The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Tara Kingston

  “I need ye, Johanna.” His gruff rasp was akin to a plea. With a fervent nod, she urged him on, and he positioned his hips between hers. His erection pressed against her belly as she whispered sweet, wanton words against his ear.

  The tip of his cock breached her sex. Inch by blissful inch, he entered her. She drew in a deep breath, relaxing, allowing him full possession.

  He stilled. With a low sound deep in his throat, he kissed her again and began to move. Slow. Deliberate. Restrained. As if he didn’t want to hurt her.

  “Don’t hold back, love,” she whispered. “I want you. All of you.”

  His lips seared hers, his thrusts now powerful. Long, plunging strokes, embedding himself within her. His breaths came harsh against her ear. Raw. Desperate. Hungry.

  And again, he swept Johanna away. She wanted him. Only him. For the rest of her life, she’d remember this night when she’d known passion and desire and love.

  Love. Ah, there was the rub. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

  No, this was supposed to be one delicious night, a sensual memory of a man she could never have.

  It wasn’t supposed to be love.

  But it was.

  Holding Connor, canting her hips and arching her back to take him into her body, deeper and deeper, she grew mindless with her own need. Even as her body’s hunger overwhelmed her, her heart throbbed the truth with every beat.

  She loved him.

  Could he feel the emotion pulsing from her heart? Or did he believe her need for him to be purely physical?

  “Ah, Johanna. My sweet lass,” he murmured.

  His thrusts were faster now. Harder. Consumed with need. Her body went taut. She was close then. So very close.

  Pleasure welled within her. So intense, it seemed akin to a pain.

  A cry escaped her, and she clung to him. Waves of blinding sensation washed over her. Again and again. Dragging her far from shore. Far from safety. She held fast to those powerful shoulders. Needing him now as desperately as she’d longed for this wanton release.

  Deep in his throat, he groaned a low, primal sound. He pulled away. His big, powerful body shuddered as he murmured endearments in a language she instinctively understood.

  He collapsed against the bed, pure masculine contentment spreading over his features. In his arms, Johanna snuggled close. He’d carried her away to a place where she floated mindlessly, drifting to the pinnacle of her passion for him. Now, she lay at his side, her head resting against his chest, drinking in every beat of his heart.

  In his arms, she’d found true joy. If only for this night.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Connor woke before dawn, allowing himself a few precious moments to savor the feel of Johanna in his arms. Her warmth spread through him, filling him with a pleasurable contentment such as he’d never known. God above, he didn’t want to leave the bed, didn’t want to leave her. Damn shame he had no choice.

  Dragging in a reluctant breath, he gently extricated Johanna from his embrace and rolled onto his back. He lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady cadence of her inhalations and exhalations. Satisfied that the even rhythm confirmed she enjoyed a sound sleep, he slid to the edge of the mattress and slipped from the bed.

  Casting Johanna a lingering glance, he stilled. Dim rays of morning’s first light trickled around the curtain, highlighting the curve of her cheek. By thunder, she was a beauty. A man could live out his days and never tire of waking to her sweet face. Damn shame that man wouldn’t be him.

  It didn’t matter that he wanted her. It didn’t matter that the way she’d looked at him after he’d loved her had unleashed a swell of happiness unlike any he’d ever experienced. God only knew he’d indulged his lust since he’d become a man. He’d had his fair share of physical pleasure. But this was different. Being with Johanna meant something more enduring and powerful than raw desire. But the damnable truth was as hard as it was simple. He never should’ve given in to his need for her. He never should’ve taken her to bed. Now, instead of sating his hunger for the lovely lass, he’d only whetted his appetite for more.

  Bluidy hell, he had a job to do. If he had a brain in his head, he would’ve kept his focus on the mission. Caring about Johanna would not work to his advantage. If anything, giving a damn about her would only compromise his ability to do whatever it took to protect her and the blasted stone.

  He snatched up his clothing and pulled them on. After tugging on his boots, he walked soundlessly to the door, careful not to disturb Johanna’s slumber. He didn’t need her asking questions. Not now. She damn well wouldn’t like the answers.

  Gaslight illuminated the crack beneath the door of the room Gerard occupied. The weathered panel creaked on its hinges as it opened no more than a hand’s breadth. His gaze dropped to the pistol in his brother’s hand. With a nod, Gerard relaxed his posture and motioned him inside.

  Closing and locking the door behind him, Connor silently entered the chamber. He was not looking forward to this meeting. Knowing Gerard as he did, his brother was unlikely to readily accept Connor’s command of the mission. There were still logistics to be worked out. And his brother wasn’t going to be the one to make the final decisions.

  Gerard sank into a chair and stretched out his legs. Powder tinged his hair, remnants of the disguise he’d adopted. “The lass…she’s asleep?”

  “Aye.” Connor paced the floor, restless as a caged animal. “I still dinnae think there’s need for yer presence.”

  Gerard met his words with a scowl. “Ye always were a stubborn mule.”

  “I speak the truth. This isnae yer mission. ’Tis not yer battle.”

  “Do ye believe yer the only one who wants revenge against Cranston? And if that she-devil is in league with him—dinnae think for an instant that I do not hunger for retribution, as ye do.”

  His brother’s words tore open the wound on Connor’s soul. “I’ve much to regret. Too damn much. God above, after the things I’ve done… I was the one who should’ve gone to that rendezvous. Not Andrew. He couldnae fathom what he was dealin’ with.”

  “He wouldnae consider that the woman was evil. He was taken in by a bonny face. Andrew wanted to believe her deceptive ways.” Gerard fixed his somber gaze on Connor. “Can ye be certain ye’re not fallin’ into the same trap?”

  “Nay, Johanna hasnae deceived anyone. She’s telling the truth.”

  Gerard stared at the ceiling for a long moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “Then ye need to protect her. Keep the lass here. I’ll retrieve the stone.”

  Connor shook his head. “I cannae let ye do that. I gave Johanna my word. I will rescue the bairn.”

  “Is that so? Ye dinnae trust me to bring the bairn back to her?”

  “I gave my word,” Connor said. “I made a vow. I intend to keep it.”

  “What’s between the two of ye?” Gerard cocked his head, studying him.

  “Nothing that concerns ye.”

  “Nay, that’s where ye’re wrong. Ye cannae let a woman make ye vulnerable. Any woman.”

  Damn Gerard and his relentless nature. Why didn’t his brother understand that Connor would not be deterred? He shot him a scowl. “I gave my word. That’s all ye need to know.”

  “Ye’ve taken a fondness to the lass,” Gerard said, concern coloring his tone. “Dinnae let yer cock be doing the thinking for ye.”

  “Ye must have me confused with yerself,” Connor said, deliberately flippant. “It wouldnae matter in any case. After the things I’ve done…a woman like Johanna deserves far better than the likes of me.”

  “Bah, ye’ve done what ye had to do.” Gerard stood and walked to the window. He peeled back the curtain enough to peer into the hazy dawn.

  “Ye can justify it. But it doesn’t make it easier to swallow. I’ve been in fights that should’ve been on a battlefield. God knows I’ve had another man’s blood on my fists more times than I care to recall. I’ve sent men to their graves. Bluidy h
ell, Gerard—a woman died, an innocent who didn’t deserve that fate—because of me.”

  Gerard spun around, his eyes flashing. “She died at another man’s hand, not yers. Ye tried to save her.”

  “But I didnae, now, did I?”

  Memory crashed over him like a violent squall. A thief had made off with a rare artifact, a dagger encrusted with precious stones, all the more priceless because of its ties to a powerful Scottish laird who’d governed his clan generations before Robert the Bruce ruled the land. Connor had pursued the bastard with a single-minded focus, finally tracking him to a boisterous tavern in a small Highland village and cornering him in the squalid alley behind the pub. He hadn’t foreseen that the brute would take a hostage, dragging a young barmaid out before anyone could stop him.

  He’d had the thief in his sights. One tug on the trigger, and the rotten bloke would’ve met his end. But Connor hadn’t taken the shot. Surely a sane man would concede defeat when staring down the barrel of a gun.

  Connor had offered the bastard an ultimatum. Release the girl, or you’ll never see another day.

  He hadn’t counted on the thief’s demented roar of laughter.

  Or that the brute would break the barmaid’s neck, snapping the slender column like a twig between his fingers.

  The pain of the memory pierced him like a dull blade. “I retrieved the dagger,” Connor said. “The Order counted that mission a success. But at what cost?”

  “Ye cannae blame yerself. Fate is at times an ugly thing.”

  “That lass’s fate was undeserved. If I’d never entered that pub…” Connor rubbed his temples. After so many years, thoughts of that cursed night still tormented his dreams.

  “That was a verra long time ago. Ye’ve more experience now. Ye’ve attained some wisdom, enough to know when ye need to let someone else take the reins.”

  “If ye’re trying to tell me to turn this mission over to ye, ye’re wasting yer time.”

  “Damnation, Connor, ye cannae chance that bluidy book falling into Cranston’s hands. We cannae risk the bastard locating the Deamhan’s Cridhe. God help us if he gets his hands on the cursed stone.”

  “Bugger it, Gerard. Do ye think me a fool? I know my duty. But I willnae abandon my promise. I will not abandon the bairn. Not even to yer efforts at a rescue.”

  “Ah, yer head’s as hard as the stone in these walls.”

  “What do ye expect me to do? Walk away? Cast away my responsibility while you put your neck on the line? If there’s blood to be spilled, it will be mine.”

  Gerard’s jaw went hard, taut as granite. “Verra well, brother. I understand there’s no convincing ye to step aside. But ye will still need my help. Ye cannae argue that.”

  Connor leaned against the small dresser chest, pressing his hands against the wood until his knuckles whitened. How would Maw go on if she lost another son—and all because Connor had undertaken a mission far more complicated than he’d ever envisioned?

  This was not his brother’s war to wage. But the headstrong ox would not be convinced.

  He shifted Gerard a glance. His brother was an expert marksman. He knew the territory better than most. He’d be an asset to his quest.

  Damn it to hell, he didn’t want to involve Gerard in this. His brother knew the risks. Even so, if something were to happen…how could he ever live with himself?

  But he had no time to dwell on that now.

  He had to focus on Johanna and rescuing the child she adored.

  …

  Johanna awoke to streams of daylight peeping through the curtains and the crackle of freshly stoked flames in the fireplace. Warmth washed over her. Connor had loved her thoroughly the night before. Tiny aftershocks of his passion continued to stir deep within her belly, a delicious, honeyed hunger.

  Her lids still half-closed, she rolled onto her side, confirming what her instincts had warned. Connor was not there. Somehow, she’d known he wouldn’t be. A rumpled pillow and the imprint of his body upon the cool sheets confirmed he’d spent the night with her, loving her, holding her when their passion was fulfilled and sleep pulled them into a sweet oblivion.

  Where had he gone before the dawn?

  Pushing herself up, she left the bed and padded over the chilly floor. The water from the pitcher was cold. So frigid, her teeth nearly chattered while she washed with a cloth. Donning her combination, she stood before the hearth for a moment, warming herself, then slipped into the plain ensemble she’d worn the day before. With brisk strokes, she brushed a bit of road dust from the skirt. She carried another dress, proper and clean, in a traveling bag Maggie had put together for her journey, but she’d save that garment for the ugly business with Cranston.

  A small table clock ticked away the minutes. Where in blazes had the man gone? Surely Connor hadn’t left her behind, sleeping soundly after a passion-filled night in his arms.

  She struggled to banish the notion, but fear clawed through the wafer-thin layer of trust. Even as tiny talons gripped her heart, she fought to reassure herself. Connor would not deceive her. He would not take her to bed only to desert her. He would not be so cruel.

  Blast it all, she was not about to stay cooped up in the room, allowing her anxious heart to get the better of her. With any luck, she’d spot Connor in the innkeeper’s kitchen helping himself to Brenna’s fresh-baked scones.

  She tugged on her stockings and shoes, locked the door behind her, and made her way through the narrow, dimly-lit corridor. Slivers of morning light streamed through the shuttered window at the end of the hall. Once she made it to the spiral staircase, the sconce on the wall would provide more illumination.

  As she neared the landing, the low murmur of men’s voices caught her attention. She followed the sound to a chamber set apart from the neat line of rooms along the corridor. Connor’s rough burr drew her attention, the voice so dear to her. Yet, oddly harsh. She couldn’t make out his words, muffled as they were by the sturdy door. But he was angry. Each quiet utterance seemed clipped between his teeth, barely restraining his disgust.

  A nagging inner voice urged her to turn around and head to the sanctuary of their chamber, but she had to know what had set his mood so fierce. She tiptoed closer. Blurred fragments met her ears. There was no mistaking Gerard’s distinctive rumble. His voice had taken a hard edge. The chunks she could discern cut through her, dagger-sharp.

  Bluidy book. Deamhan’s Cridhe. Cursed stone.

  Connor’s reply was coarse and blunt. Bugger it. Duty. Abandon the child.

  Dear God. Would he betray her after what they’d shared?

  Crouching before the door, she peeped through the keyhole. A dark blur met her gaze. Drat the luck, they’d blocked the tiny opening. Of course, the men had thought to prevent anyone from spying on them.

  Treacherous, conniving scoundrels.

  Connor had counted on her to remain blissfully oblivious to his intentions, all the while seducing away her doubts with his touch. If the deceitful cur believed she’d lie meekly in a room that still carried the essence of their lovemaking while he plotted and schemed, he had underestimated her. She was made of stronger stuff than that. A night of passion had left her neither addled nor docile.

  Connor MacMasters would soon discover how very wrong he’d been.

  She’d never give him another chance to deceive her.

  Never.

  Cranston. Gerard spoke the word as if he’d uttered an epithet. Loch Ness. Granloch Castle. Bluidy fortress.

  Connor rebuffed his words, each low syllable more heated than the last.

  “Bah, ye’re naught but a fool. Ye cannae give that bastard what he wants.” Seeming to abandon caution, Gerard’s tone rose above a surly whisper.

  Damn the MacMasters brothers. If they thought to make a fool of her, how very mistaken they would be.

  Connor’s duplicity was a bitter poison. To think she’d begun to trust the scoundrel! Anger flooded her veins. Dull pain throbbed in her chest. By thunder, she�
�d actually believed herself in love with the rogue. Oh, she’d been so very naive. She, who credited herself with good sense and a level head. Blast it all! How dare he betray her with sweet words and tender kisses. How dare he!

  She repeated the names she’d overheard, etching them into her memory. Granloch. Loch Ness. Surely that must be Cranston’s location.

  With slow, stealthy steps, she retreated to the chamber they’d shared. She needed the book. Connor was no longer worthy of her trust. She’d find a way to the castle Gerard had described as a fortress. She’d face Geoffrey Cranston on her own. And she’d bring Laurel home.

  Connor could content himself with the blasted ruby. Demon’s Heart, indeed. Perhaps, with any luck, the rumors of a curse were true. He could bloody well reap the bitter fruit of his betrayal. He’d deceived her with his vow to save Laurel. Bold lies. Nothing more. He’d said the words he knew would gain her cooperation.

  She would not be fooled again. Not by the likes of him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Johanna plopped her traveling case on the bed and snatched a hairpin off the dresser. A few good jabs later, and several stitches in the satchel’s lining gave way. Carefully displacing the fabric, she slipped the book into place, smoothed the velveteen flat, and secured the cloth with a smaller pin. The false bottom she’d created would not withstand close scrutiny, but it would provide a temporary hiding place for the volume.

  Connor would have no cause to examine the bag. She’d seen to that. The lock-box had been replaced beneath the floorboards, the oak plank slipped into position, and the hearth rug crinkled just enough to look tread upon. He’d have no reason to suspect she’d taken the book.

  Not until she disappeared.

  When the time was right, she’d slip away. She’d make her escape after the sun had driven out the thick, morning mist. She could play his game for a while longer. But the rules had changed. With any luck, he wouldn’t catch on until it was too late.