Page 18 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“Ye were wounded tonight. The man who wielded that knife would’ve slit yer pretty throat, if I’d given him the chance.” MacMasters came closer, towering over her. “That makes it my concern.”
Maddeningly, the stern set of his features eased her apprehension. His expression was not the carefully constructed mask of a liar, and the rawness in his voice bore no trace of deception.
Still, she couldn’t afford to trust him. She wasn’t so addled by the medicine the doctor had given her and the heady effects of MacMasters’s nearness that she didn’t remember that.
If only those perceptive eyes didn’t draw her in and the curve of his masculine mouth did not conjure unwanted heat deep within. Would his lips be gentle against hers? Or would his kiss exact a far rougher possession?
She drew in a lungful of air, pushing away the scandalous images. What on earth had come over her? Had the events of the past fortnight left her shaken? No wonder, that. Her orderly existence had been shredded. Uncertainty, unlike any she’d ever known, shrouded each moment.
She banished her mind’s rebellious wonderings to its far recesses. Perhaps someday, when this nightmare was over, she’d tap into those sensual images to fuel her next heroine’s adventures. She would need a fresh bottle of ink and a thick notebook to record the seductive scenes this Highlander inspired.
He eyed her beneath hooded lids. “Ye don’t know what ye’re dealing with, lass. If ye’ve got a brain under all that hair, ye’ll turn around and head home. There won’t always be someone around to protect ye.”
“Protect me? Is that what you call your interference?” She summoned an indignant huff. “Have you gone mad?”
“Not yet, though ye may be the one to finally push me over the brink. A lady dressed in finery, thinking to do business with the worst sort of ruffians. If not for myinterference,ye’d have gone off with a pair of swine who’d take what they needed and toss what was left of ye in a shallow grave. Or worse.”
“That’s enough.” Harrison’s heated glare contradicted his calm tones. “Miss Templeton is a lady. Or have you forgotten that?”
Johanna pushed herself to her feet. Wobbly knees or not, she would not allow the Scot to intimidate her. “If you think to frighten me, Mr. MacMasters, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Ye’ve good cause for fear. There will be more men coming after ye. After that bluidy book.”
“I will not be cowed.”
“Cowed? That’s the least of yer worries. Unless ye tell us why ye’re here, I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep the bastards from ye.” He stared down at her. “Ye need to trust us. At this point, we’re all ye’ve got. Who gave ye the book?”
The urgency in his tone jarred her. What harm would there be in revealing this bit of the truth? “My brother-in-law—Richard Abbott.”
MacMasters kept his silence for a long moment. “Abbott? I’ve heard nothing of a man who goes by that name. Dinnae think to deceive me, lass.”
The dark intensity in his eyes stole her breath, but she pulled in a slow draught of air and steadied her nerves. “I am telling you the truth. The book was a gift to me, a token of appreciation, if you will. My sister’s husband—”
A scowl marked the Highlander’s chiseled features. “I’ve reason to believe this book came from a smuggler, a wily cheat. Did ye know the man by any other name?”
“Another name?” Johanna mulled the question. “Actually, he used a stage name for years.”
MacMasters’s scowl deepened. “A stage name?”
“As a young man, Richard Abbott fancied himself a thespian. He was performing in Philadelphia when he met my sister and charmed her into a rather impetuous marriage. After a while, he abandoned this pursuit and returned to England with Cynthia. Shortly thereafter, Laurel was born.”
“And what was thename the man used?” MacMasters pressed.
“My, it has been such a very long time… I was merely a girl when he was treading the boards, but I recall being rather impressed by the look of it on the playbill.” Johanna met the Scot’s direct gaze. “He used the name Benedict—Richard Benedict.”
Moving to the Scot’s side, his brother furrowed his brow. She saw recognition in the physician’s eyes. And a concern borne of knowledge. What did these men know that she didn’t?
“Richard Benedict.” Harrison MacMasters repeated the name. A trace of rugged burr seasoned his cultivated speech. He pinned Johanna with a look that pierced her courage. “Bluidy hell, what have ye got yerself into, lass?”
Chapter Seven
Connor had long regarded his younger brother as the most civilized of the MacMasters clan. A trained physician who boasted friendships with the royal family, Harrison could be counted upon to present a rational, measured approach to the most treacherous of situations. So it came as that much more of a shock—amusing, but surprising nonetheless—to see his calm, level-headed brother forget his careful English pronunciation and let his brogue leak out. Above that, Harrison’s complexion had turned ruddy, his eyes gleaming with a not-so-well-mannered fury.
“I need a word with ye. Now.” Harrison addressed Connor like a military commander preparing to reprimand an underling. Quiet. Terse. The undercurrent of anger barely controlled.
“Continue to rest, Miss Templeton.” Connor knew the words sounded like an order—a directive he doubted she’d heed.
“In the library.” Harrison ground out each word like glass between his teeth.
