The matriarch of the MacMasters clan eyed Johanna with a scrutiny bordering on brazen. A blend of suspicion and assessment filled Lady Kathleen’s appraisal, seeming to search out any threat to her family and home. The matron’s unveiled wariness prickled at Johanna, rather like a tiny thorn in her shoe.
From first glance, there’d been no mistaking the familial connection between Connor MacMasters and his mother. Dark, almond-shaped eyes. Sleek sable hair. And that keen intelligence, ready to carve through any shred of disingenuousness.
Johanna faced her astute gaze head on. As her instincts had warned when she’d first laid eyes on Connor, any sign of weakness would prove a liability in dealing with Lady Kathleen. If the steel in the lovely matron’s visage was any indication, she was not a woman who cowered at the sign of trouble. Rather, she’d meet it head on and fend off the malicious force.
Despite her piercing regard, Lady Kathleen had not remarked on Johanna’s attire. Could it be that MacMaster’s mother was well accustomed to visitors who arrived in disguise of one sort or another? How very peculiar.
Maggie strolled through the open doorway. The girl’s smile did not disguise the unspoken inquiry in her gaze. She didn’t trust Johanna. Not yet.
Not that she could blame Maggie. Both the girl and her mother had a cultivated cagey wariness. Was the entire family immersed in intrigue of some sort? What dangerous enterprise would involve not only a man like Connor MacMasters, but his sisters and mother as well?
The question pricked at Johanna. Had she entered a vipers’ den? Or would this fortress-like mansion provide a sanctuary?
Perhaps Maggie would provide the answer.
Chapter Fifteen
Maggie swept through the sitting room with a natural grace. The members of the MacMasters family shared that trait, an innate confidence that made each motion smooth and sleek, each stride long and fluid. Of course, the fact that she wore neither voluminous petticoats nor heavy, cumbersome garments likely played no small part in her ease of movement.
A perfectly modest cotton blouse in a buttery cream complimented the girl’s porcelain complexion while flowing dove-gray wool flared from her uncorseted waist over her hips and brushed the tops of her leather shoes. Johanna studied the garment. Maggie’s skirt was not actually a skirt at all. Rather, wide-legged trousers created that illusion. Practical. Yet decidedly scandalous.
A twinge of envy pinched at Johanna. How freeing it would be to wear such attire. She’d have to discover how the girl had decided upon such a quietly rebellious fashion.
Maggie sashayed up to Johanna and motioned her to a Chippendale chair upholstered in a cream fabric peppered with tiny blue flowers. Drapes in a deeper blue shaded the windows, while wall sconces cast a golden glow on the polished oak paneling. Beneath their feet, a fine wool carpet bearing muted hues of blue, green, and yellow covered the wood floor, while a deep burgundy hearth rug lay before the massive fireplace.
Maggie poured steaming tea from an elegant silver pot into two delicate porcelain cups. She plopped a dollop of milk and a single sugar cube into each and passed one to Johanna. Crossing to the hearth, she stoked the flames with an intricately carved poker.
“That’s better. This room has a tendency to chill yer bones.”
Johanna pressed her hands around the cup, drinking in the soothing heat. “I’m quite comfortable. Thank you.”
Maggie set a tray laden with pastries and her steaming cup of tea on a doily-covered table. Snatching a scone off a tray, she placed it on Johanna’s saucer. “Ye’ve arrived a bit late for supper, but Cook is fixing you a bite to eat. I trust ye’ve no aversion to lamb stew.”
“That sounds delicious. I must admit I’m famished.”
Maggie settled into a plump, upholstered wingback chair. “Cook offered to prepare a fine haggis for ye, but I suspected it might not be to yer taste.”
“I cannot say I’ve ever tasted the dish.”
Maggie offered a thoughtful nod. “Ye’re newly arrived in the Highlands?”
Johanna sipped the tea, a delicious, hearty brew. Just the thing to warm her and lift her spirits. “Quite so. I’ve taken up residence in London. I’m afraid I’ve never ventured far from the city.”
“London, ye say?” Maggie’s brow furrowed. “What brought ye to England from America?”
“Ah, you’ve a keen ear. I did not realize my accent was so readily identifiable. I’ve been told I picked up some British inflections in the last year.”
Maggie shook her head. “Nay, it’s nae yer way of speaking, though I would’ve figured it, after a time.”
Johanna studied Maggie’s face. Mischief danced in the girl’s eyes. “Then what gave it away?”
A grin tugged at Maggie’s mouth. “I happened to hear my brother discussing ye with Serena. His precise words were ‘daft American writer’.”