Page 74 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
He summoned a practical objection. “Surely Cranston knows yer face.”
“I’ll be in disguise. Wrinkles, whiskers, and a balding pate will go a long way to camouflage my appearance.” Gerard headed to the door, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “It’s settled, brother. I’ll be there when ye need me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Highland sunset was indeed a glorious sight to behold. The beauty of the waning sun streaming over the rugged landscape seemed a tonic for Johanna’s rampaging nerves. Within her heart, hope mingled with fear. By the next eve, they should have the stone in their possession. And then, she’d go after Laurel.
The poor dear. How frightened she must be. Johanna could only pray that the girl’s captors had not been so cruel as to abuse a defenseless child.
Connor brought his mount to a halt before a quaint, homey inn, The Loch’s Haven, and she followed suit, gently pulling back on the reins of her horse. The mare was indeed a fine beast, even-tempered and a joy to ride.
“We’ll bed down here tonight and search for the stone after daybreak,” he said, swinging out of the saddle. He came to Johanna, encircled her waist with his hands, and lifted her from the mount. Amazing, how he held her with such restrained power, even as he bore her weight as though she were a child.
Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he escorted her inside. A fresh-faced young woman greeted him with a warmth borne of familiarity and a smile that reached her amber eyes. “Why, Connor MacMasters, I’d no idea yer bones were still in these parts. ’Tis good to see ye, my friend.”
“Brenna McKittrick, ye’re as lovely as the last time I laid eyes on ye.” Turning to Johanna, he made his introductions, adding, “We’ll be needing a room for the night.”
“One?” The single syllable popped from Johanna’s mouth like an exclamation.
“Aye.” His sidelong glance betrayed a glimmer of amusement.
Johanna expected the innkeeper to express her objection, but Brenna threw him a wink. “Do try to control yerself, my dear.”
Connor met Johanna’s frosty gaze. “I won’t leave ye unguarded tonight,” he said, making no effort to conceal his words from the innkeeper.
Out of the corner of her eye, Johanna noticed Brenna’s knowing nod. So, the innkeeper was acquainted with the nature of Connor’s business. Was she also involved in this hunt for the stone?
“I’ve got a fine room for ye.” Brenna walked behind a massive desk and made a show of selecting a key from the pegs on the wall. “Finn will be eager to talk to ye.”
Connor pocketed the key. “Where is that sot ye married?”
“He’s in the barn. I expect he’ll be finished soon enough. I’ve got a fine meat stew on the fire now, and dinner will be served soon as he’s cleaned himself up. I hope that suits ye.”
Connor nodded. “That should warm our bellies. Let him know I’m here, will ye?”
“Aye,” Brenna said. “He’ll be glad to see ye’re still in one piece.”
Holding her tongue, Johanna followed Connor to the stairs. As she neared the top, another traveler thudded across the entry. Connor stilled. His attention snapped to the door. She craned her neck to glimpse the object of his interest.
A large man shuffled across the floor, hauling a ratty carpetbag that had seen far better days. Broad of frame beneath a worn tweed coat, he trudged toward the innkeeper. Gray hair beneath his flat-brimmed black cap hung in wind-whipped disarray, while the slight hunch to his shoulders added a look of weariness. Thick spectacles blurred the color and shape of his eyes. Quite a convincing disguise, all in all. Pity Gerard hadn’t thought to don a different pair of boots. Johanna recognized the scuffed brown leather from their first meeting. At some point, she’d need to speak to him about that. In matters of intrigue, that tiny detail might be crucial. She’d foiled a villain in one of her tales with precisely such a gaffe.
“Nothing to worry about,” Connor said, his voice guarded. “A traveling peddler from the looks of him.”
Johanna offered a nod. No need to let him know she was on to his brother’s masquerade. Not yet. Not until she ferreted out his reasons for concealing Gerard’s presence.
“Are we safe here?” she questioned, studying his features.
“Lass, there’s no safety outside of Dunnhaven. Not now.” He caught her hand in his. “Not ’til I put Cranston in his grave.”
…
Connor surveyed their quarters with a swift, practiced appraisal. The corner room was small and spartan but clean. A chest bearing a pitcher and basin. A bed, covered with a patchwork quilt in shades of red and black. A fireplace, banked with a small fire and an ample supply of aged wood, warmed the room.
His attention lingered on the intricate pattern on the quilt as his instincts betrayed him. An image of Johanna lying over the patchwork, her luscious curves bared to his eyes, flashed in his thoughts. Not giving a damn about Connor’s determination to restrain his impulses, his cock responded. Hard as a copper’s nightstick, that rebellious rod of his.
Damnation. He had to get a grip on himself. What the hell had come over him? Dragging in a low breath, he turned to the real Johanna—prim dress, wind-blown hair, flushed cheeks, and those lips he wanted to kiss more than he wanted food in his belly.
She was a woman he wasn’t meant to have. Johanna was a lady. She deserved a man who’d love her, a man who’d provide home and hearth, a man who’d hold her in his arms every night. He could offer her stolen hours of pleasure, nothing more. No promises. No vows. No tomorrow.
