Maggie shrugged. “Well, Miss Templeton. What has brought ye here?”
“Your brother and I share a mutual interest…a venture.” Johanna still clutched her valise, the habit dying hard despite the fact Connor MacMasters had appointed himself the protector of her book. A fine way to justify his theft of the volume, indeed.
“Hmmm.” Maggie’s brows quirked. “A venture? My brother’s associates aren’t usually so fresh out of mourning.”
Johanna stared down at her dreary black dress. Though she’d tossed the veil onto the carriage bench, there was no mistaking the nature of her attire. No wonder Maggie looked at her as if she’d either lost her mind or discarded every shred of decorum with the refuse.
“Oh, you don’t understand,” she began, but Connor cut her off with a slashing motion of his fingers beneath his chin.
The look in his sister’s eyes bordered on insulting. “Typically, even the widows allow a week or two to grieve their dearly departed men.”
“Aye, she’s not like the rest,” Connor said, taking Johanna by the arm.
The rest? How many women had MacMasters brought to this place—and widows, no less?
“Of that, I have no doubt.” His sister cocked her head and threw Johanna a wink. “I suppose Harrison selected that shroud of a gown.”
So, the girl had realized the truth of her disguise from the start.
Connor gave a nod. “Ye’d think a mind as sharp as his could come up with more clever camouflage, wouldn’t ye, now?”
“Truly. Ye’d think he’d put a little more effort into comin’ up with something original.”
Connor’s gaze lingered on Johanna. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Blasted shame he doesn’t keep harem veils lying about.”
“Veils?” Maggie laughed, even as Johanna silently mouthed the word. “How would you propose to explain the presence of a harem dancer in the Highlands?”
“Aye, there’s the rub.” Crinkles around those intelligent eyes of his betrayed he’d been teasing them. “Ye’ll have yer fill of talk later, Maggie. For now, we need to settle in for the night. Where can I find Liam?”
Maggie fiddled with the pen she’d tucked behind one ear. “He’s off to Orkney on an expedition. Something about a dig in some moldy Viking cemetery. We don’t expect him back for at least a fortnight.”
“What of Serena? Did she accompany him?”
Another curl shook loose from Maggie’s careless coiffure. She swiped it away, her nose wrinkling again, this time in annoyance. “Nae, she’s about. Probably in her laboratory, examining some musty old scrap of plaid.”
“Good.” Connor shot the driver a glance. “Fergus, get the carriage to the coach house, and then be sure to join us. Da will be glad to lay eyes on ye again. It’s been a long time.”
“Och, that it has.” Fergus nodded, as if in remembrance. “That it has.”
Connor placed a light touch on Johanna’s elbow. “Come along. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”
Chapter Fourteen
Escorting Johanna through the castle his father had restored with tireless zeal, Connor could not deny the swell of pride in his chest. Douglas MacMasters, third generation descendant of a laird who’d gone to his grave at Culloden, had dedicated his ingenuity and the fortune he’d made exporting whisky across the Atlantic, to bringing the ancestral seat back to its former glory. Da had built an empire from what was once a small, country distillery, and he’d used the spoils of that labor to foster two great passions—Dunnhaven and preserving rare antiquities tied to Scotland’s heritage.
It went without saying that Da would latch onto the possibility of retrieving the Deamhan’s Cridhe like a hound on the scent of a fox. Connor slanted a glance to the comely lass at his side. If he knew his father, Da would find Johanna Templeton a treasure in her own right.
As would his brothers. God knew Harrison had found Johanna fetching enough to pull him away from his medical journals. Despite his brother’s veneer of professionalism, he’d scarcely been able to take his eyes off her, even while she’d veiled her soft curves in black mourning silk.
With any luck, Gerard would be off on a mission. The eldest of the MacMasters brothers had cultivated a taste for the fairer sex since he’d been a lad in short pants. No doubt he’d try to sweep Johanna right off her kid-leather-clad feet and between his sheets, if given half a chance.
Connor would set his brothers to rights on that matter. Miss Templeton was off limits to any of the MacMasters men.
Including himself, damn the luck.
She was a temptation. There was no denying that truth. Her plump lips would taste sweeter than Mrs. Duncan’s finest raspberry cream. And that perfect bum, so lushly rounded. His hands could clutch those beautiful curves and hold her to him. Night after night.