Bound and gagged, the thugs could only mutter behind the stout cloth covering their mouths.
“Come, Johanna.” Connor’s low burr seemed to caress her name. He caught her hand in his. “We’ll find the bairn. After all this, I am looking forward to making the young lass’s acquaintance.”
…
“Auntie!” The girl’s joyous shout was a tonic to Connor’s weary brain. A smile crinkling her freckle-covered nose, the bright-eyed sprite rushed to Johanna. The young lass was her aunt in miniature. Had he not known better, he would’ve sworn the child was Johanna’s own daughter.
The girl took one look at him and stopped in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed. Suspicious, yet unafraid. “Why did you come for us?”
“We’re here to bring ye home, lass.” Connor held his voice low and calm.
The girl shook her head. “You came after the stone. Like the rest.”
“What do you know of the stone?” Johanna asked gently.
“I heard them all talking about it…about its magic.”
“It has no magic,” Connor said, matter-of-fact. “The only thing magical is how much yer aunt loves ye. She found ye, and now, ye’re going home.”
Tears welled in the child’s eyes. She scrubbed a fist over her face, as if willing herself not to cry. “They killed Papa.”
Connor touched a finger to the girl’s dark curls. He struggled for the right words to comfort her. A small dagger twisted in his chest. Blast it, this shouldn’t be so bluidy hard.
“I am sorry,” he managed finally. “No wee lass should have to lose her da.”
The girl sniffled, scrunching her face tighter. “Why did you help us?”
“Mr. MacMasters is a friend,” Johanna said. A single tear streaked down her cheek. “A very brave, very trustworthy friend.”
Johanna’s words seemed high praise. He’d done what he’d come to do. He’d protected her and the child. And he’d ensured the stone would not fall into evil hands.
And soon, he’d watch as Johanna walked away. From the Highlands. From him.
A fist Goliath might’ve wielded dug into his gut. Someday, if he lived long enough, he’d curse himself for a fool. He should do whatever it might take to keep her at his side.
Johanna enfolded the girl in her arms, holding her tight as sobs wracked the child’s body. The tender sight dug the invisible fist deeper into his belly. God knew he wanted Johanna. But the bairn needed a mother. She needed family.
She needed Johanna.
And her family home lay far from the Highlands.
Devil take it, he couldn’t afford to act the moon-eyed fool. His duty was rooted in the Highlands. He could not allow longings he’d never permitted himself to take the reins of his existence.
He’d ensure Johanna and Laurel’s safe transport to London. And then, he’d plunge himself into the next mission until the craving for Johanna Templeton became nothing but a faded memory.
Damn shame he didn’t believe the day would ever come.
…
Hours later, Johanna stroked her fingers through Laurel’s unruly strands, gently soothing her as they sat before a roaring fire. The inn had been a welcoming sight. Connor had seen Johanna and Laurel to the safe haven while Gerard stood guard over Cranston’s henchmen until Finn and his operatives could see the blackguards to justice.
Laurel clutched the scrap of paper Johanna had salvaged from her father’s last correspondence and concealed in her corset throughout those desperate days when she fought for the child’s safe return. Tears brimmed in the child’s eyes as she ran a fingertip along the edge of the torn paper, as if to reassure herself that she was not dreaming.
“My darling girl, you are more precious to me than any gem. You are the treasure of my heart. I will always love you, my sweet Laurel.” In the child’s hushed tones, the words were even more heartbreaking than they were on the paper. Richard Abbott had known he likely would not survive crossing Geoffrey Cranston and the countess. He’d entrusted Johanna with his final words to his daughter, just as he’d entrusted her with Laurel’s life.
Johanna swallowed against the bitter lump in her throat. “Your father loved you very much.”
With a sniffle, Laurel nodded, holding the frayed slip of paper as if it were a priceless treasure. She took a gulp of air. “He knew…he knew you’d come for me.”
Johanna wove her fingers through Laurel’s curls, searching for the right words. With a squeak of the door, Brenna entered the room, bearing a silver tray laden with tea and biscuits, and seated herself by the hearth. Johanna took a bite of biscuit and encouraged Laurel to eat. The girl had lost some of the rounded sweetness in her face during her captivity. Physically, she appeared unharmed, but the trauma of her ordeal reflected in her eyes. She’d need an abundance of gentleness and stability to strip away the fear in her gaze.