The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Tara Kingston

  To the gun in the Scot’s hand.

  “Kill him,” Cranston ground out the command. “What the bloody hell—”

  He snapped his attention to Connor, a heartbeat before the Highlander pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air. Johanna rushed to Connor, her pulse hammering a breakneck beat.

  He’d pushed himself up on an elbow, looking rather pleased with himself. She crouched at his side amid a puddle of her skirts. Joy broke through the shell of misery encasing her heart, and she blinked back tears.

  He reached out to brush away a fat drop with the pad of his finger. “Ye weren’t weeping when that bastard had a gun in yer ribs. But now…” Sudden understanding glimmered in his eyes.

  “I thought…I thought you were dying.” Oh, how the words pierced her heart. Another tear trickled down her cheek.

  “So did I,” he said simply. “It still hurts somethin’ fierce.”

  “Hurts…” She shook her head as if that might clear her confusion. “The countess pulled the trigger. I saw her put a bullet in your chest.”

  He caught her hand and tapped two fingers against his chest. A metallic ding met her touch. “Brenna’s a clever lass.”

  “Armor?” Johanna’s heart slowed its frantic pace. “Beneath your clothing.”

  “She sacrificed fine silver platters to make this device. The front and back of my chest are protected.”

  “Brilliant.” Her fingers danced over his stubble-covered chin. Despite Brenna’s deflector, he’d taken quite a risk. “Thank heaven that witch did not aim higher.”

  “Aye. If she had, I wouldnae be talking to ye now. It was a chance I had to take.” He glanced away, as if that would hide the emotion that darkened his eyes to the color of a forest at dusk. Grimacing, he pushed himself to a sitting position, then to his feet. “The bairn? She is well?”

  “I told her to hide. I must go after her.”

  Behind them, Gerard had secured Munro and Ross as prisoners. Connor turned to his brother. “Ye’re still as stubborn as ever. I didnae expect to see yer face, looking pale as a specter as ye do.”

  “I told you I could still ride since these fools were daft enough to leave their mounts behind.” Gerard nodded to Cranston’s henchmen. “Thoughtful of ye, gents.”

  Bound and gagged, the thugs could only mutter behind the stout cloth covering their mouths.

  “Come, Johanna.” Connor’s low burr seemed to caress her name. He caught her hand in his. “We’ll find the bairn. After all this, I am looking forward to making the young lass’s acquaintance.”

  …

  “Auntie!” The girl’s joyous shout was a tonic to Connor’s weary brain. A smile crinkling her freckle-covered nose, the bright-eyed sprite rushed to Johanna. The young lass was her aunt in miniature. Had he not known better, he would’ve sworn the child was Johanna’s own daughter.

  The girl took one look at him and stopped in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed. Suspicious, yet unafraid. “Why did you come for us?”

  “We’re here to bring ye home, lass.” Connor held his voice low and calm.

  The girl shook her head. “You came after the stone. Like the rest.”

  “What do you know of the stone?” Johanna asked gently.

  “I heard them all talking about it…about its magic.”

  “It has no magic,” Connor said, matter-of-fact. “The only thing magical is how much yer aunt loves ye. She found ye, and now, ye’re going home.”

  Tears welled in the child’s eyes. She scrubbed a fist over her face, as if willing herself not to cry. “They killed Papa.”

  Connor touched a finger to the girl’s dark curls. He struggled for the right words to comfort her. A small dagger twisted in his chest. Blast it, this shouldn’t be so bluidy hard.

  “I am sorry,” he managed finally. “No wee lass should have to lose her da.”

  The girl sniffled, scrunching her face tighter. “Why did you help us?”

  “Mr. MacMasters is a friend,” Johanna said. A single tear streaked down her cheek. “A very brave, very trustworthy friend.”

  Johanna’s words seemed high praise. He’d done what he’d come to do. He’d protected her and the child. And he’d ensured the stone would not fall into evil hands.

  And soon, he’d watch as Johanna walked away. From the Highlands. From him.

  A fist Goliath might’ve wielded dug into his gut. Someday, if he lived long enough, he’d curse himself for a fool. He should do whatever it might take to keep her at his side.

  Johanna enfolded the girl in her arms, holding her tight as sobs wracked the child’s body. The tender sight dug the invisible fist deeper into his belly. God knew he wanted Johanna. But the bairn needed a mother. She needed family.

  She needed Johanna.

  And her family home lay far from the Highlands.

  Devil take it, he couldn’t afford to act the moon-eyed fool. His duty was rooted in the Highlands. He could not allow longings he’d never permitted himself to take the reins of his existence.

  He’d ensure Johanna and Laurel’s safe transport to London. And then, he’d plunge himself into the next mission until the craving for Johanna Templeton became nothing but a faded memory.

  Damn shame he didn’t believe the day would ever come.

  …

  Hours later, Johanna stroked her fingers through Laurel’s unruly strands, gently soothing her as they sat before a roaring fire. The inn had been a welcoming sight. Connor had seen Johanna and Laurel to the safe haven while Gerard stood guard over Cranston’s henchmen until Finn and his operatives could see the blackguards to justice.

  Laurel clutched the scrap of paper Johanna had salvaged from her father’s last correspondence and concealed in her corset throughout those desperate days when she fought for the child’s safe return. Tears brimmed in the child’s eyes as she ran a fingertip along the edge of the torn paper, as if to reassure herself that she was not dreaming.

  “My darling girl, you are more precious to me than any gem. You are the treasure of my heart. I will always love you, my sweet Laurel.” In the child’s hushed tones, the words were even more heartbreaking than they were on the paper. Richard Abbott had known he likely would not survive crossing Geoffrey Cranston and the countess. He’d entrusted Johanna with his final words to his daughter, just as he’d entrusted her with Laurel’s life.

  Johanna swallowed against the bitter lump in her throat. “Your father loved you very much.”

  With a sniffle, Laurel nodded, holding the frayed slip of paper as if it were a priceless treasure. She took a gulp of air. “He knew…he knew you’d come for me.”

  Johanna wove her fingers through Laurel’s curls, searching for the right words. With a squeak of the door, Brenna entered the room, bearing a silver tray laden with tea and biscuits, and seated herself by the hearth. Johanna took a bite of biscuit and encouraged Laurel to eat. The girl had lost some of the rounded sweetness in her face during her captivity. Physically, she appeared unharmed, but the trauma of her ordeal reflected in her eyes. She’d need an abundance of gentleness and stability to strip away the fear in her gaze.

  “Ye’ve had enough excitement to last a verrae long time,” Brenna said with a lightness that did not reach her eyes. She tapped a fingernail against the rim of Laurel’s cup. “Get some tea in ye, lass. It’ll warm yer bones.”

  Observing Brenna as if trying to determine whether the innkeeper was friend or foe, Laurel took a sip, then nibbled a biscuit. “What do you call this?”

  “Shortbread. Fresh from the oven,” Brenna said.

  “Thank you.” Laurel stared down at her cup. What misery lurked in the child’s thoughts? What horror had she witnessed during her captivity?

  Brenna took a generous bite of biscuit and washed it down with a swallow of tea. “Connor has the brooch?”

  “Yes.” An image of the concealed knife, bloodied after use, flickered in Johanna’s t
houghts. Her stomach twisted. “It was…effective.”

  Brenna offered a knowing nod. “Cranston believed it to be the Demon’s Heart?”

  “He considered the possibility. But I was sadly unconvincing. Pity I’m such a poor liar.”

  “Ye told him it was the stone?”

  Johanna stared down at her cup. “I led him to that conclusion.”

  “’Twas not a lie, my friend.”

  If Brenna had spilled hot tea in Johanna’s lap, she might have been less shocked. “What…what do you mean?”

  A sly smile lifted Brenna’s lips. “The brooch may contain the stone. Truth be told, there’s no way of knowing.”

  “I don’t understand. I saw the gem that had been buried near the loch.”

  Brenna nodded. “You saw one of the stones…one of the three rubies.”

  “Three?” She gasped.

  “Our ancestors, the first to guard the ancient relics of our forefathers, created two replicas of the cursed ruby. Each was hidden for quite a long time. One was placed in the brooch. Another buried at the loch. And the third was entrusted to my kin for safekeeping. I’d ensured it was locked away, in a vault so secret, even my dear husband dinnae ken its location. No one knows which is the real stone.”

  “But you have your suspicions?”

  “No,” Brenna said without hesitation. “I dinnae want to know. All three will be safeguarded. We cannae take any chances.”

  “And the book?”

  “It will also be secured. Someone went to a great deal of trouble filling that book with hidden markings. Serena MacMasters will be entrusted with deciphering the symbols. She’s one of the finest codebreakers in the Queen’s empire.” Brenna turned to Laurel. “I see ye’ve had some of yer biscuit. Would ye like something else?”

  “No, thank you.” Laurel sipped from a dainty cup. “Auntie, where will we go now?”

  “To London. At first.”

  Laurel reached for another biscuit. “And from there?”

  “A voyage to America will be quite the thing to cheer us both.” Could Laurel hear the uncertainty in her words?

  The very thought of leaving Connor carved a fissure in Johanna’s heart. But there was nothing to be done about it. Laurel needed to be among family. Back at home—back in Philadelphia. Laurel’s grandmother and grandfather longed to embrace the child they’d seen only once, when the child had been an infant.

  Laurel’s mouth settled into a little pout. “When we get to America, may I have a kitten?”

  “A kitten?”

  Her expression grew solemn. “Mama promised me a pet. But then…then she took ill…”

  Johanna chucked her affectionately under the chin. “I’m positive that can be arranged, darling.”

  “So it’s a cat the wee lassie wants,” Connor said, hunkering down by the fire. When had he entered the room? He’d bathed and donned trousers and a white shirt that emphasized his well-muscled arms and shoulders. “Independent creatures, to be certain.” He slanted Johanna a smile. “I can see where that would suit yer aunt.”

  Laurel’s nose twitched. She rubbed at it with the back of her hand. “I’ve already decided on a name. Would you like to hear it?”

  Connor made Laurel the center of his attention. “Aye, lass.”

  “Piper.” Laurel’s smile lit her face.

  “Piper?” Johanna repeated. “Why?”

  “I heard bagpipers while Papa and I stayed at an inn. They wore kilts and their music was…happy. Just as my kitten will be.”

  He studied the child with thoughtful eyes. “Ye like it here…in Scotland?”

  “Yes.” Laurel seemed to ponder the word, her brow furrowing. “But I will love America as well. Auntie Jo and I get along famously. Mama always said we were so very much alike.”

  “Indeed,” Johanna said. Was it her imagination, or did Connor’s eyes take on a gleam at Laurel’s words?

  He stood, stretching his long legs, and raked a hand through his hair. The familiar, spicy scent of his shaving soap filled Johanna’s senses, and her heart tripped a bit faster. “Johanna, I need a word with ye.”

  He shot Brenna a speaking glance. She gave a small nod and turned to Laurel. “Would ye like me to show ye how t’make shortbread, dear? It’s delicious and more than a bit of fun.”

  Laurel’s serious countenance brightened. “May I, Auntie?”

  “Of course.” Johanna uttered the words easily, even as the prospect of being alone with Connor sent her heartbeat stuttering.

  Brenna led the child from the room. The door squawked on its hinges as it swung closed behind them. Johanna’s brain registered the sound, even though her own pulse threatened to drown out the noise.

  “Ye’re a brave lass. Ye took the path that brought the bairn back to ye.” Towering over Johanna, Connor enfolded her hand within his long, warm fingers. “Promise me ye won’t go taking more risks.”

  “I highly doubt I’ll ever again be called upon to do anything so adventurous,” she said, rising. “We both know I had no choice.”

  He tugged her closer. “Johanna, there is always a choice.”

  Her name in that deep rumble of his was so very sweet, but she had to keep her head about her. The memory of his skin against hers was all too fresh. Too decadent. Too tempting.

  Her skirts shimmied around her as she wriggled out of his light hold. She needed that separation, that slight distance that made the difference between coherent thought and wanting nothing more than to melt into his arms.

  Ah, but the smell of him was enticing. She wanted to bury her face against his strong, sturdy neck and inhale his essence, wanted to wisp her fingertips over the feathering of dark hair on his chest.

  Wanted to give herself to him. Night after night.

  Forever.

  At her evasive movement, recognition glimmered in those green eyes of his. A devilish smile crooked his mouth.

  “Ye think I’ll ravish ye? Right here? With the bairn so near, she verrae well might get an education far beyond her years?”

  Think? Hoped might’ve been a more accurate word. Johanna forced herself to discard the ridiculous notion.

  “Even you would not be so bold.”

  “God knows I want ye.” His lips brushed hers, so very gentle. So very delicious. “One night was not enough, my sweet lass.”

  Not enough… The words echoed in her thoughts. Not enough to sate his desire? Not enough to quench a fleeting passion?

  Not enough to soothe the ache deep in her chest for a man she wanted for a lifetime. A few stolen nights in his bed would never appease her hungry heart.

  But still, she wanted him. So very badly.

  He’d made a vow. And he’d fulfilled that promise. He’d seen Laurel safely back in her care. He’d done exactly as he’d said. How could she expect anything more?

  Connor cradled her face in his big hands. “Ye are a beauty, Johanna Templeton. Ye’ve got spirit, I’ll give ye that.” Once again, he swept a kiss over her mouth. Tender. Hungry. Yearning.

  When he released her, her knees wobbled like poorly set pudding. If he asked her to stay, could she muster the strength to refuse him? She had to think of Laurel’s well-being. Secret nights of pleasure in this rugged Highlander’s bed could not trump the need to see the child happily settled with family and friends and a kitten to cherish.

  If only the thought of never again hearing Connor’s rugged burr did not slice through Johanna’s heart like a dull knife. It seemed he’d always been a part of her. How had she faced her days without his touch to warm her? How had she lived without the velvet of his kiss against her skin? He’d charged into her life and changed her. Changed everything, really. Forever.

  But none of that mattered. Soon, he’d be a delicious memory, a sweet fantasy to warm her nights. And Laurel would be safe and happy.

  She could not expect anything other than a fleeting passion from this man. Decadent, wonderful memories of his touch and scent and feel. Passionate images and s
ensations etched into her heart to ease the lonely nights when she longed for him.

  Perhaps, that would have to be enough.

  “Come to me tonight.” His voice was husky and raw with need. “When the bairn’s sleeping. Brenna will watch over her. Say ye will, Johanna.”

  Her heart thundered. Could she be so wanton? So bold?

  Deep within, she knew the answer.

  She pressed a kiss to his lips, a chaste little caress. Odd, how the heat radiated to every cell, every pore, even with such a subtle touch. “Yes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Connor stretched out his legs on the bed and stared at the fire in the hearth. Folding his hands behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling, then shot his gaze back to the flames. He was a bluidy dolt. There was no denying it. Lying here, like some lovestruck lad. Casting glances at the clock on the chest. Listening for the slightest creak of the floorboards beyond his room, craving some indication that Johanna would spend this night with him.

  God, how he wanted her. He should go after the lass. He should prove to her that she should never leave the Highlands. That she should never leave Scotland—or him—behind.

  Bah, he’d never been such a fool. Never lost his head over a woman. Bluidy hell, why did it have to be this one—a woman he wasn’t meant to have?

  Johanna deserved a far different life than what she’d find as his bride. She deserved a man who’d spend his evenings by her side, not charging off on the next mission…and the next. The lass deserved a man who could be a father to the bairn and offer a contented, stable life, not the existence he’d led for so many years. God above, when had he ever truly felt content? He’d spent years fulfilling his duty, chasing down one artifact or another, doing battle with those who would corrupt ancient treasures for their own foul purposes. How could he ever expect Johanna to endure the sacrifices life at his side would entail?

  No, Johanna deserved more. More than he could give. He couldn’t cast his duty to the Order aside, no matter how much he desired her.

  No matter how much he needed her in his arms, night after night. His chest felt like it would cave in at the idea of not having her with him until the end of his days.