Page 107 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“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 isn’t about silver for his coffers. It’s abouther.”
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.”
