The figure buckled and plunged to the ground, unmoving.
Devouring the distance between them, MacMasters reached for her. He guided her toward the far wall of the structure. Stretching an arm over his head, he swept his hand over the rough textured brick.
“Damnation, it must be here.”
As if the words were an incantation, a muted click met his efforts. Johanna’s eyes went wide. The wall shifted. Opened.
He tugged her inside a tomblike chamber. The wall slowly closed behind them. She’d never known such a dank blackness. Terror infused every nerve, and she prayed nothing else occupied the utterly dark cell.
Without a word, MacMasters coiled his fingers around hers and guided her forward. Stumbling over her skirts, she blinked wildly in a futile effort to detect some flicker of light.
“Are we to hide here like rodents?” she murmured.
“Nae. This is a tunnel.”
“A tunnel?”
“Bringing ye here is a matter of last resort. There will be hell t’pay, but ye left me no choice.”
He seemed to count the measured strides. Dipping his head, his low voice brushed her ear. “Stand away in case my brother is less than hospitable.”
He knocked against a wall, a peculiar succession of taps. A door swung open. Lamplight flooded her vision.
Harrison met them at the entry. Wielding a rifle that looked better suited to a hunting expedition than a weapon for defense, he scowled. “You’ve violated security protocol. Have you lost your blasted mind?”
“Ross is tracking her.” MacMasters wasted no time getting to the crux of the issue.
Comprehension washed over his brother’s face. “Hell and damnation, Miss Templeton could have been killed.”
“That’s why I brought her to this bluidy fortress.”
A small nod marked Harrison’s understanding. He led Johanna through the door to a dimly-illuminated chamber. The room was the man’s private armory. Weapons mounted on racks lined all but one wall. Shotguns. Rifles. Pistols. The crossbow mounted in the center of the space brought to mind some warrior of old, defending an ancient castle from a horde of renegades.
Harrison made no move to stow his long gun. Rather, he carried it as he escorted her to the study from which she’d made her unconventional exit. “Thanks to you and your attempt at being an escape artist, I am readying for the defense of this property rather than enjoying a brandy by the fire.”
“I did not ask to be brought here, Dr. MacMasters. Not the first time. Not now.”
“I’m well aware of that. It seems you’ve tapped into my brother’s long-buried chivalrous instincts.”
“Hah!” The word popped between her lips.
MacMasters narrowed his eyes. “Much as I hate to agree with the lass, this has nothing to do with chivalry.”
“Humph.” Harrison marched to the sideboard, poured steaming tea from a carafe into a china cup, and presented it to Johanna. “You look chilled. This will warm you.”
Uttering her appreciation, she placed her valise on a table and accepted the delicate vessel. Tiny, precisely rendered flowers adorned the fine porcelain. How odd that such beauty would catch her eye after the brutality she’d witnessed this night.
She took a sip, then another. The tea—Darjeeling, if she had her guess—trickled down her throat, spreading a welcome warmth through her veins, though it did nothing to ease the trembling of her hands.
Harrison slugged a richly scented amber liquid into a tumbler and downed it in one draught. He met her eyes. “Better?” The single word carried genuine concern she hadn’t expected.
“Yes.”
His gaze swept over her, a quick, surveying glance. “I have one question that puzzles me above all others.”
“And what might that be, Dr. MacMasters?”
“How the bloody hell did you even get those skirts out the window?” The query contained no trace of humor. Rather, exasperation colored his tone.
“Persistence is one of my strong suits.” She echoed the flinty quality of his voice.
Connor MacMasters plowed long fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Aye, just what we need. A persistent lass who’s attracted the interest of men like Ross and Munro. What in the name of Zeus were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?”
Johanna hiked her chin. “I am not a prisoner and will not be treated as one.”
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. Was that a flash of wry amusement in his gaze? “Next time, I suggest you use the front door.”
“An excellent suggestion.” She took another sip.
“What do they want with you, Miss Templeton? You need to tell us the truth.” Harrison sounded so reasonable. But she hesitated to reveal the truth to these men.
“I have a contract to fulfill.” Each word stuck to her tongue. Even such a vague explanation seemed too much to offer.