Beneath a lofty tree, a young woman sat on a wooden bench. Secluded in the shadows, she cocked her head in the direction of the carriage. Tucking her pen behind her ear, she clutched a book under her other arm as she came to her feet.
Tall for a female, she’d swept her gleaming brown hair into a careless knot at her nape. High cheekbones added definition to a face still rounded in youth. She swatted a stray tendril from her brow, a curl that matched MacMasters’s sable strands. An unadorned emerald cloak swung about her slender figure as she approached the conveyance with graceful strides.
This close, Johanna could see the girl’s resemblance to Connor MacMasters. But it was her eyes that cemented the comparison. Green as the forest and fringed with dark lashes, those striking eyes left no doubt the two were blood kin.
Planting one hand on her hip, the girl stared up at the driver. The firm set of her mouth eased into a welcoming smile. “Why, Fergus Royce, I should’ve known it was ye, rattling in here near dark. What brings ye here tonight…and in a fancy carriage no less?”
“It’s yer brother. He’s brought a guest.” The old man uttered the words as if revealing a grand secret. “A lady. Quite a fetchin’ lass, she is.”
“A lady?” Her gaze shot to the carriage door. “Surely Harrison has not found himself a bride.”
“Nae, not Harrison,” the driver corrected.
“Simon?”
“Nae, not that one, either.”
Her brows hiked. “Surely you’re not telling me that Connor—”
MacMasters chose that moment to make his exit. “Don’t go waggin’ yer tongue yet, Maggie. I’ve not chosen a bride. Truth be told, I’ve better chance of inviting a dragon to sup with us. Indeed, once ye talk with the lass, ye might think I managed to do just that.”
Battling the urge to swat the arrogant Scot with her valise, Johanna tightened her fingers around its handle. Without the book, the case was indeed lighter, but the bag would still deliver a hearty and well-deserved smack. Dragon. Humph. He might speak of her in such crass terms, but the way he looked at her betrayed he’d seen her as a woman—a woman who appealed to his most primal masculine instincts.
From her vantage point within the carriage, Johanna watched the girl he’d called Maggie scrunch her forehead into furrows.
“I’ve not seen ye don that kilt since Maw insisted we attend Cousin Enid’s dreary wedding in Edinburgh. Or was it Uncle Dougal’s funeral in Inverness? Ye’ve gone and decked yerself out in finery. Yet ye’ve not brought home a bride, but a dragon. My, my.” Maggie clucked her tongue. “This is becoming more intriguing by the moment.”
“Dinnae be starting yer nonsense.”
The harsh set of Connor’s mouth might have intimidated the heartiest of souls, but the young woman only laughed, a soft and lilting sound.
“So ye think that fierce frown o’yers will set me to scurrying into the house, do ye? Nae, brother. I know ye only too well,” she said.
The forbidding turn of his mouth seeming etched on his features, Connor beckoned Johanna from the carriage. Accepting his offered hand, she stepped onto a path paved with smooth stones and met the young woman’s half smile.
A serious glint, a look of cynical maturity far beyond her years, darkened Maggie’s gaze. Piercing. Direct. As if she wished to ferret out Johanna’s secrets without so much as a word.
“Ah, so this is yer dragon.” She regarded Johanna for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Looks like she might well be the one to slay ye.”
Being referred to as a dragon was bad enough. But Maggie’s assessing perusal nearly shredded Johanna’s taut control. Pity she could not inform both MacMasters siblings to which corner of Hades they might venture next. Not yet, at least.
Devil take it, she would not stand there like a dolt. Stepping forward, she forced a smile that could not possibly have appeared genuine. “Johanna Templeton. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Wrinkling her pert nose, Maggie gave a little sniff. “Why, ye’ve not made my acquaintance yet. My arse-headed brother didn’t even bother t’make an introduction. I’m Maggie. Mary Margaret MacMasters, to be precise. Ye’re not Connor’s bride, and we’ve no need of a governess or tutor, as my brothers and sister have yet to produce a wee one to carry on the family name and I’ve long left the schoolroom. So, what brings ye to Dunnhaven? I’d be willing to wager it’s not my brother’s charm and good humor.”
“Yer cruelty knows no bounds,” Connor said with a grin.
Maggie shrugged. “Well, Miss Templeton. What has brought ye here?”
“Your brother and I share a mutual interest…a venture.” Johanna still clutched her valise, the habit dying hard despite the fact Connor MacMasters had appointed himself the protector of her book. A fine way to justify his theft of the volume, indeed.
“Hmmm.” Maggie’s brows quirked. “A venture? My brother’s associates aren’t usually so fresh out of mourning.”
Johanna stared down at her dreary black dress. Though she’d tossed the veil onto the carriage bench, there was no mistaking the nature of her attire. No wonder Maggie looked at her as if she’d either lost her mind or discarded every shred of decorum with the refuse.
“Oh, you don’t understand,” she began, but Connor cut her off with a slashing motion of his fingers beneath his chin.
The look in his sister’s eyes bordered on insulting. “Typically, even the widows allow a week or two to grieve their dearly departed men.”
“Aye, she’s not like the rest,” Connor said, taking Johanna by the arm.
The rest? How many women had MacMasters brought to this place—and widows, no less?
“Of that, I have no doubt.” His sister cocked her head and threw Johanna a wink. “I suppose Harrison selected that shroud of a gown.”
So, the girl had realized the truth of her disguise from the start.
Connor gave a nod. “Ye’d think a mind as sharp as his could come up with more clever camouflage, wouldn’t ye, now?”
“Truly. Ye’d think he’d put a little more effort into comin’ up with something original.”
Connor’s gaze lingered on Johanna. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Blasted shame he doesn’t keep harem veils lying about.”
“Veils?” Maggie laughed, even as Johanna silently mouthed the word. “How would you propose to explain the presence of a harem dancer in the Highlands?”
“Aye, there’s the rub.” Crinkles around those intelligent eyes of his betrayed he’d been teasing them. “Ye’ll have yer fill of talk later, Maggie. For now, we need to settle in for the night. Where can I find Liam?”
Maggie fiddled with the pen she’d tucked behind one ear. “He’s off to Orkney on an expedition. Something about a dig in some moldy Viking cemetery. We don’t expect him back for at least a fortnight.”
“What of Serena? Did she accompany him?”
Another curl shook loose from Maggie’s careless coiffure. She swiped it away, her nose wrinkling again, this time in annoyance. “Nae, she’s about. Probably in her laboratory, examining some musty old scrap of plaid.”
“Good.” Connor shot the driver a glance. “Fergus, get the carriage to the coach house, and then be sure to join us. Da will be glad to lay eyes on ye again. It’s been a long time.”
“Och, that it has.” Fergus nodded, as if in remembrance. “That it has.”
Connor placed a light touch on Johanna’s elbow. “Come along. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”
Chapter Fourteen
Escorting Johanna through the castle his father had restored with tireless zeal, Connor could not deny the swell of pride in his chest. Douglas MacMasters, third generation descendant of a laird who’d gone to his grave at Culloden, had dedicated his ingenuity and the fortune he’d made exporting whisky across the Atlantic, to bringing the ancestral seat back to its former glory. Da had built an empire from what was once a small, country distillery, and he’d used the spoils of that labor to foster two gr
eat passions—Dunnhaven and preserving rare antiquities tied to Scotland’s heritage.
It went without saying that Da would latch onto the possibility of retrieving the Deamhan’s Cridhe like a hound on the scent of a fox. Connor slanted a glance to the comely lass at his side. If he knew his father, Da would find Johanna Templeton a treasure in her own right.
As would his brothers. God knew Harrison had found Johanna fetching enough to pull him away from his medical journals. Despite his brother’s veneer of professionalism, he’d scarcely been able to take his eyes off her, even while she’d veiled her soft curves in black mourning silk.
With any luck, Gerard would be off on a mission. The eldest of the MacMasters brothers had cultivated a taste for the fairer sex since he’d been a lad in short pants. No doubt he’d try to sweep Johanna right off her kid-leather-clad feet and between his sheets, if given half a chance.
Connor would set his brothers to rights on that matter. Miss Templeton was off limits to any of the MacMasters men.
Including himself, damn the luck.
She was a temptation. There was no denying that truth. Her plump lips would taste sweeter than Mrs. Duncan’s finest raspberry cream. And that perfect bum, so lushly rounded. His hands could clutch those beautiful curves and hold her to him. Night after night.
His groin hitched at the thought. Rebellious to a fault, that cock of his. Damn to hell and back his randy imagination. There was no place for such fantasy with this woman. No time to even consider what it would be like to have such a woman in his arms. In his bed.
Later, after he retrieved the stone, there’d be plenty of time to assuage his male needs with some bonny lass who didn’t hold the key to a treasure—a warm and smiling woman who’d leave him sated, but would make no claim to him. Not an unforgettable beauty who’d lay siege to a man’s innermost desires with nothing more than the smile in her storm-cast-blue eyes.
Johanna was the kind of woman a man would not soon forget. Deep-seated passion simmered in her gaze. One taste, and he’d never get enough.
“So, the prodigal son has returned.” His mother approached, gliding along the corridor in that way of hers that made it seem she’d trained for the monarchy. In truth, Lady Kathleen MacMasters did have more experience with all things royal than most. As a girl from one of the most esteemed families in England, she’d served the young queen Victoria as a lady-in-waiting. Of course, that was before she’d scandalized her parents by eloping with a penniless Scot who’d offered little but dreams, gumption, and his undying love.
Connor took in the smile in his mother’s eyes. He bit back a grin. “Ye stab me through the heart with yer cruel aspersions on my character.”
Maw’s eyes narrowed at him. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of you since Hogmanay. I’d begun to think I would not lay eyes on you again until the eve of the next year. And now you arrive with no prior notice. There’s been no time to have our guest’s chamber prepared.”
“I’ll explain it all to ye in good time.”
“In good time?” Maw’s gaze propelled invisible daggers. “Maggie tells me you’ve brought that old reprobate Fergus here. I trust you have good reason for bringing that skirt-chasing hound to Dunnhaven.”
“You already know why I summoned Fergus. The man might be a randy old sot, but he’s the best driver I’ve ever known.”
“The buzzard still boasts about his…prowess. Before the evening is done, Fergus will be challenging your father to a round of darts that will turn into hours of ale-fueled reminiscences of their days in the Royal Navy. That never ends well. Mark my words.”
“Whatever Maggie told ye about Fergus, pay it no mind. She spreads gossip faster than a farmer spreads manure.”
His mother’s brows peaked and her lips thinned, just as they always did when he exasperated her. Connor had been provoking that expression since he was a lad scarcely out of nappies. Her attention flickered to Johanna. “You are in the presence of a lady.” Maw turned to her. “A lady whom I presume possesses a name.”
“Aye, that she does.” Connor shifted his gaze. “Miss Johanna Templeton, allow me to introduce ye to my mother, Lady Kathleen MacMasters.”
Johanna formed a smile that could not have looked more forced if she’d actually lifted up the corners of her mouth with her fingers. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Kathleen. Please, call me Johanna.”
“Miss, is it?” Maw sized her up like a breeder assessing a mare’s blood lines. God above, his mother was relentless in her quest for wee bairns. Not that her efforts were fruitful. Seven sons and two daughters, and still not one grandchild to rock on her lap. “Welcome to Dunnhaven, Miss Templeton. What brings ye here as our guest?”
“Your son and I share a common endeavor.”
“Endeavor? That’s one way to put it,” Connor said.
Maw shot him a scowl, then flashed her most welcoming smile. “Your chamber is being prepared as we speak. I’ll show you to the sitting room. My daughter is quite eager to make a more thorough acquaintance. I’m sure the two of you will find quite a bit to discuss while I have a word with my son.”
It was Connor’s turn to scowl. What did Maw think she was doing, setting Maggie on Johanna? Eager to make a more thorough acquaintance. Of course his sister was. He’d no doubt she was chafing at the bit to discover what had brought Johanna to Dunnhaven. She would stop at nothing to drain every detail from Johanna. He’d seen terriers less persistent with their prey than his sister when she decided to ferret out information.
Of course, Maggie’s talent for prying intelligence from an unsuspecting quarry could work to his advantage. If Johanna knew more than she was letting on, she might well let that truth slip to another female, especially one who commiserated with her predicament. And his sister possessed an uncanny ability to discern lies passed off as fact. If Johanna confided in her, he could count on Maggie to weed out any falsehoods and pass the truth on to him.
After all, he and Maggie shared the same cause—ensuring the Demon’s Heart never found its way into an evil bastard’s hands.
…
The matriarch of the MacMasters clan eyed Johanna with a scrutiny bordering on brazen. A blend of suspicion and assessment filled Lady Kathleen’s appraisal, seeming to search out any threat to her family and home. The matron’s unveiled wariness prickled at Johanna, rather like a tiny thorn in her shoe.
From first glance, there’d been no mistaking the familial connection between Connor MacMasters and his mother. Dark, almond-shaped eyes. Sleek sable hair. And that keen intelligence, ready to carve through any shred of disingenuousness.
Johanna faced her astute gaze head on. As her instincts had warned when she’d first laid eyes on Connor, any sign of weakness would prove a liability in dealing with Lady Kathleen. If the steel in the lovely matron’s visage was any indication, she was not a woman who cowered at the sign of trouble. Rather, she’d meet it head on and fend off the malicious force.
Despite her piercing regard, Lady Kathleen had not remarked on Johanna’s attire. Could it be that MacMaster’s mother was well accustomed to visitors who arrived in disguise of one sort or another? How very peculiar.
Maggie strolled through the open doorway. The girl’s smile did not disguise the unspoken inquiry in her gaze. She didn’t trust Johanna. Not yet.
Not that she could blame Maggie. Both the girl and her mother had a cultivated cagey wariness. Was the entire family immersed in intrigue of some sort? What dangerous enterprise would involve not only a man like Connor MacMasters, but his sisters and mother as well?
The question pricked at Johanna. Had she entered a vipers’ den? Or would this fortress-like mansion provide a sanctuary?
Perhaps Maggie would provide the answer.
Chapter Fifteen
Maggie swept through the sitting room with a natural grace. The members of the MacMasters family shared that trait, an innate confidence that made each motion smooth and sleek, each stride long and fluid. Of c
ourse, the fact that she wore neither voluminous petticoats nor heavy, cumbersome garments likely played no small part in her ease of movement.
A perfectly modest cotton blouse in a buttery cream complimented the girl’s porcelain complexion while flowing dove-gray wool flared from her uncorseted waist over her hips and brushed the tops of her leather shoes. Johanna studied the garment. Maggie’s skirt was not actually a skirt at all. Rather, wide-legged trousers created that illusion. Practical. Yet decidedly scandalous.
A twinge of envy pinched at Johanna. How freeing it would be to wear such attire. She’d have to discover how the girl had decided upon such a quietly rebellious fashion.
Maggie sashayed up to Johanna and motioned her to a Chippendale chair upholstered in a cream fabric peppered with tiny blue flowers. Drapes in a deeper blue shaded the windows, while wall sconces cast a golden glow on the polished oak paneling. Beneath their feet, a fine wool carpet bearing muted hues of blue, green, and yellow covered the wood floor, while a deep burgundy hearth rug lay before the massive fireplace.
Maggie poured steaming tea from an elegant silver pot into two delicate porcelain cups. She plopped a dollop of milk and a single sugar cube into each and passed one to Johanna. Crossing to the hearth, she stoked the flames with an intricately carved poker.
“That’s better. This room has a tendency to chill yer bones.”
Johanna pressed her hands around the cup, drinking in the soothing heat. “I’m quite comfortable. Thank you.”
Maggie set a tray laden with pastries and her steaming cup of tea on a doily-covered table. Snatching a scone off a tray, she placed it on Johanna’s saucer. “Ye’ve arrived a bit late for supper, but Cook is fixing you a bite to eat. I trust ye’ve no aversion to lamb stew.”
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 12