A heavy rap upon the front door of the townhouse seemed to punctuate MacMasters’s matter-of-fact pronouncement, even as the single word echoed in Johanna’s thoughts. Revenge. So, this was not a mere treasure hunt for the Highlander. His involvement in her quest to get to Cranston was personal. Intensely so. She should pursue the issue, learn the root of his motives. But he’d turned away, watching as Mrs. Duncan ushered in the caller. There’d be time later, while they were on the road, to glean more of the Scot’s secrets.
“’Tis high time ye brought yer arse here, Fergus.” MacMasters folded his arms over his chest and stared daggers at the scarecrow of a man who entered the parlor.
For his part, the old gent marched into the room as if he were master of the house. Leaning his grizzled body against the archway, he shot MacMasters a scowl. “Ye’re damned lucky I pried myself outta bed this mornin’. Leavin’ behind a warm, sweet lass t’deal with the likes of you wasnae easy. But I gather ye’re needin’ my services.”
Services, indeed. Johanna hazarded a guess the driver’s stock in trade boasted substantially more violent expertise than taking the reins of a carriage. Judging from the crevices that etched his face, he’d survived several decades of his exploits. A tweed coat and black trousers hung loose on the man’s lanky frame. Beneath the coat, tell-tale bulges betrayed a shoulder holster and pistols. At his hip, a large knife in a sheath hung from a thick leather strap. He’d come prepared for more than maneuvering a coach through the Highlands. He’d come prepared for battle.
Humor flashed in MacMasters’s eyes. “Sweet lass, eh? Did this one have a tooth in her head?”
“I couldnae tell ye. In the dark, I cannae say that I gave a damn.” Fergus turned his attention to Johanna. Tipping his flat-brimmed cap, he offered a craggy smile. His gaze lingered. “I trust those widow’s weeds are a disguise.”
“Ye’re looking at the bereaved widow of Alastair MacMasters.”
Confusion shadowed the old man’s rough-carved features. “Who the hell might that be? I’ve known every MacMasters in these parts goin’ back more than fifty years.”
Connor winked. “The poor dead sot’s the long-lost offspring of my conniving mind.”
“I should’ve known there’d be a woman in the midst of this endeavor. But they won’t be looking fer a widow. Ah, ye’ve got yer da’s cunnin’ mind.” Fergus shot Johanna a leering glance. “Yer lass is a beauty, she is.”
Johanna hiked her chin. “I am not this man’s lass. We share a common purpose. Nothing more.”
Fergus grinned. “Ye’ve got spleen. I like that.”
MacMasters gave a snort. “I’m a hell of a lot more interested in what she’s got in that satchel than the rosy flush on her cheeks. She came here to do business with Cranston.”
The driver’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Cranston? Bluidy hell.”
MacMasters nodded. “Ye see now why you were summoned. Ye took yer damned time getting here.”
“Leaving my bonny Agnes this mornin’ was nae easy, lad. My heart aches with the pain of separation.”
“Good God, ye pile it so high, I doubt I’ve the strength to muddle through it.”
Fergus scowled. “The way I see it, ye’re in need of my services. I cannae say I’ve any use for the likes o’ye, MacMasters. If I’m not prompt enough to suit ye, I’ll be on my way.”
“Bah. Ye’ll be well compensated. Ye know that.” MacMasters waved away the old man’s threat. “We’ll make it worthwhile for ye to pull yerself away from yer lovely and get yer arse here.”
A greedy gleam filled Fergus’s eyes. “Silver?”
“Aye. The usual rate.”
“Ye’re expecting a bit of excitement on the road?”
MacMasters shrugged. “There’s no way to tell. Cranston has men throughout the area. If ye’re questioned, the lass is the grieving widow of a MacMasters who sailed to America years ago.”
“And yer part in this?”
“I am escorting her on behalf of the family.”
“What’s in this for you, MacMasters?” The question sounded blunt on Fergus’s thin lips.
MacMasters regarded Johanna for a long, silent moment. “That’s yet to be seen.”
“Ye’re not holding out on me, are ye? I might be in need of a different arrangement, a cut of the profits.”
“Ye think I’d cheat ye, old mon?”
Fergus eyed MacMasters as if trying to read his features. “I don’t think it. I know it.”
“Och, ye wound me. I’ll have ye know I am a man of honor.”
The driver chuckled under his breath. “Honor? We both know ye’re not the noble type. Though with a woman like this, ye might change yer mind.”
The cagey grin faded from MacMasters’s face. “The lass needs a hero. But I’m sure as hell not it.”