He held her against his lean, hard length, seeming to draw the very breath from her body. For the moment, her questions retreated. She’d written so many tales of daring heroes, imaginary men spun from dreams of chivalry and the myth of one true love. And now, it seemed a living, breathing knight with a brogue had stepped from the pages of her fantasies. She’d been on her own for so very long. She prided herself on her independent nature, her ability to make short work of problems and take care of herself. She’d faced down every challenge that came her way. Alone. Without a man. So why did the way this Highland stranger marched into her life and acted the part of her protector unleash an entirely unprecedented thrill in her heart?
And still, he held her. The curve of his deliciously wicked mouth intensified, as if he’d read her thoughts. This was foolish. There was no time for a dalliance, much less with a man she didn’t even know. If only his nearness did not ignite her awareness of him. Spreading his heat through her limbs. Stirring embers she’d never even known lay dormant. Tantalizing her with the possibility of more.
Her senses drowned out her mind’s logical protests as his long fingers dipped lower. His touch fueled the budding flames within her core, the hunger for sensation that seemed a momentary insanity.
His other hand traced the curve of her body. Exploring. Teasing.
Searching for a weapon.
Blast the Scot and my own foolish heart.
The realization dowsed the kindling fire as ruthlessly as a blustery downpour. With all the power she could muster, she shoved the heels of her hands hard against his broad shoulders. His restraining arm fell away, and he stepped back, dangling the folding knife between his fingers.
“Aye, ye’re a clever one, all right.” His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “I knew ye’d come armed. And I don’t doubt ye’d use the blade.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Suddenly, he seemed not a gallant hero, but an arrogant, cynical foe. “Indeed.”
He moved back a single step, just enough that she could clear her head. “Ye need to trust me.”
“Unfortunately, I do not see it that way. You’ve only served to complicate my affairs.”
“Complicate your affairs?” He cocked a brow. “I saved yer life.”
“I had matters well in hand.”
He stowed her knife in his coat. “Is that so?”
“Of course. We had an arrangement.”
“Those dogs don’t honor arrangements. They know violence, and they know greed. Nothing more. We need to leave. Now.” He eyed the bag in her hand. “What’s in this, the queen’s jewels?”
Stepping closer, she fought to strip the emotion from her tone, from her features. “In a manner of speaking.”
He reached for the valise. “Whatever ye’ve got in this fancy bag, it’s safer with me.”
The cocky gleam in his eyes might have been appealing if she didn’t feel as though her heart was being torn in half. Of course, he didn’t know about that. He didn’t know about Laurel.
Or did he?
Suspicion snaked through her belly, barbed and ugly. She couldn’t hide her fear, but she refused to retreat again.
“I am afraid I must disagree.”
His eyes flashed. “Ye don’t trust me.”
“Not in the least.”
He inclined his head toward the men splayed on the ground. “Do ye at least trust me more than those two louts?”
“To be perfectly frank, I have no reason to harbor any faith in you. I had dealings with these men—a matter of great urgency. I can only hope the damage your interference has caused is not beyond repair.”
“Any business ye had with the likes of them would only end one way.”
“You’ve no way of knowing the nature of my business with these men, nor what the outcome would be. Even pirates have a code of honor.”
“Those men are not bluidy pirates.” MacMasters flung open the door of the carriage. “Get in and I’ll take us away from this hellhole.”
“No.” She steeled her voice and her spine. “I’m not leaving this place with you.”
“I’m not giving ye a choice.”
“Very well.” With a sigh for effect, she turned as if to enter the coach. “I suppose I’m only wasting precious time avoiding the inevitable.”
MacMasters went to the carriage horse, releasing it from its tether. Finally. The chance she’d needed.
Quietly hoisting herself to the driver’s bench, she snatched up the long gun and stepped down to the pavement. One blow with the heavy weapon had been enough to send Munro into an involuntary slumber. Surely this man’s skull could be no thicker.
MacMasters didn’t turn to look at her as he untangled the horse’s reins. “Ye need to get in the coach. We’ve no time to—”
He tilted his head just as the stock plunged toward him.
“Bollocks.” The word was little more than a grunt.
He jerked away.
Crunch. The gun slammed into his shoulder.
With a harsh exhalation, he whipped around. With one sure motion, he wrenched the weapon from her possession. One large, powerful hand clamped over her wrists. With his strength, he might have brought her pain. Or worse. But he restrained her with an astonishing lack of violence.
A blend of shock and something that looked suspiciously like respect flickered in his eyes. “Jesus, lass, are ye trying to kill me?”
Johanna shook her head. If she’d wanted to kill him, she would have pulled the trigger. Her conscience had made her weak.
She would not make that mistake again.
He held her in an unyielding grasp. “That was a damn fool thing to do.”