Page 71 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
Connor’s forest-green gaze penetrated her defenses. When he looked at her, the doubt in his eyes shook her to the core. He didn’t believe her. Not quite.
“Tell me what the conniving cheat told ye, Johanna. Whatever it is, ye can trust me.”
Johanna studied him, keeping her expression deliberately placid. “I can trust no one with the information I have been entrusted with. No one.”
He folded his arms over his broad chest. “Ye know I will not betray ye or the bairn. Ye must tell me what ye know.”
“No. There is no other option.” Johanna pulled in a steadying breath. “Cranston expects that I will deliver the ransom. I suspect he knows about the letter.”
“So I’m to believe there’s no choice—ye must go to that blackguard? And all because ye can recite some blasted secret code—a code I cannot confirm exists because you will not reveal it to me?”
“That is correct, Mr. MacMasters.”
His scowl darkened. “I’d tell ye what I think, but I wouldn’t want to offend a lady’s ears.”
She cocked her chin. He would not intimidate her. “I must find my niece. You will not stop me.”
“Ye think ye will make it to Cranston unscathed? God’s teeth, he’s not inviting ye to take tea and biscuits with him. Ye dinnae ken what he is capable of.”
“I am well aware the man is vile and without conscience. But that changes nothing.”
Emotion flared in eyes dark as molten jade. Anger. And something more, as cryptic as the symbols in the damnable book. “And ye insist on putting yerself within his reach?”
She held his gaze. “I will rescue my niece. With you. Or without you. You can take that as a vow.”
He watched her for a long moment, an eternity, or so it seemed. Reaching for a decanter on the desk, he poured whisky in a crystal glass and downed it. “I’ll deliver ye to the jackal.” He pinned her with those green eyes of his. “But it will be on my terms.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Johanna saw the resistance flickering in Connor’s eyes. He still regarded her with suspicion. Not surprising, really. But she’d planted the possibility in his mind, the chance that she possessed knowledge of the blasted stone that he did not. Like a burr beneath his saddle, the need to discover the truth would bedevil him until he had his answer.
Even so, her stomach twisted in knots. He’d been undeniably courageous, protecting her at every turn. But she could not reveal the code. That potentially crucial bit of information was the only advantage she possessed. By all rights, she should not have disclosed its existence until she could use it as a bargaining chip with Laurel’s kidnapper.
What choice had Connor given her? She had to convince him she was indispensable. Laurel needed her. Even if he rescued the girl from Cranston’s clutches, she’d be absolutely terrified if Johanna was not there to reassure her.
Pity she had no practical skills to employ against the blackguards surrounding Cranston. She’d no experience wielding a dagger, and truth be told, she’d fired a pistol twice in her lifetime. Oh, she’d be capable of pulling the trigger, but her accuracy was up for debate. Even seduction was not a talent she possessed. If Connor’s resistance to her limited charms was any indication, she’d have little chance of bending Cranston or his henchmen to her will with batted lashes and a feminine sway of her hips.
The only asset she possessed at this moment was the knowledge Mr. Abbott had entrusted to her. Though Connor wasn’t entirely convinced that the code was more than a figment of her imagination, he wouldn’t leave her behind. Not now. At the moment, that was all that really mattered.
Lowering her gaze, Johanna moved to the desk. “Sherry?” she asked, touching a crystal decanter filled with burgundy liquid.
“Aye.”
She half-filled a small glass and took a sip. The rich, potent warmth eased her nerves. If only Connor wouldn’t look at her with that perceptive, intelligent gaze that seemed to strip away her mental armor.
He turned to the shelves and pulled a tome from a shelf an arm’s length higher than his head. “I’m going after the stone.”
“There’s no time. We must—”
He removed another volume. A mechanical groan rippled through the room, a dull protest like the grind of iron gears in need of oiling. Johanna cut off her protest, gaping in amazement as the shelves shuddered. A massive volume trembled on the shelf, quaking to the edge until it plummeted to the floor near Connor’s feet. The shelves retreated back, disappearing into the recesses behind the wall. With another fierce metallic moan, a massive cabinet marked with a combination dial emerged. The vault slid into the span the bookcase had occupied and settled with a thud.
Offering no explanation, he manipulated the lock. The door swung open.
Good heavens! She’d never seen such an armory. Long guns, revolvers, palm-sized pistols. Mechanized weapons she could not even identify. All at Connor’s disposal.
He coolly removed a rifle, appearing to test its weight. Light gleamed off its polished stock. He met her questioning gaze. “The stone is our best chance. Without it, we have no leverage. Cranston won’t harm the girl. Not while he believes he has something to lose. But if ye have nothing to barter, he’ll show no mercy.”
“But the book—”
