The Highlander Who Loved Me (Highland Hearts #1)
Tara Kingston
To Greg…
With you by my side, I’ve had the courage to chase my dreams. Love you!
Chapter One
London, September 1891
The master of Alardyce Castle was a madman. Or so the whispers warned.
Of course, it went without saying that the mysterious lord of the manor was tall, dark, and handsome, with a flashing gaze that betrayed his desire for the governess in his employ. Pity he’d been driven to the edge of sanity by an unseen evil.
Smiling to herself, Johanna Templeton tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook. Leo Alardyce had proven to be a fascinatingly tortured hero, precisely the sort of man an innocent, utterly devoted governess would save from his own self-destruction. Her London editor would no doubt be pleased with the perils Miss Cavendish braved in the name of true love.
Insistent rapping at the front door drifted along the corridor to her study. Within moments, her ever-efficient housekeeper’s voice carried through the sturdy walls to Johanna’s ears. Muffled as the low tones were, she could only make out a scattering of words. Perhaps Mrs. Mitchell had expected a delivery. With Johanna’s niece and brother-in-law away in Scotland, she had no reason to think a visitor had come to call.
Her attention wandered to the gilt-edged portrait on the wall beside her desk. Her sister had been lovely, her honey-gold hair swept into a loose chignon. Cynthia had been happy then, before the illness that cut short her vibrant life. Johanna’s gaze lingered on her niece, the darling, bright-eyed girl who’d claimed a piece of her heart. Laurel had been away for little more than a fortnight, but it seemed far longer. How Johanna missed the girl’s mischief. How empty the house seemed without the sound of her laughter.
Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it. The child’s father had taken her on holiday. Surely they’d return soon.
The click of heels against wood preceded the housekeeper’s appearance in the doorway to Johanna’s study. Her mouth stretched taut, the matron seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat, perhaps two, before crossing the threshold to present Johanna with an elegantly engraved calling card.
“Miss Templeton, there’s someone here to see you.”
Johanna glanced at the card. Mrs. John MacInnis. The name was familiar. The widow’s late husband and Johanna’s brother-in-law had once engaged in business. The arrangement had ended badly, though Mrs. MacInnis had offered her condolences following Cynthia’s funeral. Nearly a year had passed since that bleak day. How very odd that the widow had now come to call.
“Please send her in,” Johanna said, placing the card on her desk.
The lean, dour-faced woman brushed past Mrs. Mitchell. With her silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun and a mourning dress that reached to her chin, she might well have been a character from the pages of Johanna’s latest novel. She came to Johanna, leaving a scant arm’s length between them.
“Miss Templeton, I have a matter of some urgency to discuss.” She slanted Mrs. Mitchell a pointed glance. “Privacy is of the utmost importance.”
With a curt nod and an icy glare toward Mrs. MacInnis, the housekeeper took her leave. As the door closed soundlessly behind Mrs. Mitchell, Johanna motioned her guest to a plush chair.
“Please, take a seat. I’ll pour you a cup of tea.”
The widow’s mouth thinned to a slash. “There’s no time… I cannot take the chance…” She dropped her gaze to the Aubusson carpet for a long moment before meeting Johanna’s eyes. “Your brother-in-law…he’s gone out of the country. To Scotland.”
Something in the widow’s tone set Johanna’s nerves on edge. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. “Indeed, Mr. Abbott has gone on holiday.”
Eleanor MacInnis narrowed her piercing gray eyes. “He lied to you. He had dealings in the Highlands, matters of a most nefarious nature.”
How very peculiar. Where had the widow come by such a bizarre notion? Johanna slowly shook her head. Best to be gentle with the distraught woman. Heaven only knew, after her husband’s tragic accident, that Mrs. MacInnis had good reason to be unsettled. “I am afraid you’re mistaken.”
Johanna hadn’t believed it possible, but the widow’s lips drew even more taut as her attention darted over the bookshelves. “My husband was a collector of antiquities. Those relics were his life…and his death.”
“Mrs. MacInnis, I don’t understand—”
The widow caught Johanna’s hand in hers. “It must be here. In this house. It has to be.” Her voice was low, controlled, yet tinged with desperation. Had she gone mad with grief?
“What is it you seek? Please, you must explain.”