The Highlander Who Loved Me (Highland Hearts #1)

The big man clamped his paw on Johanna’s shoulder. A leering grin marked the man’s ruddy face, his grotesque smile proudly displaying festering nubs. “Come with me, lass.”

She jerked away. “I assure you, it is not necessary to put your hands on me.”

“Leave her be,” Ross said in a tone of quiet command. “You know how I feel about theatrics.”

Johanna kept an iron-clad hold on her valise. Pulling in a slow inhalation, she came to her feet. “When you are ready to make the exchange, you may contact me at the MacBride Hotel.”

Ross slowly shook his head. “An ill-considered choice, Miss Templeton. Perhaps, you don’t value the child’s life as much as we’d believed.”

“I’ve come a long way. I’m not so foolish as to hand over the ransom when you have not brought my niece to me. I expected to bring her home. Tonight.”

“If you leave, you may never see her again. Will you be able to live with that?” So very calm and controlled, that evil voice.

Terror carved a jagged wound in her heart. “Please, bring her to me. Our negotiation will be at an end, and we may both go on our way.”

“Negotiation?” The word seemed to play on his tongue. “I am afraid you are mistaken. This is not a negotiation. We will obtain that volume. One word from me, and Munro will wrench it from your hands. I do believe he would appreciate an excuse to hear your bones snap. Fortunately for you, my employer would prefer to obtain your cooperation rather than employ violence.”

She steeled her spine. “I am prepared to surrender the book. I have complied with his instructions in every way.”

A half-smile touched his mouth. “Surely you did not believe that would be all there was to it? You were entrusted with a rare and valuable book, an item that by all rights should be in the possession of my employer. He has questions…questions only you can answer.”

Her heart raced, but she steadied her voice. “I am afraid that he will be disappointed. I was not privy to any secrets. I simply watched over my niece after her mother took ill.”

“What you know and do not know is of no concern to me. Come with me now, and there will be no trouble.”

She counted five heartbeats, then another. “If I refuse to accompany you?”

“I believe you already know the answer to that.” He pinned her with his cold, unwavering gaze. “The only question is whether or not the brat will live. And that, Miss Templeton, is up to you.”

A primal warning crept over Johanna’s skin and weighted her limbs. Leaving with these men was a dangerous proposition. No one in the tavern would notice her departure. By the end of the evening, no one would even remember she’d been in the establishment. She could disappear, and no one would be the wiser.

But like a chess master, the smooth-voiced gentleman had achieved his checkmate. He’d left her no option. No way out. These unscrupulous blackguards had a prize more valuable to her than a sultan’s treasure.

She had to get to Laurel. No matter the cost.



Connor MacMasters swirled the whisky in the tumbler, watching the amber liquid slosh as he mentally mapped out his next move. The barkeep shot him a look, filled a tankard with ale, and slid it down the counter to a lean, bearded fellow. He eyed Connor again, seeming to question why a drunk who’d staggered into the tavern on legs that could barely hold him wasn’t actually drinking.

Connor put the glass to his mouth and took a hearty swig, then another. That would do for now. He had to keep his faculties sharp. God only knew what he’d be called upon to do if the pretty lass in the burgundy suit actually left with those no-good bastards.

One look at the woman, and he’d known she was trouble. An American, or so he’d been told. A writer of penny dreadfuls, of all things. J. M. Templeton. Johanna, by birth. He didn’t have an age, but with her sweetly rounded face, she couldn’t be much past five and twenty. Ringlets of reddish-brown hair framed her delicate features. He’d first spotted her beneath the noonday sun as she’d disembarked at the station in Inverness. She’d marched right past him, clutching a leather satchel, her shoulders squared, her strides brisk and determined.

Tall for a woman, she filled out her proper traveling suit in all the right places. Not buxom by any means, but her curves would certainly draw a man’s eye. God knows they’d got his attention. Now if only his cock would stay out of it and let him think.

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