Page 40 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
Connor gave a nod. “Ye’d think a mind as sharp as his could come up with more clever camouflage, wouldn’t ye, now?”
“Truly. Ye’d think he’d put a little more effort into comin’ up with something original.”
Connor’s gaze lingered on Johanna. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Blasted shame he doesn’t keep harem veils lying about.”
“Veils?” Maggie laughed, even as Johanna silently mouthed the word. “How would you propose to explain the presence of a harem dancer in the Highlands?”
“Aye, there’s the rub.” Crinkles around those intelligent eyes of his betrayed he’d been teasing them. “Ye’ll have yer fill of talk later, Maggie. For now, we need to settle in for the night. Where can I find Liam?”
Maggie fiddled with the pen she’d tucked behind one ear. “He’s off to Orkney on an expedition. Something about a dig in some moldy Viking cemetery. We don’t expect him back for at least a fortnight.”
“What of Serena? Did she accompany him?”
Another curl shook loose from Maggie’s careless coiffure. She swiped it away, her nose wrinkling again, this time in annoyance. “Nae, she’s about. Probably in her laboratory, examining some musty old scrap of plaid.”
“Good.” Connor shot the driver a glance. “Fergus, get the carriage to the coach house, and then be sure to join us. Da will be glad to lay eyes on ye again. It’s been a long time.”
“Och, that it has.” Fergus nodded, as if in remembrance. “That it has.”
Connor placed a light touch on Johanna’s elbow. “Come along. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”
Chapter Fourteen
Escorting Johanna through the castle his father had restored with tireless zeal, Connor could not deny the swell of pride in his chest. Douglas MacMasters, third generation descendant of a laird who’d gone to his grave at Culloden, had dedicated his ingenuity and the fortune he’d made exporting whisky across the Atlantic, to bringing the ancestral seat back to its former glory. Da had built an empire from what was once a small, country distillery, and he’d used the spoils of that labor to foster two great passions—Dunnhaven and preserving rare antiquities tied to Scotland’s heritage.
It went without saying that Da would latch onto the possibility of retrieving theDeamhan’sCridhelike a hound on the scent of a fox. Connor slanted a glance to the comely lass at his side. If he knew his father, Da would find Johanna Templeton a treasure in her own right.
As would his brothers. God knew Harrison had found Johanna fetching enough to pull him away from his medical journals. Despite his brother’s veneer of professionalism, he’d scarcely been able to take his eyes off her, even while she’d veiled her soft curves in black mourning silk.
With any luck, Gerard would be off on a mission. The eldest of the MacMasters brothers had cultivated a taste for the fairer sex since he’d been a lad in short pants. No doubt he’d try to sweep Johanna right off her kid-leather-clad feet and between his sheets, if given half a chance.
Connor would set his brothers to rights on that matter. Miss Templeton was off limits to any of the MacMasters men.
Including himself, damn the luck.
She was a temptation. There was no denying that truth. Her plump lips would taste sweeter than Mrs. Duncan’s finest raspberry cream. And that perfect bum, so lushly rounded. His hands could clutch those beautiful curves and hold her to him. Night after night.
His groin hitched at the thought. Rebellious to a fault, that cock of his. Damn to hell and back his randy imagination. There was no place for such fantasy with this woman. No time to even consider what it would be like to have such a woman in his arms. In his bed.
Later, after he retrieved the stone, there’d be plenty of time to assuage his male needs with some bonny lass who didn’t hold the key to a treasure—a warm and smiling woman who’d leave him sated, but would make no claim to him. Not an unforgettable beauty who’d lay siege to a man’s innermost desires with nothing more than the smile in her storm-cast-blue eyes.
Johanna was the kind of woman a man would not soon forget. Deep-seated passion simmered in her gaze. One taste, and he’d never get enough.
“So, the prodigal son has returned.” His mother approached, gliding along the corridor in that way of hers that made it seem she’d trained for the monarchy. In truth, Lady Kathleen MacMasters did have more experience with all things royal than most. As a girl from one of the most esteemed families in England, she’d served the young queen Victoria as a lady-in-waiting. Of course, that was before she’d scandalized her parents by eloping with a penniless Scot who’d offered little but dreams, gumption, and his undying love.
Connor took in the smile in his mother’s eyes. He bit back a grin. “Ye stab me through the heart with yer cruel aspersions on my character.”
Maw’s eyes narrowed at him. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of you since Hogmanay. I’d begun to think I would not lay eyes on you again until the eve of the next year. And now you arrive with no prior notice. There’s been no time to have our guest’s chamber prepared.”
“I’ll explain it all to ye in good time.”
“In good time?” Maw’s gaze propelled invisible daggers. “Maggie tells me you’ve brought that old reprobate Fergus here. I trust you have good reason for bringing that skirt-chasing hound to Dunnhaven.”
“You already know why I summoned Fergus. The man might be a randy old sot, but he’s the best driver I’ve ever known.”
“The buzzard still boasts about his…prowess. Before the evening is done, Fergus will be challenging your father to a round of darts that will turn into hours of ale-fueled reminiscences of their days in the Royal Navy. That never ends well. Mark my words.”
“Whatever Maggie told ye about Fergus, pay it no mind. She spreads gossip faster than a farmer spreads manure.”
