Page 15 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
Johanna stifled a cry of her own as Munro sank to the floor. A thin trickle of blood dribbled down his cheek. Nearly stumbling over the big man’s inert mass, she rushed from the tavern. She clung to MacMasters’s hand, knowing her legs had gone weak and her stomach had turned against her.
The cool air hit her face like a bracing blow. She welcomed the sensation, even as she wobbled a bit. MacMasters steadied her against him. The heat of his body was oddly reassuring, and she allowed herself to draw from it. If only the dull throb radiating through her arm did not envelop her.
He led her to a sleek black phaeton. “I took the liberty of acquiring a carriage.”
Discarding any sense of propriety, she leaned against him. She needed his strength and the comfort of his nearness.
“I’m not… I’m not feeling quite myself.” Her words were little more than a whisper. She pressed her palm to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t lose what little dignity she still possessed by casting up her accounts.
“Damnable shame ye had to see that, lass.” MacMasters’s rich, rumbling tones enveloped her, comforting and strong.“The sight of blood does that to many a soul.”
Beneath the gaslight, she caught the concern in his gaze. How peculiar that she should see compassion in the eyes of a man who might well be her adversary.
Her lids felt weighted. So very heavy.
“It’s not that,” she murmured. “It’s not…his blood that’s set me off kilter. It’s mine.”
Chapter Six
Johanna blinked at the light streaming into her face. She’d never known the rays from a gas lamp to appear so blindingly bright. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if that would clear her head and allow her to focus.
She lay against plush cushions, her legs stretched out, her head propped up on a soft pillow. Not on a bed. No, beds didn’t have backs. She was on a settee, one arm nestled against the tufted upholstery, the other dangling over the seat. Her fingers grazed a textured carpet. Even without glancing, the density of the pile told her it was expensive. This was no workman’s tavern.
Pity she had no idea where she was or how she’d come to be there.
A heavy quilt covered her. She swept a hand beneath the coverlet to explore her state of dress…or undress, as seemed the case.Good heavens!Her corset had been removed, as had her blouse and her skirt. Her flimsy cotton combination and her lace-trimmed petticoat were all that covered her. Someone had even taken the time to slip her shoes from her feet.
“So you’re awake. About time you decided to join us.” A man’s voice, deep and flavored with a subtle burr.
She pressed up on her elbows, wedging herself against the settee. A very handsome, very masculine man stared down at her. Jade eyes framed with dark lashes met her gaze. The same intense green hue as the devil named MacMasters possessed. Yet in the most subtle of ways, utterly different.
This man was taller, his build leaner. His tailored tweed jacket and pressed trousers bespoke a civilized gentleman rather than a renegade in ebony boots. But there was no denying the resemblance.
“Who…who are you? You look so very much like…him.”
“Him?” Amusement tilted the stranger’s mouth. “I presume you mean…” He cocked his head to the man marching through the door, each thud of his boots heavy against the wood floor. “Him.”
“Ye didn’t think I’d abandoned ye to those heathens, did ye, lass?” MacMasters towered over her. Gone was the heavy coat. He’d stripped down to his shirtsleeves, the white linen garment draping muscular shoulders and sleek, sinewed arms. Awareness surged through her, electric and dynamic and primal, and somehow, rather frightening. Something deep within warned her to protect herself from this man. Yet, his nearness stirred an innate need.
Her lips were dry, so parched she couldn’t resist moistening them with a flick of her tongue. Or so she told herself. An ordinary response, really. Nothing to do with her body’s instinctive response to MacMasters. Surely a sip or two of water was all she required.
“Why are you here?” Her question came out weak. Pitifully voiced, in fact. Squaring her spine against the hoodlum with a knife had not sapped her of spirit. What had come over her?
“I brought ye here after ye fainted.”
“Fainted?” Being careful to keep the blanket tucked around her, she scooted to the edge of the settee. “I am not a woman who swoons.”
“Then ye did a fine imitation.” His eyes gleamed with a good natured humor. Perfect. Precisely what she didn’t need. She didn’t want to like this man. He’d ruined the exchange she’d arranged, the delivery of the ransom that would save her niece.
MacMasters’s mirror twin brushed a tendril from her face. His touch was warm. Gentle. Blessedly, the contact did not propel a sensuous current through her as the devil’s had. “You were awake and aware, but a bit dazed when you arrived. I don’t doubt you’d lost consciousness at some point after the incident. You were in considerable pain.”
“Pain?” The word triggered a rush of memory. The preceding hours flooded her as if she were reliving the events in that single moment. “I remember now. The knife. That beastly man…he cut me. I even remember coming here, to this house. But I don’t know why…why I am here.”
“I am a physician, Miss Templeton. My brother brought you here because you were in distress.”
“Brother.” The word settled into her brain. So, that explained the similarities as well as the subtle differences between the two men.
“Seeing that you’d been hurt, I examined you to ensure you had sustained no other injuries. Thankfully, you were unscathed other than the laceration on your arm,” he went on. “I tended your wound and administered medication to ease your discomfort. The compound induced sleep, but now, I suspect it’s left you in a bit of a fog.”
