…
Twilight dimmed Johanna’s first view of the MacMasters’ family estate, but even shaded in muted grays and heathers, Dunnhaven Castle was a magnificent sight. A massive structure of stone and block, the fortress-like homestead possessed a unique, intriguing beauty. A towering keep overlooked the sprawling main house, while domed turrets at each corner and large, abundant windows added to the castle’s striking elegance.
Beneath a lofty tree, a young woman sat on a wooden bench. Secluded in the shadows, she cocked her head in the direction of the carriage. Tucking her pen behind her ear, she clutched a book under her other arm as she came to her feet.
Tall for a female, she’d swept her gleaming brown hair into a careless knot at her nape. High cheekbones added definition to a face still rounded in youth. She swatted a stray tendril from her brow, a curl that matched MacMasters’s sable strands. An unadorned emerald cloak swung about her slender figure as she approached the conveyance with graceful strides.
This close, Johanna could see the girl’s resemblance to Connor MacMasters. But it was her eyes that cemented the comparison. Green as the forest and fringed with dark lashes, those striking eyes left no doubt the two were blood kin.
Planting one hand on her hip, the girl stared up at the driver. The firm set of her mouth eased into a welcoming smile. “Why, Fergus Royce, I should’ve known it was ye, rattling in here near dark. What brings ye here tonight…and in a fancy carriage no less?”
“It’s yer brother. He’s brought a guest.” The old man uttered the words as if revealing a grand secret. “A lady. Quite a fetchin’ lass, she is.”
“A lady?” Her gaze shot to the carriage door. “Surely Harrison has not found himself a bride.”
“Nae, not Harrison,” the driver corrected.
“Simon?”
“Nae, not that one, either.”
Her brows hiked. “Surely you’re not telling me that Connor—”
MacMasters chose that moment to make his exit. “Don’t go waggin’ yer tongue yet, Maggie. I’ve not chosen a bride. Truth be told, I’ve better chance of inviting a dragon to sup with us. Indeed, once ye talk with the lass, ye might think I managed to do just that.”
Battling the urge to swat the arrogant Scot with her valise, Johanna tightened her fingers around its handle. Without the book, the case was indeed lighter, but the bag would still deliver a hearty and well-deserved smack. Dragon. Humph. He might speak of her in such crass terms, but the way he looked at her betrayed he’d seen her as a woman—a woman who appealed to his most primal masculine instincts.
From her vantage point within the carriage, Johanna watched the girl he’d called Maggie scrunch her forehead into furrows.
“I’ve not seen ye don that kilt since Maw insisted we attend Cousin Enid’s dreary wedding in Edinburgh. Or was it Uncle Dougal’s funeral in Inverness? Ye’ve gone and decked yerself out in finery. Yet ye’ve not brought home a bride, but a dragon. My, my.” Maggie clucked her tongue. “This is becoming more intriguing by the moment.”
“Dinnae be starting yer nonsense.”
The harsh set of Connor’s mouth might have intimidated the heartiest of souls, but the young woman only laughed, a soft and lilting sound.
“So ye think that fierce frown o’yers will set me to scurrying into the house, do ye? Nae, brother. I know ye only too well,” she said.
The forbidding turn of his mouth seeming etched on his features, Connor beckoned Johanna from the carriage. Accepting his offered hand, she stepped onto a path paved with smooth stones and met the young woman’s half smile.
A serious glint, a look of cynical maturity far beyond her years, darkened Maggie’s gaze. Piercing. Direct. As if she wished to ferret out Johanna’s secrets without so much as a word.
“Ah, so this is yer dragon.” She regarded Johanna for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Looks like she might well be the one to slay ye.”
Being referred to as a dragon was bad enough. But Maggie’s assessing perusal nearly shredded Johanna’s taut control. Pity she could not inform both MacMasters siblings to which corner of Hades they might venture next. Not yet, at least.
Devil take it, she would not stand there like a dolt. Stepping forward, she forced a smile that could not possibly have appeared genuine. “Johanna Templeton. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Wrinkling her pert nose, Maggie gave a little sniff. “Why, ye’ve not made my acquaintance yet. My arse-headed brother didn’t even bother t’make an introduction. I’m Maggie. Mary Margaret MacMasters, to be precise. Ye’re not Connor’s bride, and we’ve no need of a governess or tutor, as my brothers and sister have yet to produce a wee one to carry on the family name and I’ve long left the schoolroom. So, what brings ye to Dunnhaven? I’d be willing to wager it’s not my brother’s charm and good humor.”
“Yer cruelty knows no bounds,” Connor said with a grin.