laurel, meeting the child’s teary-eyed gaze. Gulping hard against the sudden burn in her throat, she fashioned a diversion. Over the years, her ability to spin tales had proven her greatest asset. She prayed that skill would not fail her now, when she so desperately needed to convince Cranston of their worth to him. “I must share a secret with these people. But first, darling, I need you to wipe away your tears. Will you do that?”

  Laurel nibbled her lip. “I’ll try.” The child nodded and gave a little sniff. As if repulsed by what might trickle from the child’s nose onto her immaculate burgundy sleeves, the countess loosened her hold. Her fingers slid around the girl’s wrist.

  “We’ve no time for this nonsense.” The countess threw Laurel a razor-edged glance. “Surrender the stone or the little banshee will pay the price.”

  “Not so fast.” Cranston observed Laurel with a hawk’s focus. “Tell me what you know, Miss Templeton.”

  Johanna forced her features into a bland mask and held her response a few heartbeats longer than necessary. Let the bastard wait for the answer. Let his imagination accomplish the task for her.

  “I trust you are familiar with the curse of the Demon’s Heart,” she said finally.

  “Curse? The ruby harbors nothing of the sort.” The countess’s eyes gleamed. “There is only power—power that can be claimed and harnessed in the right hands.”

  Johanna slowly shook her head. “Ah, you do not know the entirety of the legend.”

  Cranston regarded her for a long, silent moment. His focus bore into her. “I’ve devoted much of my life to learning the secrets of the Deamhan Cridhe. My research has been extensive.”

  Again, Johanna gave her head a slow, rueful shake. “If you knew the truth, you would not involve a child in your scheme.” She paused for effect. “Unless you intend to fall victim to the curse.”

  “What is this nonsense?” The countess scoffed. “I know nothing of such a thing.”

  “The sorceress who imparted her powers to the stone had a daughter,” Johanna said, turning to Cranston. “I assume you are aware of that.”

  He nodded. “What of it?”

  “It is said that the sorceress’s spell provides special protection for children. There is an incantation, a simple verse that will protect an innocent.”

  Cranston’s features revealed little of his thoughts. “And we are to believe you’ve called upon the power of the stone to protect the brat?”

  “Of course you would doubt my warning. But you must heed what I am saying. The incantation is peculiar. Yet, one cannot hear it without understanding its meaning.” Johanna met his cold-eyed gaze. “Would you care to hear just a bit of the sorceress’s words?”

  “Do enlighten us, Miss Templeton,” he said.

  “Very well.” Johanna paused to drink in a breath. “A ruby pure as heart’s blood, my gift is my shield, eternal and valiant.”

  The countess tilted her head, taking in the words, as Cranston rubbed his jaw, seeming to ponder the meaning.

  “My wee girl, my vengeance will follow any who dare to harm ye. The innocent shall not suffer.” Johanna pinned him with her eyes. “Shall I go on?”

  “That will not be necessary. I’ve heard enough of this rubbish.” Despite his dismissive words, Cranston’s voice had grown tense, even as his complexion paled. “The child will not be harmed, provided that you surrender the stone. You have my word.”

  “Very well.” Johanna had succeeded in planting the seed of fear. But she could not deceive herself. His greed would soon outweigh any doubt she’d stirred.

  Cranston pulled his mouth into an emotionless line. “Now, tell me the truth. Where is the Demon’s Heart?”

  “The gem is well protected.” A miracle, how steady her voice remained. And then, for effect, “No harm will come to it.”

  “You expect us to believe MacMasters does not know where you’ve stashed it? The man is not a fool.”

  She shook her head, curt and dismissive. “The arrogant boor did not even suspect what I’d done. He’s not nearly so bright as you credit him.”

  “This discussion has grown tiresome. Where is the stone?” The countess’s icy gaze fixed on the brooch. For a breath, she went silent, even as an avaricious gleam flashed in her eyes. “My, my, I do believe the conniving little wench is bolder than we’d anticipated.”

  Cranston’s brow furrowed. “What in blazes do you mean?”

  A Cheshire Cat smile tipped the countess’s mouth. “Her brooch. A breathtaking ruby, indeed.”

  His attention snapped to Johanna. Red streaked his pale complexion. “You’ve hidden the stone…right under our blasted noses.”

  “Would I be so foolish?” The question was a taunt.

  “The brooch.” He ground out the words. “Remove it.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll tear it off you.” Judging from the vigor in his tone, the thought excited him.

  “Very well.” Johanna held very still. “But first, have the countess unhand my niece.”

  “Give the brooch to me.” The countess dug her fingers into Laurel’s wrist. “Then, you may have the brat.”

  Laurel bucked against the restraint. “Let me go!”

  “You l
ittle wretch.” The countess eyed the blade in her hand. “I’ll teach you to defy your betters.”

  Fear spurred every nerve in Johanna’s body to full alert. She lifted her fingers to her hair, brushing against the comb. One move of the countess’s hand, and she’d plunge the sharpened ivory teeth into the bitch’s throat.

  Cranston frowned. “For God’s sake, Ella, release the child. I’ve no patience for your theatrics.”

  With a huff, the countess uncurled her fingers. Johanna let out a sigh of relief as Laurel darted to Johanna’s side. Catching handfuls of skirt between trembling fingers, the girl smothered a cry against the fabric.

  “Now, Miss Templeton, may we resume our talk?” Cranston said, proper as a banker discussing a mortgage.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll have the brooch. Now.”

  “Very well.” Her trembling fingers rebuffed her attempt at control. Finally, she managed to release the clasp.

  “Give it to me,” he commanded.

  She extended her hand, displaying the jewel. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  And lethal, given the right circumstance.

  Leaning closer, he moved to take the gem, but she closed her fingers around it. Now was not the time for trepidation. She must appear bold. Uncowed. Perhaps as hardened as Laurel’s captors.

  “I attempted a gambit but you were too clever to fool,” Johanna said, maintaining control of the brooch. “As soon as you ensure my niece’s safety and my own, I am prepared to declare you the victor in this quest. You will have the stone. You have the book. The girl and I will be on our way out of this hellhole.”

  The detached, emotionless hunger in Cranston’s eyes sliced through Johanna’s thin veneer of courage. What did the cur have in mind? Her teeth grazed her lower lip, but she quashed the small movement. The pin pressed against her palm, needling the sensitive flesh, but she held tight.

  Slowly, he shook his head. “You misunderstand my intentions. You will not be leaving.”

  The countess toyed with the dagger, staring down at her starkly beautiful reflection on the polished blade. “You will tell me everything we need to know. A loved one’s pain…” She tapped a fingernail against the dagger’s point. “Can be most persuasive—to hell with supposed curses.”