Page 23 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
MacMasters followed the path of her gaze. His voice was a rough whisper. “Stay here. Keep to the darkness.”
Prowling through the night-shrouded alley, MacMasters crept toward the figure. Soundless. Each stride precise.
The silhouetted figure cocked his head. Listening, perhaps. He entered the alley. A few hesitant steps. Did he sense the threat MacMasters posed?
MacMasters emerged from the shadows. His fist plowed into the man.
The figure buckled and plunged to the ground, unmoving.
Devouring the distance between them, MacMasters reached for her. He guided her toward the far wall of the structure. Stretching an arm over his head, he swept his hand over the rough textured brick.
“Damnation, it must be here.”
As if the words were an incantation, a mutedclickmet his efforts. Johanna’s eyes went wide. The wall shifted. Opened.
He tugged her inside a tomblike chamber. The wall slowly closed behind them. She’d never known such a dank blackness. Terror infused every nerve, and she prayed nothing else occupied the utterly dark cell.
Without a word, MacMasters coiled his fingers around hers and guided her forward. Stumbling over her skirts, she blinked wildly in a futile effort to detect some flicker of light.
“Are we to hide here like rodents?” she murmured.
“Nae. This is a tunnel.”
“A tunnel?”
“Bringing ye here is a matter of last resort. There will be hell t’pay, but ye left me no choice.”
He seemed to count the measured strides. Dipping his head, his low voice brushed her ear. “Stand away in case my brother is less than hospitable.”
He knocked against a wall, a peculiar succession of taps. A door swung open. Lamplight flooded her vision.
Harrison met them at the entry. Wielding a rifle that looked better suited to a hunting expedition than a weapon for defense, he scowled. “You’ve violated security protocol. Have you lost your blasted mind?”
“Ross is tracking her.” MacMasters wasted no time getting to the crux of the issue.
Comprehension washed over his brother’s face. “Hell and damnation, Miss Templeton could have been killed.”
“That’s why I brought her to this bluidy fortress.”
A small nod marked Harrison’s understanding. He led Johanna through the door to a dimly-illuminated chamber. The room was the man’s private armory. Weapons mounted on racks lined all but one wall. Shotguns. Rifles. Pistols. The crossbow mounted in the center of the space brought to mind some warrior of old, defending an ancient castle from a horde of renegades.
Harrison made no move to stow his long gun. Rather, he carried it as he escorted her to the study from which she’d made her unconventional exit. “Thanks to you and your attempt at being an escape artist, I am readying for the defense of this property rather than enjoying a brandy by the fire.”
“I did not ask to be brought here, Dr. MacMasters. Not the first time. Not now.”
“I’m well aware of that. It seems you’ve tapped into my brother’s long-buried chivalrous instincts.”
“Hah!” The word popped between her lips.
MacMasters narrowed his eyes. “Much as I hate to agree with the lass, this has nothing to do with chivalry.”
“Humph.” Harrison marched to the sideboard, poured steaming tea from a carafe into a china cup, and presented it to Johanna. “You look chilled. This will warm you.”
Uttering her appreciation, she placed her valise on a table and accepted the delicate vessel. Tiny, precisely rendered flowers adorned the fine porcelain. How odd that such beauty would catch her eye after the brutality she’d witnessed this night.
She took a sip, then another. The tea—Darjeeling, if she had her guess—trickled down her throat, spreading a welcome warmth through her veins, though it did nothing to ease the trembling of her hands.
Harrison slugged a richly scented amber liquid into a tumbler and downed it in one draught. He met her eyes. “Better?” The single word carried genuine concern she hadn’t expected.
