Page 32 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“You have it?” Comprehension set in, and Johanna’s blood heated. “You. Took. My. Traveling. Bag.”
“Nay.” He shook his dark head. “I left the clothes and niceties behind. I only took what I could use.”
“You have her notes?” Harrison confirmed.
“Aye.”
If Connor MacMasters had turned into a dragon before her eyes, Johanna might’ve been less dumbfounded. The bollocks of the man! “You’ve been following me!”
He nodded. “Since you stepped foot in Scotland.”
“You knew I was coming?”
Another nod. “So did others who aren’t as pleasant as I am.”
“You trailed me to the inn?” She spoke each word slowly, deliberately, as if processing the reality that she’d been a target since she’d left England. “You searched my things?”
“Aye, and a less pleasurable task I’ve seldom faced. Ye might at least have packed something tantalizing to make it worth my time. Sensible to a fault she is,” Connor said with a rueful shake of his head.
“You—” She struggled to find words adequate to convey her fury. “You…coarse…!”
Harrison MacMasters’s jaw had gone rigid. “I don’t give a damn about her underclothes. Did you uncover anything of interest in the journal?”
“That book is for my eyes only,” Johanna protested.
A wry grin hiked the corners of Connor’s mouth. “Do ye read it when ye’re in a mood to sleep? ’Twas all I could do to keep my eyes open. I damn near nodded off before I headed to the tavern.”
The arrogant gleam in his eyes fired her indignation. “Is nothing sacred?”
“Not when I’m chasing after a daft American who thinks she can deal with the likes of Cranston.”
She firmed her jaw. “I’ll have you know I came fully prepared.”
“Are ye talking about that little knife ye carried? Well, that puny blade might’ve made Munro mad, but it’s nae good for more than that. It’s like hunting a boar with a quill. Ye might poke it, but ye’re not going to damage the beast.”
The infuriating Scot was right, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “I would have concluded my business with those men and been on my way had you not interfered,”
A dark brow hiked. “If ye really believe that, ye’re spending too much time with yer nose in a book. Men don’t conveniently dive over cliffs in time to rescue the heroine.”
“You read my notes?” Oh, this man was truly a scoundrel!
“Enough to know ye’re makin’ a mistake if ye think Cranston is willing to negotiate with anyone. He’ll kill ye and the girl soon as he gets his hands on what he wants.”
“Dammit, what did you learn from the journal?” Harrison questioned.
“I didnae have time to study it in detail, but the most obvious conclusion I can make is that Miss Templeton spends far too much time dreaming up men with dark secrets and governesses who are as reckless as she is.”
“I am a writer by trade, Mr. MacMasters. I was perfectly content to live an uneventful life. I’ve little need for adventure and scandalous unmentionables.”
His eyes raked her from head to toe. “And that, Miss Templeton, is a bluidy shame.”
Harrison regarded his brother with a look of weary resignation. So, he was used to Connor MacMasters playing the uncouth scoundrel. “Leave me the journal. I’ll examine it while you get some sleep.”
“Good enough.” MacMasters retrieved the small book from an inner pocket of his great coat. “Try not to snore.”
“Snore? How amusing you are,” Johanna retaliated. “My life was well-ordered. I was content. Now, I’ve been forced to leave that behind. But you…you thrive on wreaking chaos wherever you go.”
“Ah, he’s not such a bad sort,” Mrs. Duncan spoke up. “He’s a rogue, he is. But truth be told, the mon’s got a heart o’gold.”
