Page 6 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
Johanna froze. The sole of one shoe rooted to the pavement, even as her other foot balanced on the step. Her heart thudded a wild cadence, each beat frantic as a deer bolting from a hunter’s sights. Once she was inside this luxurious prison, she’d be at the mercy of these men. What would stop them from taking the satchel and leaving her lifeless body in some godforsaken spot? What would become of Laurel then?
“Get in,” Munro said, harsher this time. “Or should I pick ye up and put ye there? Maybe ye’d like that.”
Revulsion shuddered through her, so pronounced she felt sure it rippled her clothing along the length of her spine. She’d give this bastard no excuse to manhandle her. But she would not cower at his crude attempt at intimidation.
She cast a scathing glance over her shoulder. “If you touch me, you will find my knee firmly embedded in your bollocks.”
Ross laughed, coarse and surprisingly hearty. “I do believe she means it, mate. No sense rushing her. Miss Templeton will come along with us.” He paused and gave a little cough. “Unless she doesn’t give a shilling for her niece’s future.”
Johanna lowered herself from the step and met his hardened eyes. “What guarantee do I have that this is not a ruse? How can I be certain you represent the man who holds my niece?”
“You desire proof?”
“Yes.” Amazing, how the small word weighted her tongue.
“You try my patience.” He shot his hulking partner a glance. “Munro, show it to her.”
An ugly smile pulled at the big man’s mouth. He dug in his pocket, producing a pale, thin cloth wadded into a ball. His lips widened as he peeled away the fabric.
“Oh my.” Johanna’s pulse hammered against her ears. She reached for the single chestnut-brown curl, still tied in the emerald lace ribbon she’d woven through Laurel’s hair that last morning in London. In the lamplight, the tendril gleamed hints of copper. She longed to touch it, that single, tangible link to her sweet-natured niece.
Munro snatched it away. “The wee lass howled like a banshee. Ye’d have thought we took her ear.” His fingers closed around the cloth, and he shoved the trophy into his jacket. “Maybe next time, we will.”
“As I see it, you’ve got two choices,” Ross said, low and coolly menacing. “You can come with us now. Peaceful, like the lady you are. Or Munro will pry that case from your pretty hands and my associate and I will be on our way. We’ll transport the brat back to London. Little chit like her won’t take up much space in a trunk. Especially not once she’s in pieces.”
The lack of anger in his tone made his words all the more terrifying. The taste of horror was bitter against Johanna’s tongue. Surely these men would not commit such violence against a child.
“Think about it carefully, Miss Templeton. The child’s blood will be on your hands.”
Behind the ruthless cur, lightning slashed across the sky as if to underscore his threat. A clap of thunder roared against Johanna’s ears. A cell-deep warning screamed at her to run from these vile men.
But they’d offered her no alternative. If she refused to go along with their scheme, they’d take what they wanted and her niece would die.
Munro looked ready to pounce, an alley cat sizing up a mouse. He thought her entirely vulnerable. Foolish brute.
She did possess one advantage. As men often did, they’d underestimated her. With the briefest flick of her wrist, she slid one hand along the seam of her skirt, over the folding knife she’d concealed in her pocket. If she needed to defend herself, the element of surprise would work in her favor.
Crash!The rear door slammed into the stone and mortar of the tavern wall. Suddenly, they were no longer alone. A shadowed figure filled the portal, then staggered to the cobbles below.
The devil in the black greatcoat.Bloody perfect. The epithet she’d adopted during her months in London sprang to the tip of her tongue.
As the door creaked shut behind him, he stumbled and pressed a hand to the wall, seeming to steady himself against the rough stones. The pungent aroma of whisky surrounded him like an alcohol-laden fog. His dark mane flopped over his brow, shading his features as effectively as a disguise.
He swatted a handful of renegade strands from his face. His gaze caught Johanna’s.
Eyes bright with surprising clarity met hers. “My love, why are ye leaving me?”
Johanna stared, speechless. This simply could not be happening. With the kidnapper’s henchman ogling her like a tasty morsel, she’d all she could do to keep her wits about her. An amorous drunk was a complication even her cagiest heroine could not have foreseen.
The sot cocked his head, as if awaiting her reply. Eyeing her with the look of a man who’d discovered a long-lost treasure, he lurched toward her, his legs far less steady than the intention behind his pleading gaze. “Come to me, my bonny lass.”
Ross closed one hand over her forearm in an iron grip. No pain, but undeniable power in that hold. “You were instructed to come alone.”
“I do not know this man.” She kept her voice even and controlled, even as her knees threatened to quake. Pity she wasn’t one of her intrepid heroines. Any of her adventurous governesses would know what to do in this situation. But penning villains had not prepared Johanna to face men of this ilk. Still, she had to remain strong. Any show of weakness would bring out their cruelty.
“My employer does not like complications.” Ross gritted the words between his teeth.
A wave of panic rippled through her. He was nearing the end of his patience. If that slender thread did indeed snap, the aftermath would prove disastrous. She steadied her tone, praying the tiny waver in the notes did not betray her fear. “I assure you, I’ve never seen this man before tonight.”
