Laurel wrapped her arms tighter around Johanna. The child’s terror triggered an ache in Johanna’s heart, cruel as if the dagger had plunged into her chest.
Cranston settled his gaze on Johanna’s mouth. Hungry. Ruthless. Indecent. He traced a fingertip along the curve of her cheek. “I have an aversion to loose ends. But, perhaps, you will convince me you have some use. As you’ve pointed out, I have everything I need. The book. And the ruby. I’ll enjoy taking it from you. Do you like to be overpowered? Is that it, my lovely?”
A vile chill crept down her spine. “I assure you that is not the case.” She bit each syllable between her teeth, infusing the words with contempt.
He shrugged. “At least one of us will enjoy it. So, tell me, what more do you have to offer?”
Johanna choked back her disgust. Her thumb grazed the brooch, locating the tiny lever that deployed the hidden knife. Eyeing the scoundrel’s cravat, she decided upon the precise spot where she’d drive the blade.
With a snap of his fingers, he summoned Ross to his side. “Take the brat to her room. We’ll deal with her later.”
“Yes, sir,” Ross said. Distaste marked his features as he reached for Laurel. Defiant, she planted her feet on the floor, but her small body was no match for the man’s strength. Her heels screeched over the polished wood as he dragged her away.
“Auntie Jo!” Desperation and terror blended in Laurel’s young voice.
Johanna fought the panic rising in her throat. “Go with him, darling. He won’t hurt you.”
In truth, it would be far easier to carry out her plan with Laurel tucked away, out of sight and earshot of the violence. But the fear in Laurel’s voice was nearly more than Johanna could bear.
“Bugger it.” Ross’s curse echoed from the high ceiling. He stopped in his tracks. A familiar deep burr rumbled through the chamber.
“Ye’re a bigger arse than I’d judged ye.” Connor pinned the man with his gaze. “Ye willnae shoot me. Not if ye want the Deamhan’s Cridhe.”
Dropping his hold on Laurel, Ross yanked his sidearm from its holster. The child darted to a far corner, out of reach.
Heavy boots thudded against the floor. Connor marched through the massive portal. A sense of déjà vu struck Johanna. He looked very much as he had the first night she’d lain eyes on him. A dashing devil in black, from his leather boots and striking wool greatcoat that emphasized his powerful shoulders. But now, he held a gleaming pistol in each hand.
Her knees wobbled, weak from joy. And fear for the man who’d barged in as if a cadre of blackguards was not pointing weapons at his head.
“MacMasters.” Cranston ground the name between his teeth like an epithet. He caught Johanna by the arm and pulled her to him as a shield.
The countess slid her knife between the folds of her skirts. Her mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile. “What brings you here today? The last time I saw you, I was cleaning your brother’s blood off my blade.”
“I’ve come for the woman and the bairn. We’ve a score to settle.”
“How intriguing.” The countess appeared to drink Connor in. “Do tell.”
Connor eyed the countess. Blandly, as if she bored him. “Ye’re both bluidy dolts. The cunning American lass had ye goin’ with her merry tales. Blasted incantations and a pretty stone. A conniving one, she is. She’s played ye for fools. Just as she did me. That polished bit of rock isn’t the Deamhan’s Cridhe. It cannae be. Ye see, I have the stone.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
While confined in the carriage with Cranston’s henchman, Johanna had conjured images of Connor charging to the rescue like some chivalrous hero of old. Strong and courageous and protective. Or so the scene had played out in her imagination. She never would’ve dreamed he would commiserate with Cranston and the she-devil who’d threatened Laurel. Surely he was playing a role, a misdirection of sorts. Still, his description nipped at her. Daft American lass. Indeed. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words from his lips.
Her heart raced, even as her knees ceased their wobbling. Despite the way his words chafed, Connor’s brash confidence filled her with pride. But pride was not a weapon against scoundrels. Whatever Connor’s strategy, she had to keep her head about her.
Cranston’s fingers dug into her arm. Tension radiated through his body, the inborn wariness of a predator facing off against a powerful threat.
“Ye believed her?” Connor pressed on, not yet closing the distance that separated them. To his left, Munro aimed a long-gun at his chest. “She weaves quite a tale. Damnable shame ye cannae believe a word from her mouth.”
“If she lied, I’ll find out soon enough.” Cranston’s speech was even and precise, but the tautness of his grip belied his outward calm.
“She betrayed me. Took me for a fool. But now, I control the stone. I’ve come to negotiate an exchange.”
A malicious gleam lit the countess’s eyes. “How very noble—the woman and the child for the jewel.”
“Nay. I dinnae possess a noble bone in my body. The bluidy bauble is worth a fortune. ’Tis time I reaped the rewards of my efforts.” Connor’s gaze flickered to Johanna’s for the merest of moments. “The lass has value. We dinnae know what she knows. Ye willnae hurt her.”
“Quite so.” The countess shot Cranston a sidelong glance. “There’s no telling what Abbott confided in her. After the bounder obtained the book, he learned its secrets. He reneged on our agreement. Some blather about his conscience and the power the Demon’s Heart would bestow.”
Johanna’s pulse stuttered at the revelation. She steadied herself with a slow, deep breath. Laurel’s father had refused to place the cursed stone in Cranston’s hands. Richard Abbott had tried to protect them all from the evil. And he’d paid with his life.
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “So you killed Abbott—your biggest supplier.”
“I enjoyed that privilege.” The countess’s tones were cool and smooth as silk. “The scoundrel didn’t know what to make of it…at first. I believe he thought I was playing one of the little games he liked.”
“Enough,” Cranston clipped. “Have some decency, will you? There is a child…”
“Bah.” The countess waved away the objection while eyeing Connor up and down like a tasty treat. “This one, well, he might be worth keeping alive. For a while.”
Cranston dug his fingers deeper into Johanna’s flesh, as if he pretended her limb was the countess’s slender throat. She couldn’t see his expression, but she felt the cold rage in his hold.
“Why did Abbott have to die?” Connor delved deeper.
“He ran when he realized we were on to him. Foolish man,” the countess said. “Our associate in London knew what he was up to. She killed his partner.”
“MacInnis?”
The countess nodded. “The coward deserved what he got.”
“And his wife?”
“Plain, dull thing that she was, she didn’t pose a threat. Not at first. Not until the shrew babbled accusations to anyone who would listen.”
MacMasters cocked his head. “So your associate arranged an accident?”
“She’s most clever. Uniquely skilled in her trade.”
“Mrs. Smythe?”
The countess’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “Ever the operative, eh, MacMasters? Truthfully, I know little about her, and I prefer to keep it that way. I’ve no desire to meet with an accident of my own, if you take my meaning.”
“Why did Abbott come to Scotland?”
“This is all rather pointless, wouldn’t you agree?” She flicked an errant tendril of hair behind her ear. “Abbott is no longer a problem. Unlike you, Mr. MacMasters.”
“Release the woman and the bairn. Then we’ll discuss the stone.”
She fixed Connor with a diamond-hard gaze. Assessing the truth in his eyes.
“He’s lying,” The countess said, her voice soft as velvet, yet edged with steel. “He cares for her. This is
n’t about silver for his coffers. It’s about her.”
Connor met the accusation without so much as a blink. He leveled his pistol with Cranston in his sights. “Let them go. Now.”
Gunmetal jabbed against Johanna’s corseted ribs. She drew in another low breath, bracing herself against the fear that nearly buckled her knees.
“You dare threaten me?” Cranston’s low tones were eerily calm. Almost civilized. “I’ll kill her. What’s more blood on my hands?”
“Release her. Before I send ye to hell.”
“Ross and Munro have their weapons trained on you.” Cranston ground out the words. “Lower your gun and throw it down. Then the other.”
Connor held his aim. “They won’t take the shot. Not when I can still take yer head off yer shoulders.”
“An excellent point. Those louts would not take that risk.” The countess slid one hand away from her voluminous silk skirt. Gaslight glinted off the polished barrel of a small pistol. She smiled. “But I would.”
A shot exploded in Johanna’s ears.
Connor went still. Deathly so. When he spoke, his rugged brogue was hushed. “Johanna.”
He collapsed. His lids shuttered his eyes.
Laurel’s scream tore Johanna from her terrified haze. Huddled in a corner, hands pressed to her ears, tears streamed down the child’s face. Torn between the longing to comfort her and the need to convince herself that Connor MacMasters had not taken his last breath, Johanna’s heart wrenched in her chest.
Cranston’s hold eased. Seizing the moment, she darted to Connor’s side.
“Ella, have you gone mad?” Cranston bellowed. “He might’ve taken my head off.”
“At times, a woman must take matters into her own hands.” The countess’s icy gaze trailed Johanna. “As I suspected, you do harbor fondness for the Highlander. Don’t grieve too much, dear. You’ll soon join him.”
Johanna’s skirts fanned around her as she sank to Connor’s side. Tears choked her as she caught his hand in hers, but she endured the burning misery. Damned if she’d give the vulture the pleasure of witnessing her heartache.
Connor lay unmoving. So very still. A jagged hole marred the black wool of his greatcoat.
But where was…the blood? Johanna saw no evidence of a wound beyond the tear in the fabric. Not so much as a drop of his life’s blood.
Beneath her touch, his chest rose and fell, the motion slight. Nearly undetectable.
He was alive.
Laurel’s horrified cries tore another furrow in Johanna’s heart. Leaving Connor’s side was agony, but she had to divert their captors’ interest. If she was to protect him, the blackguards could not suspect her intentions.
She squeezed his hand. Somehow, Connor had to know she was there. That she wouldn’t leave him to die.
As she rose to her feet, Laurel threw her arms around her. Sobs soaking her skirt, Johanna drew the child close.
“Have faith, darling,” she whispered. “It will be alright.”
With a gulp, Laurel nodded and held tighter.
“How very touching.” The countess’s syrup sweet tones set Johanna’s teeth on edge. Amusement touched the she-devil’s lips as her attention wandered to the man she’d tried to kill. “I’ve always displayed admirable marksmanship. A steady hand and a keen eye, as my father used to say…before I put my skill to use on him. Of course, the old lecher deserved it.”
The countess took a step toward Connor. Her brows knit together. “My, this is distressing. Apparently, I’m not as sure handed as I’d believed. Usually, it only takes one shot.”
Terror knifed through Johanna. Gently, she released Laurel and palmed the brooch. One touch of her thumb, and she’d deploy the blade.
She moved closer, putting herself between Connor and the countess. “You’ve done enough to traumatize the girl. At this rate, she won’t be able to remember anything her father taught her. There’s no need for further violence.”
“I abhor unfinished business.” The countess studied her for a heartbeat, then another. “You think I won’t kill you?”
“Quite the contrary. You’re spoiling for the chance.”
“I’ve shown extraordinary patience.” The countess’s interest settled on Connor. He’d opened his eyes, a pain-riddled murmur on his lips. “Such a prime specimen. Pity I must finish—”
Johanna’s thumb grazed the brooch. The blade sprang free. The length of a finger. Sharp as a stiletto.
With a sharp twist of her body, she drove the knife forward. Toward the vulnerable spot in the countess’s throat.
With cobra-fast reflexes, the countess dodged the thrust. The blade arced down. Slicing flesh. Gouging her cheek.
The countess froze. A shriek of primal rage tore from her throat.
“You little bitch!”
Johanna lunged. She needed the countess’s pistol. She needed that weapon. To protect Laurel. And Connor. Fury she’d never dreamed she possessed fueled her strength.
“I’ll kill you,” the countess screamed.
Johanna seized her hands. Damn the shrew. The countess’s grip on the gun did not ease.
The derringer had held two bullets. If she couldn’t seize the weapon, she’d spend its final shell. With a hard twist, Johanna jammed the barrel down, toward the floor. With a rough cry, she forced the trigger back.
A bullet plowed into the carpet. Wrenching free, the countess retreated. Eyes wide with madness, her attention darted to Laurel. An evil smile telegraphed her intentions. She snatched up her dagger.
No! God no!
Johanna whipped around. She could not let the witch get to Laurel.
“No!” The word tore from her lungs as strong, wiry arms yanked her back. She struggled against the manacle of Ross’s hands. “Let me go!”
Another shot roared in her ears.
The countess collapsed. Limp as a rag doll. Blood pooled around the limbs splayed over the fine carpet.
“It’s better this way.” Cranston knelt to close the countess’s sightless eyes. “You scarred her. She couldn’t live with that.”
Ross dropped his hold. Johanna enfolded Laurel in her arms. “I…I had no choice.”
Cranston shrugged. “I couldn’t let her kill the girl. If what you said is true, the brat might be a valuable resource. And if you’ve deceived me, I will remedy the situation when the time comes.”
Johanna held Laurel close. “She’s seen so much…you must give her time.”
“That will not be a problem.” He watched her, seeming to study her reactions. “But once again, you’ve made a fool of me. That brooch is nothing more than a weapon. One of MacMasters’s contraptions.”
“I did not lie. It is the stone.” She pulled air into her lungs, steadying her frayed nerves. “Put to good use.”
“I’ll determine that soon enough.” He motioned to Ross. “Take the girl away. She’s seen enough for one day.”
“No!” Laurel’s arms wrapped around Johanna, frantic as a person adrift clinging to a buoy.
Johanna whispered against her ear. “Run. Fast as you can. Hide. Be clever, darling.”
Laurel sniffed back fresh tears. She pressed a kiss to Johanna’s cheek, then took off as if the devil nipped her heels.
Ross took off in pursuit, but she was swift. And wily. Before he could close in on her, her small feet pounded through the portal and thumped down the corridor.
Cranston rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Leave the chit be. She’s not going anywhere. As for you, Miss Templeton—I fear your usefulness has reached an end.”
Her fingers curled around the brooch. The small knife offered little defense against the Webley revolver in Cranston’s right hand. However, the ivory comb might still be of use. Tucked within her curls, its piercing teeth would make a potent weapon. But Ross and Munro stood at the ready. If she struck out, the pair wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.
Blast it all, she needed a gun. Connor’s pistol had settled within an arm’s length of his st
ill body. If she could retrieve it, she’d have a chance. Slim, indeed. But, a chance nonetheless.
“Give me the brooch.” Cranston extended a hand. “Matters will be simpler for you if you cooperate.”
She retracted the blade. It was of little use now. “Take it.”
Keeping his sharp focus on Johanna, he thrust the pin into his vest pocket. “I’m tempted to keep you with me. I’d enjoy breaking you.”
His words slithered through her resolve. “You would not succeed.”
His serpentine smile sickened her. “But wouldn’t it be amusing to try?”
“You’ll only waste your time.”
He shrugged. “First, I’ve got to deal with Ella’s unfinished business. I’d taken her for a better shot.” He toyed with his weapon for a moment, as if considering his next move. “The thing of it is, I always knew I’d enjoy killing this bastard. She nearly robbed me of the pleasure. But one must settle for what one can get.”
Johanna edged closer to Connor. His weapon was close. Almost within her reach. “He’ll die soon enough.”
“He’s like a damn cat. Nine lives.” Cranston smiled. “None left after this one.”
The roar of a long gun thundered through the chamber. Ross’s howl of pain blurred with the deafening report. He crashed to the floor, desperately grabbing at what was left of his leg.
A battered figure stood in the doorway. Clothes torn and bloodied. Traces of gray powder streaked his dark hair. Gerard!
His gun was trained on Munro. “Ye’re next. Throw down your weapon.”
Cranston kept Johanna in his sights. “I’ll kill her,” he said almost casually. “You’re outnumbered. Your brother is dying. And Munro will put a hole in you as big as the head on your shoulders.”
The mountain of a man swayed on his tree-trunk legs. He stepped back in retreat.
“Kill him,” Cranston ordered.
Munro held his tongue. Johanna traced the path of the big man’s stare. To a now conscious Connor.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 31
