Connor had to protect her. He’d go after the bairn himself, and when he did, he’d need to keep his wits about him. A bold attack would be disastrous. The mission required stealth and cunning, and God only knew the struggle he waged to keep his head when Johanna was near. What was it about her that left him utterly cow-brained every damn time she cast a glance his way?
No doubt she’d insist on rushing to her niece’s side to offer comfort and solace. Waiting would be hell for Johanna. But there was no choice. He had to keep her out of Cranston’s reach and ensure she did not make herself vulnerable to the other collector who sought the Demon’s Heart. Someone had dispatched Hector Munro after Johanna. The fact that Connor did not know who was behind the bloodthirsty buffoon’s attack made the situation all the more dangerous. At least with Cranston, he knew what he was up against.
Damn it all, how could he convince her to stay here, protected and safe, while the bairn remained in harm’s way?
There was only one way to keep Johanna out of danger. He would leave under cover of night. Without her, he’d find the stone and place it under heavy guard in the secret quarters near Loch Ness. Then, he’d retrieve the child. With any luck, he’d steal into Cranston’s stronghouse and whisk the girl away before the bastard was the wiser.
Johanna would be furious. He knew that, just as he knew she’d hate him. At least for a while, until he brought the bairn back to her. That anger would be a small price to pay for keeping Johanna from the ruthless curs who sought the ruby and its power.
…
The longcase clock in the study chimed, marking another quarter hour. Johanna frowned at the face. Every slash of the pendulum seemed another second wasted, another moment in time she’d allowed to slip away when she should have been in a carriage bound for Inverness, seeking out some way to contact Laurel’s captor.
Turning away from the clock, she paced before the massive stone fireplace. Nearly noon, and she’d seen no sign of Connor since he’d escorted her from Serena’s study to breakfast. Despite her hunger upon waking, she’d scarcely managed to down a few bites of toast and scrambled egg. Hearing Serena pronounce the ransom worthless had robbed Johanna of appetite and had left her nerves twisted and jangling.
During the morning meal, Connor had not seen fit to voice his strategy for rescuing her niece. He’d assured her that he’d save Laurel. But bold words were not enough. Johanna needed action. They should be planning their actions, not biding time while Serena continued her examination of the volume. True, Serena had detected patterns to the cipher on the map, and the book itself likely contained vital clues to the gem’s location, codes she might be able to decipher. If only time was not of the essence. Laurel’s abductor would not wait patiently for Serena to conclude her study of the book.
The clock’s steady tick-tock echoed the pulse thudding in Johanna’s ears. Patience had never been her strong suit, and this waiting game was proving unbearable. Did Connor really think she’d sit idly by, listening to ridiculous tales that made unicorns and leprechauns seem the stuff of rational minds, while Laurel remained in danger?
Maggie lounged on a settee near the hearth, making a half-hearted show of reading the novel in her hands. Johanna did not recognize the author’s name, but the lettering on its spine—Lady Jane’s Secret Passion—prompted a second look. Evidently, the story was not as gripping as its lurid title suggested. Maggie could not keep her eyes on the page. She peeked over the binding, curiosity brimming in her wide green eyes as she watched Johanna. Seeming to realize she’d been spotted, she plastered her gaze to the book.
Johanna smiled to herself. “Are you enjoying the story?”
Maggie set the book in her lap. “It’s a rather gripping tale. But not as intriguing as yer novels. Ye are the J.M. Templeton, are ye not?”
A small swell of satisfaction settled in Johanna’s chest. “Why yes, I am. You’ve read my work?”
Maggie’s dark curls bobbed as she nodded. “The Ghost of Thorne Castle is my favorite. Lord Thorne was quite memorable, especially with that dark hair of his and those brown eyes. If I were the governess, I’d swoon at every opportunity to fall into his arms.”
“Ah, he is one of my more intriguing…and tortured…heroes.”
“When he saved the governess from the madwoman…well…I was swept away by the story. How do ye devise yer plot?”
Sweeping her skirts aside, Johanna seated herself in a chair upholstered with delicate flowers. How very pleasant to encounter a reader who not only enjoyed her work, but took interest in her craft.
“I’ve always had quite the vivid imagination,” she replied. “My parents weren’t sure if my creativity was a blessing or a bane.”
“And those heroes of yers…what inspires ye?”
Johanna tapped a fingernail against the arm of the chair. My, how shocked Maggie would be if Johanna confessed that her arrogant, infuriating brother had inspired fantasies that would shape her next fictional hero.