“Come, then. Ye’ve not had the chance to see my prize Arabian. Persian Star is a beauty. Ye’ll seldom come upon a finer filly. Good bloodlines. Swift as the wind.”
“I’d like that,” she said, allowing him to lead her into the stable. Two rows of neatly kept stalls lined the enclosure. The scent of leather and hay and horses surrounded them. Rather than an unpleasant odor, the earthy essences seemed vibrant. Alive.
He stopped at the fifth stall. The horse within whinnied and whiffled, as if preening for her master.
“She’d be perfect for ye.” He turned to Johanna. “Well-trained and fast, that one is.”
She kept her smile controlled, a simple hint of approval. “How did you know I ride?”
“I know a lot about ye, Johanna Templeton.”
Something in his low rasp touched her heart. A note of caring infused his words, as if he’d come to appreciate her as a woman and not merely her connection to some mystical, long-coveted treasure.
“And how might that be?” Such a struggle to keep her tone neutral when her pulse danced a fierce jig.
“At first, it was part of my duty.” He reached for her then, threading his fingers through the loose strands of her untidy bun. “But then, ye intrigued me.”
The rough texture of his callused fingertips contrasted with the exquisite gentleness with which he wielded his touch. She swallowed against the impulse to look away, but held her gaze level.
“And how is it that a daft American like myself has captured the interest of a Scottish spy?”
“I’m no spy. I’m no hero, either, and I’ve little interest in anything besides keeping the damnable stone out of Cranston’s hands. But ye’re a courageous woman.” His mouth tilted slyly at the corners. “Those wolves would’ve devoured ye. But ye weren’t thinking about yerself. Ye’ve done all this for the bairn. Ye will save her. And I will help you.”
The mention of Laurel sobered Johanna. “I will save my niece. No matter the cost. I need that map and whatever else I can barter for Laurel’s safe return.”
“Cranston does not bargain. The man cannae be trusted. Once the cur gets what he wants, ye’ll be nothing more than a complication. He’ll kill ye both.”
“He has no reason to kill a child.”
“Ye think not?” Connor’s dark brows hiked. “Why does a mad dog do anything?”
“There is no choice.”
Connor circled her wrist with his long fingers. Grim determination filled his gaze. “I cannae let ye near the bastard. Ye’ll be another pawn in his filthy games.”
“I cannot abandon my niece. I’ll take my chances.”
“He’ll kill ye, Johanna. Or worse.”
Johanna jerked away from his light touch. “Or worse? How very melodramatic. Perhaps you’ve missed your calling.”
“Ye’re a beautiful woman. Ye think a thieving murderer has scruples when it comes to taking what he wants?” Harsh notes edged Connor’s throaty brogue. “He’ll use yer beauty ’til he tires of ye. If he doesn’t kill ye then, he’ll pass ye off to those buffoons who do his dirty work.”
The rawness in his tone triggered an alarm deep within her, but Johanna pushed it aside. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, even as wariness crept over her, stealthy as a serpent.
“Ye dinnae know what ye’re dealing with, lass. Cranston looks upon beautiful women with the same greed he shows for precious objects.”
“I assure you the man has no interest in me.”
“Ye’re wrong. Those curs he sent after ye would’ve slit yer throat and taken the book without blinking if Cranston hadn’t given the order to bring ye to him.”
“If you are trying to frighten me, such tactics will not work.”
“If anyone is going to deal with that bastard, it will be me.” Connor’s words were hard, the look in his eyes that of a man making a vow.
Johanna took a step back, then another. She had to clear her head. This was not going the way she’d planned. She’d come to the stables to entice him to reveal his plans, not to engage in a debate over Cranston’s intentions. If Connor refused to take her to Cranston, she needed to discern what he knew and use that to her advantage. She might be able to glean enough information on Cranston’s location to make her way to the blackguard on her own.
“You know the man, don’t you?” She softened both her tone and her expression, taking in the man behind the hardened stare.
“I know the nature of the cur. I know what he’s capable of, the way he inflicts pain on his victims. He’s vicious as a rabid hound.”
“This is personal for you.”
“Aye.” A sharp nod, and then, Connor snapped his gaze to the ground. “This is not fit conversation for a lady.”
“For a lady? Hmmmm.” Though she repeated the phrase with a slightly mocking lilt to her tone, his words pleased her beyond reason. “As I recall, you recently referred to me as a dragon.”
His mouth cocked in a half-smile. “Ah, ye remembered that.”
“’Twas not more than twenty-four hours ago.”
“There are some things that are nae fit for a lady’s or a dragon’s ears. Ye must trust me when I tell you that Cranston is a man to be feared—especially by a lass like yerself.”