Page 39 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“It’s yer brother. He’s brought a guest.” The old man uttered the words as if revealing a grand secret. “A lady. Quite a fetchin’ lass, she is.”
“A lady?” Her gaze shot to the carriage door. “Surely Harrison has not found himself a bride.”
“Nae, not Harrison,” the driver corrected.
“Simon?”
“Nae, not that one, either.”
Her brows hiked. “Surely you’re not telling me that Connor—”
MacMasters chose that moment to make his exit. “Don’t go waggin’ yer tongue yet, Maggie. I’ve not chosen a bride. Truth be told, I’ve better chance of inviting a dragon to sup with us. Indeed, once ye talk with the lass, ye might think I managed to do just that.”
Battling the urge to swat the arrogant Scot with her valise, Johanna tightened her fingers around its handle. Without the book, the case was indeed lighter, but the bag would still deliver a hearty and well-deserved smack. Dragon.Humph.He might speak of her in such crass terms, but the way he looked at her betrayed he’d seen her as a woman—a woman who appealed to his most primal masculine instincts.
From her vantage point within the carriage, Johanna watched the girl he’d called Maggie scrunch her forehead into furrows.
“I’ve not seen ye don that kilt since Maw insisted we attend Cousin Enid’s dreary wedding in Edinburgh. Or was it Uncle Dougal’s funeral in Inverness? Ye’ve gone and decked yerself out in finery. Yet ye’ve not brought home a bride, but a dragon. My, my.” Maggie clucked her tongue. “This is becoming more intriguing by the moment.”
“Dinnae be starting yer nonsense.”
The harsh set of Connor’s mouth might have intimidated the heartiest of souls, but the young woman only laughed, a soft and lilting sound.
“So ye think that fierce frown o’yers will set me to scurrying into the house, do ye? Nae, brother. I know ye only too well,” she said.
The forbidding turn of his mouth seeming etched on his features, Connor beckoned Johanna from the carriage. Accepting his offered hand, she stepped onto a path paved with smooth stones and met the young woman’s half smile.
A serious glint, a look of cynical maturity far beyond her years, darkened Maggie’s gaze. Piercing. Direct. As if she wished to ferret out Johanna’s secrets without so much as a word.
“Ah, so this is yer dragon.” She regarded Johanna for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Looks like she might well be the one to slay ye.”
Being referred to as a dragon was bad enough. But Maggie’s assessing perusal nearly shredded Johanna’s taut control. Pity she could not inform both MacMasters siblings to which corner of Hades they might venture next. Not yet, at least.
Devil take it, she would not stand there like a dolt. Stepping forward, she forced a smile that could not possibly have appeared genuine. “Johanna Templeton. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Wrinkling her pert nose, Maggie gave a little sniff. “Why, ye’ve not made my acquaintance yet. My arse-headed brother didn’t even bother t’make an introduction. I’m Maggie. Mary Margaret MacMasters, to be precise. Ye’re not Connor’s bride, and we’ve no need of a governess or tutor, as my brothers and sister have yet to produce a wee one to carry on the family name and I’ve long left the schoolroom. So, what brings ye to Dunnhaven? I’d be willing to wager it’s not my brother’s charm and good humor.”
“Yer cruelty knows no bounds,” Connor said with a grin.
Maggie shrugged. “Well, Miss Templeton. What has brought ye here?”
“Your brother and I share a mutual interest…a venture.” Johanna still clutched her valise, the habit dying hard despite the fact Connor MacMasters had appointed himself the protector of her book. A fine way to justify his theft of the volume, indeed.
“Hmmm.” Maggie’s brows quirked. “A venture? My brother’sassociatesaren’t usually so fresh out of mourning.”
Johanna stared down at her dreary black dress. Though she’d tossed the veil onto the carriage bench, there was no mistaking the nature of her attire. No wonder Maggie looked at her as if she’d either lost her mind or discarded every shred of decorum with the refuse.
“Oh, you don’t understand,” she began, but Connor cut her off with a slashing motion of his fingers beneath his chin.
The look in his sister’s eyes bordered on insulting. “Typically, even the widows allow a week or two to grieve their dearly departed men.”
“Aye, she’s not like the rest,” Connor said, taking Johanna by the arm.
The rest? How many women had MacMasters brought to this place—and widows, no less?
“Of that, I have no doubt.” His sister cocked her head and threw Johanna a wink. “I suppose Harrison selected that shroud of a gown.”
So, the girl had realized the truth of her disguise from the start.
