Page 72 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“The book may be more dangerous than the stone. There’s been no time to determine if other codes are hidden within the text. But one thing is clear—someone inscribed that book—someone who knew about the Demon’s Heart.”
Her heart lurched into her throat. For a breath, words would not come. She would not leave this place without the ransom. Finally, she managed to speak. “Cranston has made his demands quite clear.”
“Ye will deliver the book to him, but first we must secure the stone. He cannot be allowed to get his hands on both.”
Her pulse slowed its thunderous beat. “Very well. I understand your strategy.”
He propped the long gun against the desk. “Ye need to trust me, Johanna.”
Taking a pistol and a derringer from the vault, he placed them on the desk and turned back to the armory. He selected one of three elegant walking sticks. With what appeared a careless motion, his thumb ran along an intricate carving on the ebony wood. The rod split, revealing several inter-connected pieces. With a few deft movements, Connor expanded the components and transformed the cane into what appeared to be a crossbow. With a hint of a smile, he displayed the intricately engineered weapon.
“Most impressive,” she said. “Designed by your kin, no doubt.”
“We cannae take credit for this. One of our associates in Edinburgh thought it up.”
“I presume you know how to use it.”
“Aye.” His expression softened as he looked at her for a long moment. He set the crossbow with the other weapons. “It will go better for both of us if ye have a bit of faith.”
“I’ve learned to rely on my own backbone.”
He leaned closer, the look in his eyes challenging everything she believed true. “Is that so?”
A dark little laugh escaped her. “I’ve never found a man worthy of my confidence, Mr. MacMasters.”
“That’s a bluidy shame.” He swept a fingertip over her cheek, brushing the sensitive flesh of the lips he’d kissed so ardently that morning. “Well, Miss Templeton, I suppose I’ll have to prove ye wrong.”
…
Johanna Templeton was going to be his undoing. If his cock got its way, Connor would have her in his arms…in his bed…before they even went after the damned ruby. But it was the desire she stirred deep within that troubled him. Being near Johanna had unleashed a fierce need. Not only for her luscious mouth, but for her trust, for her respect. When he was around her, he wanted to be her hero. A blasted knight charging to the rescue. He’d never claimed a chivalrous bone in his body. And this was a damned inconvenient time for such ridiculous notions to fill his brain.
Heroes took risks smart men didn’t. Heroes fought with their instincts, not their intellect. Heroes sacrificed their own safety to protect a lass like Johanna.
Heroes died.
God above, he’d never been a coward. He’d squared off against evil men, and he’d won the fight. He’d never shirked from harm’s way.
But he’d faced danger on his own terms. Calculating his odds. Assessing the shrewdest strategy to achieve his objective and walk away. He’d never rushed headlong into it.
Until he’d caught his first glimpse of Johanna.
She didn’t want to put her trust in him. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her, if he were in her shoes. A bairn’s life was at stake. In Johanna’s heart, that wee lass took precedence over recovering a long-hidden relic.
Damn it to Hades, he was an operative who’d dedicated years of his life to recovering Scotland’s ancient treasures. The child’s well-being should be a secondary concern. But it wasn’t. He felt a driving urgency to rescue the girl, to see her safe within Johanna’s arms. To see the worry erased from Johanna’s lovely face.
He’d left Johanna in the study after instructing her to prepare to depart immediately after the noon meal. They’d get food in their bellies, and then, they’d leave for the familiar location indicated on that map. If his interpretation of the faded symbols was correct, his forefathers had hidden the Demon’s Heart somewhere around Loch Ness.
Within the stables, he prepared the horses for their journey. His brother pushed open the door. The panel swung hard on its hinges, crashing into the wall behind it.
“What’s got yer blood boilin’?” Gerard was surly as ever.
“Not a damn thing.” Placing the saddle blanket over Phantom’s broad back, Connor shot his brother a glance.
“I’d sooner believe Uncle Archie’s tales of shagging the queen than that heap of manure.”
“Believe what ye want. This is nothing to ye.”
Gerard rubbed his jaw. “I deserve to know why my brother looked ready to take my bluidy head off because I looked at a pretty lass.”
