“Bah, ye’ve done what ye had to do.” Gerard stood and walked to the window. He peeled back the curtain enough to peer into the hazy dawn.
“Ye can justify it. But it doesn’t make it easier to swallow. I’ve been in fights that should’ve been on a battlefield. God knows I’ve had another man’s blood on my fists more times than I care to recall. I’ve sent men to their graves. Bluidy hell, Gerard—a woman died, an innocent who didn’t deserve that fate—because of me.”
Gerard spun around, his eyes flashing. “She died at another man’s hand, not yers. Ye tried to save her.”
“But I didnae, now, did I?”
Memory crashed over him like a violent squall. A thief had made off with a rare artifact, a dagger encrusted with precious stones, all the more priceless because of its ties to a powerful Scottish laird who’d governed his clan generations before Robert the Bruce ruled the land. Connor had pursued the bastard with a single-minded focus, finally tracking him to a boisterous tavern in a small Highland village and cornering him in the squalid alley behind the pub. He hadn’t foreseen that the brute would take a hostage, dragging a young barmaid out before anyone could stop him.
He’d had the thief in his sights. One tug on the trigger, and the rotten bloke would’ve met his end. But Connor hadn’t taken the shot. Surely a sane man would concede defeat when staring down the barrel of a gun.
Connor had offered the bastard an ultimatum. Release the girl, or you’ll never see another day.
He hadn’t counted on the thief’s demented roar of laughter.
Or that the brute would break the barmaid’s neck, snapping the slender column like a twig between his fingers.
The pain of the memory pierced him like a dull blade. “I retrieved the dagger,” Connor said. “The Order counted that mission a success. But at what cost?”
“Ye cannae blame yerself. Fate is at times an ugly thing.”
“That lass’s fate was undeserved. If I’d never entered that pub…” Connor rubbed his temples. After so many years, thoughts of that cursed night still tormented his dreams.
“That was a verra long time ago. Ye’ve more experience now. Ye’ve attained some wisdom, enough to know when ye need to let someone else take the reins.”
“If ye’re trying to tell me to turn this mission over to ye, ye’re wasting yer time.”
“Damnation, Connor, ye cannae chance that bluidy book falling into Cranston’s hands. We cannae risk the bastard locating the Deamhan’s Cridhe. God help us if he gets his hands on the cursed stone.”
“Bugger it, Gerard. Do ye think me a fool? I know my duty. But I willnae abandon my promise. I will not abandon the bairn. Not even to yer efforts at a rescue.”
“Ah, yer head’s as hard as the stone in these walls.”
“What do ye expect me to do? Walk away? Cast away my responsibility while you put your neck on the line? If there’s blood to be spilled, it will be mine.”
Gerard’s jaw went hard, taut as granite. “Verra well, brother. I understand there’s no convincing ye to step aside. But ye will still need my help. Ye cannae argue that.”
Connor leaned against the small dresser chest, pressing his hands against the wood until his knuckles whitened. How would Maw go on if she lost another son—and all because Connor had undertaken a mission far more complicated than he’d ever envisioned?
This was not his brother’s war to wage. But the headstrong ox would not be convinced.
He shifted Gerard a glance. His brother was an expert marksman. He knew the territory better than most. He’d be an asset to his quest.
Damn it to hell, he didn’t want to involve Gerard in this. His brother knew the risks. Even so, if something were to happen…how could he ever live with himself?
But he had no time to dwell on that now.
He had to focus on Johanna and rescuing the child she adored.
…
Johanna awoke to streams of daylight peeping through the curtains and the crackle of freshly stoked flames in the fireplace. Warmth washed over her. Connor had loved her thoroughly the night before. Tiny aftershocks of his passion continued to stir deep within her belly, a delicious, honeyed hunger.
Her lids still half-closed, she rolled onto her side, confirming what her instincts had warned. Connor was not there. Somehow, she’d known he wouldn’t be. A rumpled pillow and the imprint of his body upon the cool sheets confirmed he’d spent the night with her, loving her, holding her when their passion was fulfilled and sleep pulled them into a sweet oblivion.
Where had he gone before the dawn?