His brother’s mouth firmed into a stern line. “You’ve no need to trouble yourself about your possessions. The bag and its contents are secure. As a physician, I must advise you to allow the draught I administered to do its work. The solution has quelled the pain. I can see that much on your features. But you need to sleep.”
For the first time, she noticed the bandage. Pristine white, neatly wrapped and tied, directly over the spot where the leg-of-mutton sleeve of her ivory blouse had puffed. “There is a slight throb, but it is not overly troubling. But…I’ve no intention of sleeping. I need that case.” If only her eyelids weren’t so heavy, her voice so strained.
“The medicine has made you crave slumber. Don’t fight it, Miss Templeton. Rest will prove restorative.”
She pushed herself up with the heels of her hands. Her knees rebelled as a fresh ripple of pain shot through her upper arm. She plopped back onto the cushion. “You don’t understand…”
The world felt as if it had slowed, just a bit. She fought the urge to close her eyes. It wasn’t like her to laze about, regardless of the circumstances. Devil take this man and his medicine. “I’ve urgent matters I must attend to… I must be on my way.”
He slowly shook his head. “You’re in no condition to be going anywhere.”
Why didn’t this man understand? “What’s in that case…it’s a matter of life…and death.”
He offered a nod and clasped one of her hands in his. Nothing sensual in that touch. No, this press of his skin to hers was gentle. Reassuring. Perhaps even pleasant. But no awareness infused the contact, no sense of instinctive recognition like that which pulsed through the slightest brush of MacMasters’s fingertips.
“Whatever is in that case, it can wait,” the doctor said with practiced patience. “You’ve lost some blood. You must regain your strength.”
“I’m strong enough…to leave. I need my valise. I don’t know you or your brother, if that’s even who he really is.”
He swept small, soothing circles over the back of her hand with his thumb. His touch comforted her, just as her older brother had eased her childish fears during lightning storms so many years ago.
A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “In that case, it’s high time I rectified the situation. My name is Harrison MacMasters. I completed my medical studies in Glasgow. This is my residence. And my brother, Connor—” He glanced toward the open doorway as thuds against the wood announced the devil’s return.
MacMasters strode through the doorway. Fixing her with a stare, he dangled her satchel between his fingers. “Men tried to kill me tonight to get to this case. Why?”
Harrison shot him a glare. “This is no time for inquiries.”
“The hell it’s not.” MacMasters hoisted a wingchair from the corner and plopped it beside the settee, as effortlessly as if he’d lifted a child’s stool.
The vee between Harrison MacMasters’s brows deepened. “You’ve picked a damn peculiar time to rearrange the furniture. I’d appreciate you leaving everything in one piece.”
MacMasters ignored his brother’s statement. He settled his large body in the chair, leaned forward, and set his attention squarely on Johanna. His gaze seemed to cut into her, exposing the fear and determination rampaging through her veins.
“Are ye goin’ to tell me the truth, or shall I find out for myself?”
Harrison came to his feet. At his full height, he was an imposing figure. His lean-muscled strength would certainly give a thinking man pause before launching an attack. But his eyes did not glimmer with danger as the devil’s did, and he could not conceal the air of civilization that cloaked his words and expressions.
“Miss Templeton needs to rest.” The physician’s husky brogue had grown more pronounced. Was that anger she detected in his voice?
“I’m not asking her to toss a bluidy caber. Three sons of bitches wanted me dead tonight. I need to know why.”
Harrison cocked a brow. “Only three this time? I’d say that’s an improvement.”
“Bah.” MacMasters waved his brother away. “Tell me the truth, lass.”
Johanna pressed her palms against the cushions to steady herself. “Why are you asking me? Am I to believe you haven’t rifled through my possessions?”
“If you’re saying I’ve opened your satchel, ye’re right,” he said without hesitation. “Men were prepared to kill for what’s in that bag. I need to know what they’re after.”
She cocked her chin. A show of defiance might well put him in his place. “In that case, you already know what I’m carrying. I presume you were able to read it.”
His scowl might have made a pirate captain proud. “Tell me what you’ve hidden in that bag.”
Willing herself to stand, she gripped the arm of the settee and came to her feet. Her legs wobbled, drat the luck.
Harrison MacMasters gently took her elbow, steadying her. “You’re still weak. And the medicine I gave you is going to make you feel weary. Please, sit.”
Defeat washed over her, and she sank back to the cushion. “I must be on my way. I do not wish to sound overly dramatic, nor overly imaginative. But this truly is a matter of life and death.”