Page 82 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“That was a verra long time ago. Ye’ve more experience now. Ye’ve attained some wisdom, enough to know when ye need to let someone else take the reins.”
“If ye’re trying to tell me to turn this mission over to ye, ye’re wasting yer time.”
“Damnation, Connor, ye cannae chance that bluidy book falling into Cranston’s hands. We cannae risk the bastard locating theDeamhan’sCridhe. God help us if he gets his hands on the cursed stone.”
“Bugger it, Gerard. Do ye think me a fool? I know my duty. But I willnae abandon my promise. I will not abandon the bairn. Not even to yer efforts at a rescue.”
“Ah, yer head’s as hard as the stone in these walls.”
“What do ye expect me to do? Walk away? Cast away my responsibility while you put your neck on the line? If there’s blood to be spilled, it will be mine.”
Gerard’s jaw went hard, taut as granite. “Verra well, brother. I understand there’s no convincing ye to step aside. But ye will still need my help. Ye cannae argue that.”
Connor leaned against the small dresser chest, pressing his hands against the wood until his knuckles whitened. How would Maw go on if she lost another son—and all because Connor had undertaken a mission far more complicated than he’d ever envisioned?
This was not his brother’s war to wage. But the headstrong ox would not be convinced.
He shifted Gerard a glance. His brother was an expert marksman. He knew the territory better than most. He’d be an asset to his quest.
Damn it to hell, he didn’t want to involve Gerard in this. His brother knew the risks. Even so, if something were to happen…how could he ever live with himself?
But he had no time to dwell on that now.
He had to focus on Johanna and rescuing the child she adored.
…
Johanna awoke to streams of daylight peeping through the curtains and the crackle of freshly stoked flames in the fireplace. Warmth washed over her. Connor had loved her thoroughly the night before. Tiny aftershocks of his passion continued to stir deep within her belly, a delicious, honeyed hunger.
Her lids still half-closed, she rolled onto her side, confirming what her instincts had warned. Connor was not there. Somehow, she’d known he wouldn’t be. A rumpled pillow and the imprint of his body upon the cool sheets confirmed he’d spent the night with her, loving her, holding her when their passion was fulfilled and sleep pulled them into a sweet oblivion.
Where had he gone before the dawn?
Pushing herself up, she left the bed and padded over the chilly floor. The water from the pitcher was cold. So frigid, her teeth nearly chattered while she washed with a cloth. Donning her combination, she stood before the hearth for a moment, warming herself, then slipped into the plain ensemble she’d worn the day before. With brisk strokes, she brushed a bit of road dust from the skirt. She carried another dress, proper and clean, in a traveling bag Maggie had put together for her journey, but she’d save that garment for the ugly business with Cranston.
A small table clock ticked away the minutes. Where in blazes had the man gone? Surely Connor hadn’t left her behind, sleeping soundly after a passion-filled night in his arms.
She struggled to banish the notion, but fear clawed through the wafer-thin layer of trust. Even as tiny talons gripped her heart, she fought to reassure herself. Connor would not deceive her. He would not take her to bed only to desert her. He would not be so cruel.
Blast it all, she was not about to stay cooped up in the room, allowing her anxious heart to get the better of her. With any luck, she’d spot Connor in the innkeeper’s kitchen helping himself to Brenna’s fresh-baked scones.
She tugged on her stockings and shoes, locked the door behind her, and made her way through the narrow, dimly-lit corridor. Slivers of morning light streamed through the shuttered window at the end of the hall. Once she made it to the spiral staircase, the sconce on the wall would provide more illumination.
As she neared the landing, the low murmur of men’s voices caught her attention. She followed the sound to a chamber set apart from the neat line of rooms along the corridor. Connor’s rough burr drew her attention, the voice so dear to her. Yet, oddly harsh. She couldn’t make out his words, muffled as they were by the sturdy door. But he was angry. Each quiet utterance seemed clipped between his teeth, barely restraining his disgust.
A nagging inner voice urged her to turn around and head to the sanctuary of their chamber, but she had to know what had set his mood so fierce. She tiptoed closer. Blurred fragments met her ears. There was no mistaking Gerard’s distinctive rumble. His voice had taken a hard edge. The chunks she could discern cut through her, dagger-sharp.
Bluidy book. Deamhan’sCridhe. Cursed stone.
Connor’s reply was coarse and blunt.Bugger it. Duty. Abandon the child.
Dear God. Would he betray her after what they’d shared?
Crouching before the door, she peeped through the keyhole. A dark blur met her gaze. Drat the luck, they’d blocked the tiny opening. Of course, the men had thought to prevent anyone from spying on them.
Treacherous, conniving scoundrels.
Connor had counted on her to remain blissfully oblivious to his intentions, all the while seducing away her doubts with his touch. If the deceitful cur believed she’d lie meekly in a room that still carried the essence of their lovemaking while he plotted and schemed, he had underestimated her. She was made of stronger stuff than that. A night of passion had left her neither addled nor docile.
