“That would be lovely. I’d be in your debt.”
“Come along, then. Ye need to freshen up a bit before ye sup.” Kindness gleamed in Maggie’s gaze. “I know this isn’t easy for ye. Ye’re in a strange place, with a clan ye know nothing of. Ye don’t know who to trust. I don’t blame ye, not one whit. I meant what I said about my brother. Connor can be an arrogant arse. But ye can trust him, Johanna. He won’t let any harm come to ye. I can see that in his eyes. He’ll protect ye with his life.”
…
“Ye believe the lass can lead ye to the Deamhan’s Cridhe?”
Connor’s father spoke in that low, gruff way of his. Keeping his attention focused ahead as they walked the perimeter of the castle, he radiated wariness honed by years of danger.
“Aye. There’s something concealed in that book she brought from London. I feel it in my bones.”
Da shot him a sidelong glance. “Ye’re sure she’s not out to deceive ye? Playing the damsel in distress—what better way to infiltrate this place?”
The implication roiled Connor’s guts. Johanna was driven by desperation, not some nefarious connection to Cranston. Of course, he couldn’t blame his father for harboring suspicion. His brother had trusted the wrong woman, and he’d paid for his mistake with his life. Da and Maw still hadn’t fully recovered from that loss. Truth be told, neither had Connor. The memory of Andrew’s blood pooled on the waterfront street was etched in his memory, a bitter recollection he struggled to confine to the recesses of his mind.
“She’s not allied with Cranston or any of the curs we’ve dealt with in the past. She’s a brave, foolhardy lass, but she’s not out for gain. A bairn’s life is at stake.”
Da’s grim nod was filled with meaning. “A perfect ruse. Crafted to tug at yer heart strings.”
“She’s here to ransom her niece.”
His father’s bushy brows hiked. “Cranston has the bairn?”
“Aye. The bastard’s low as a serpent, holding a child hostage.”
Another nod, and Da fell silent. Seeming to digest the information he’d been presented, he lifted the lantern in his right hand to illuminate their path. He kept his left hand at his sidearm. Always vigilant. Always at the ready to confront danger.
The nightly inspection of the grounds was a ritual for the MacMasters family. As long as Connor could remember, he’d joined his father on the purposeful march around the acres adjacent to the main house. As a lad, Da had witnessed two brothers slaughtered by intruders—not Sassenach, but rival clansmen, out to get their hands on treasure rumored to be hidden within Dunnhaven’s walls. The evening patrol was only one of many safeguards Da had enacted to ensure the safety of his family.
Connor broke the silence. “Ye’re convinced the ruby exists, are ye not? Cranston shares that belief.”
Lamplight illuminated the years etched on his father’s face. The craggy lines pulled more taut as he contemplated Connor’s question. “The cursed stone plagued this land for centuries, until Laird Robert MacMasters ensured the wretched thing could bring no more harm. ’Tis said James of Scotland honored the laird for his service.”
A peculiar crunch of leaves drew Da’s attention. He lifted his lantern over a patch of brush, examining the source of the sound. A rabbit stared into the light, wide-eyed with fear, then darted away.
Da shifted the lamp higher. Connor blinked against the sudden brightness. “Surely ye don’t believe that rubbish. Curses and spells and evil—bah!”
Standing eye to eye with his father, it seemed Connor looked upon a portrait of himself painted three decades in the future. Sixty years of life had streaked Douglas MacMasters’s dark hair with silver and carved lines of wisdom and hardship on his face, but the gaze and angled jaw might have been Connor’s own.
Lowering the lantern, Da slowly shook his head. “I’ve lived long enough to know there’s much in this life I cannae explain. Yer forefathers had good reason for keeping the ruby out of the reach of men who’d exploit its power and its worth. Even if the curse only exists in the mind, ’tis a force for evil.”
“I never thought ye gave the tales any credence.”
“The lairds of old recognized the stone’s connection with tragedy. With evil. Who am I to dispute their judgment?” Da dragged a hand through his hair. “’Tis yer judgment I question. Ye took a hell of a risk, bringing the lass here. I trust the matter is dire indeed for ye to toss the security of Dunnhaven into the fire and piss on the ashes.”
“The lass can be trusted.”
“A bonny face means nothing. I’d think ye’d have learned that lesson.” Anger simmered in Da’s tone. “The assassin that gutted yer brother was fetching as an angel. ’Til she put her dagger to use.”
“Damnation. Miss Templeton is not up to some treacherous purpose. She’s not an agent.”
“As I recall, yer brother believed Ella Kirkbride was a grieving widow, a lass in danger.”