He doubted she’d recognized him when he’d made his entrance into the tavern. For his surveillance at the depot, he’d combed his hair in a civilized manner and worn a well-pressed suit. A stark contrast to his current disguise. God above, he could pass for a soused buccaneer. Truth be told, he might’ve overdone it with the whisky. He could scarcely stand the smell of himself. A drunk who’d actually stumbled into a vat of alcohol wouldn’t reek so badly.
Miss Templeton had regarded him with a mix of disdain and fascination. Blue eyes the color of Loch Lomond on a rare, sunny day had met his. Her intelligent gaze seemed to search his features. Only the drawn set of her full mouth betrayed her duress. That, and a look deep in her eyes that revealed emotions she didn’t want anyone to see. Fear. And something more—a spark of awareness. She might be prim and proper with her high lace collar and cameo brooch, but he’d swear he’d seen a flicker of hunger that went gut-deep.
And then, those plump lips of hers had pulled into a taut seam. Good thing she still had the sense to hide that elemental impulse deep within, out of reach. He’d abandoned his good sense the moment he agreed to chase after a very fetching, entirely reckless American writer who was about to throw herself into a viper’s nest.
She’d been in Scotland for two days, traveling by train from London through Edinburgh. He’d tracked her to a hotel there, but she’d set out for Inverness before he could make a positive identification. His contacts didn’t always get the facts straight. But this much was certain—Johanna Templeton left England at the summons of one of the most vile men ever to step foot in the Highlands. Geoffrey Cranston’s interest in the American could only mean one thing. She had something he wanted, and Cranston intended to get it, at any cost.
Was it possible she possessed a map to the Deamhan’s Cridhe—the Demon’s Heart ruby? Cranston had stolen, bribed, and killed in his pursuit of the artifact. He’d eliminate anyone and anything that stood in its path.
Including Johanna Templeton.
Now, Connor had been tasked with shadowing her movements. He’d discover what business she had with Cranston. If she knew the way to the jewel, he’d glean that information from the lass. And he’d try his damnedest to keep her alive and away from Cranston.
From his spot at the bar, he kept an eye on her. She was huddled in a back corner with Cranston’s chief lieutenant, John Ross. The Englishman never went anywhere without his brawny, ox-witted assistant, Angus Munro. The slight sag of Miss Templeton’s shoulders quickly followed by a straightening of her back made it clear she was keeping up a brave front. What did these bastards want from her?
Most likely, her connection with Richard Benedict had led her here. The man’s clandestine pursuit of antiquities on behalf of well-monied collectors had aroused suspicion from London to Inverness. But which of his underhanded dealings had brought the bloke to the Highlands? He’d gone missing, along with the agent who’d trailed him. Bluidy shame. Fitzhugh had been a good man with a family. Benedict had a more dubious agenda, one that had likely led to an untimely end.
Connor didn’t have many answers. But damned if he wasn’t going to find out.
Miss Templeton stood, stiff as a puppet with its strings held too tight. Munro made a grab for her, but she pulled away. Good for her. Her chin hiked up, even higher and more rigid than before. Connor couldn’t see her face, but the defiance eased from her movements, replaced by a grim determination.
Connor took another draught of whisky and set the glass on the counter. His task had been clear—trail the American, find out what the hell she was up to, and retrieve whatever she had in that satchel she clutched like a lifeline. Engaging with Cranston’s men wasn’t a part of it. He couldn’t endanger the mission by revealing himself. Not yet.
He’d already disobeyed protocol once during his time with the organization. The carnage of that day still haunted his nightmares.
He moved closer to the men, careful to keep to the shadows, out of their line of sight.
“Surely you did not believe that would be all there was to it?” Ross’s goading inquiry drifted to Connor’s ears. “He has questions…questions only you can answer.”
Damnation! The bastards meant to take her to Cranston. And then, God only knew what fate was in store for her.
Stalking toward the door, he made short work of the head start Ross and Munro had on him. He couldn’t leave Johanna Templeton to their mercy. He’d deal with the consequences later.
Chapter Two
Johanna eyed the coach waiting in the alley behind the tavern, an elegant conveyance that bespoke its owner’s affluence and taste for fine things. In the moonlight, touches of gilding gleamed against the sheen of its polished ebony walls, while the sleek, chestnut carriage horse bore the hallmarks of fine breeding. This was not some broken-down nag. No, this animal had power in his strong, lean haunches and legs. Tethered to an iron rod barring the tavern windows, it snorted and laid its ears back as Munro passed. So, even the beast found the human’s vile presence an offense to its keen senses.