Page 14 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
Connor shot a glance at the tavern door. No sign of others. Yet. He caught Johanna’s hand in his. “Stay here and keep out of sight. If there’s trouble, run to the barkeep. That gun of his will be some help in protecting ye.”
“What about you?” Concern edged her tone, muted but undeniable.
Be damned! He hadn’t expected her to give a rat’s arse about the likes of him. The reality twisted his insides.
“That’s not yer worry now, is it, lass?”
Johanna studied him. “I don’t need you to risk your neck for me. I don’t even know who you are.”
Looking at him like that, she could not hide the sadness in those deep blue eyes. Lovely and gentle, those eyes. Yet, he sensed a will of iron behind the softness of her gaze.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll have to rectify that, lass. Later. For now, keep to the shadows. Dinnae let him near ye.”
Munro craned his neck. His marble-like eyes narrowed. He cocked his head, intent. A corner of his wide mouth hiked higher. Bollocks. He’d spotted Johanna.
Connor reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a leather strap weighted on both ends with lead. The cudgel would attract little attention. He’d have the element of surprise on his side.
He slanted Johanna a glance. Her chin had firmed, and her spine had gone ramrod stiff. Fixing his attention on Munro as the oaf lumbered toward them, Connor nudged Johanna behind his back.
“Ye know who I am.” Munro’s features betrayed no emotion, his eyes dull as a fish on the wharf. “Ye think to keep me from the woman?”
Connor kept his guard up and his eyes on Munro. The man could wield a fatal blow if given the chance. “Where’s yer partner? That scrawny bloke, O’Keefe.”
Munro shrugged. “Poor bastard took a bullet to the belly. Took him three days t’die.”
A ripple of tension eased from Connor. The cur was working alone. “Cranston sent ye?”
Munro shook his head. “I’ve no use for that tight-fisted bastard.”
“Who hired ye?”
“Ye think I’m dim-brained?” Munro growled the words. “The gent wishes t’remain discreet, if ye take my meanin’.”
“What does he want with her?”
“Cannae say as I know or give a damn. The gent has coin t’pay. That’s all that matters.” Munro flashed a hunting knife. “Walk away. I’ve business with the woman.”
“I knew ye to be a fool. But ye’ve gone and shoved yer head up yer arse if ye believe I’d leave the lass to the likes of ye.”
“Ye’re cocky now. But ye won’t be.” Munro tapped the blade against a gnarled table. “Ye think I willnae use this? Ye’re wrong. I’ll gut ye.”
Connor clutched the bludgeon at his side. Low. Out of sight. “Not bluidy likely.”
Eyeing Munro’s grip on the hilt, he calculated his aim. The thug was comfortable with the knife. Confident. Overly so.
He swung. The cudgel slammed into Munro’s wrist.
Lead cracked against bone. The knife slid from the big bastard’s hand, landing on the table as the boisterous crowd surrounding them drowned out the man’s low, agonized cry.
Another swing of the cudgel. Quick. Sure. The weighted strap jabbed a spot on Munro’s jaw, just below the ear.
The thug’s eyes went wide. With a groan, his head dipped, and he fell. Collapsed, like a sack of worm-eaten potatoes.
Connor caught Johanna by the hand. He’d bought them time. But it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the unconscious man.
“Come along, lass.” Connor shoved the bludgeon in his pocket and retrieved a revolver from beneath his jacket. There was still a chance Munro had an accomplice waiting beyond the tavern door. If anyone else dared come after Johanna Templeton, he wouldn’t hesitate to strike.
…
