“You need to rest, Miss Templeton. You have a long day ahead of you. Once you allow yourself to relax, the sedative I administered should ensure at least a few hours’ sleep.”
At her side, the housekeeper wrung her bony hands. Johanna considered her words carefully. She certainly didn’t intend to cause trouble for the matron.
“Very well. If you insist.” If Johanna’s voice betrayed that she’d rather face a nest of vipers than bed down in this house, so be it.
“Ye’ll find the room to yer likin’. The queen’s linens are nae as clean.” Mrs. Duncan’s attention drifted to Johanna’s valise. “Do ye have any clothin’ in that bag?”
Johanna shook her head. “Unfortunately, my traveling case was left behind at an inn. I’d no cause to believe I wouldn’t return for it…until events took a turn for the worse.”
Harrison MacMasters raked a hand through his hair. “Was there anything of significance in your case?”
“Of significance? Perhaps not to you, but I assure you my garments are of great value to me.”
“Aside from your clothing, what were you carrying?”
“Toiletries. Stationery and writing implements. One of my notebooks.”
“You keep a journal?” Interest flavored his otherwise bland tone.
“Of sorts. I find it helpful to record ideas for my novels and such.”
“I’ll send someone to retrieve the case. Your notes may hold some value to the situation.”
“I assure you there’s no intrigue to be found in my scribblings.”
“We can’t be sure until we examine it. The slightest clue might prove vital. You may not have recognized its significance at the time you recorded the thought.”
Connor MacMasters’s boots thudded over the polished floor. “There’s no need to go after the journal. I already have it.”
“You have it?” Comprehension set in, and Johanna’s blood heated. “You. Took. My. Traveling. Bag.”
“Nay.” He shook his dark head. “I left the clothes and niceties behind. I only took what I could use.”
“You have her notes?” Harrison confirmed.
“Aye.”
If Connor MacMasters had turned into a dragon before her eyes, Johanna might’ve been less dumbfounded. The bollocks of the man! “You’ve been following me!”
He nodded. “Since you stepped foot in Scotland.”
“You knew I was coming?”
Another nod. “So did others who aren’t as pleasant as I am.”
“You trailed me to the inn?” She spoke each word slowly, deliberately, as if processing the reality that she’d been a target since she’d left England. “You searched my things?”
“Aye, and a less pleasurable task I’ve seldom faced. Ye might at least have packed something tantalizing to make it worth my time. Sensible to a fault she is,” Connor said with a rueful shake of his head.
“You—” She struggled to find words adequate to convey her fury. “You…coarse…!”
Harrison MacMasters’s jaw had gone rigid. “I don’t give a damn about her underclothes. Did you uncover anything of interest in the journal?”
“That book is for my eyes only,” Johanna protested.
A wry grin hiked the corners of Connor’s mouth. “Do ye read it when ye’re in a mood to sleep? ’Twas all I could do to keep my eyes open. I damn near nodded off before I headed to the tavern.”
The arrogant gleam in his eyes fired her indignation. “Is nothing sacred?”
“Not when I’m chasing after a daft American who thinks she can deal with the likes of Cranston.”
She firmed her jaw. “I’ll have you know I came fully prepared.”
“Are ye talking about that little knife ye carried? Well, that puny blade might’ve made Munro mad, but it’s nae good for more than that. It’s like hunting a boar with a quill. Ye might poke it, but ye’re not going to damage the beast.”
The infuriating Scot was right, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “I would have concluded my business with those men and been on my way had you not interfered,”
A dark brow hiked. “If ye really believe that, ye’re spending too much time with yer nose in a book. Men don’t conveniently dive over cliffs in time to rescue the heroine.”
“You read my notes?” Oh, this man was truly a scoundrel!
“Enough to know ye’re makin’ a mistake if ye think Cranston is willing to negotiate with anyone. He’ll kill ye and the girl soon as he gets his hands on what he wants.”
“Dammit, what did you learn from the journal?” Harrison questioned.
“I didnae have time to study it in detail, but the most obvious conclusion I can make is that Miss Templeton spends far too much time dreaming up men with dark secrets and governesses who are as reckless as she is.”
“I am a writer by trade, Mr. MacMasters. I was perfectly content to live an uneventful life. I’ve little need for adventure and scandalous unmentionables.”
His eyes raked her from head to toe. “And that, Miss Templeton, is a bluidy shame.”
Harrison regarded his brother with a look of weary resignation. So, he was used to Connor MacMasters playing the uncouth scoundrel. “Leave me the journal. I’ll examine it while you get some sleep.”