Pushing herself up, she left the bed and padded over the chilly floor. The water from the pitcher was cold. So frigid, her teeth nearly chattered while she washed with a cloth. Donning her combination, she stood before the hearth for a moment, warming herself, then slipped into the plain ensemble she’d worn the day before. With brisk strokes, she brushed a bit of road dust from the skirt. She carried another dress, proper and clean, in a traveling bag Maggie had put together for her journey, but she’d save that garment for the ugly business with Cranston.
A small table clock ticked away the minutes. Where in blazes had the man gone? Surely Connor hadn’t left her behind, sleeping soundly after a passion-filled night in his arms.
She struggled to banish the notion, but fear clawed through the wafer-thin layer of trust. Even as tiny talons gripped her heart, she fought to reassure herself. Connor would not deceive her. He would not take her to bed only to desert her. He would not be so cruel.
Blast it all, she was not about to stay cooped up in the room, allowing her anxious heart to get the better of her. With any luck, she’d spot Connor in the innkeeper’s kitchen helping himself to Brenna’s fresh-baked scones.
She tugged on her stockings and shoes, locked the door behind her, and made her way through the narrow, dimly-lit corridor. Slivers of morning light streamed through the shuttered window at the end of the hall. Once she made it to the spiral staircase, the sconce on the wall would provide more illumination.
As she neared the landing, the low murmur of men’s voices caught her attention. She followed the sound to a chamber set apart from the neat line of rooms along the corridor. Connor’s rough burr drew her attention, the voice so dear to her. Yet, oddly harsh. She couldn’t make out his words, muffled as they were by the sturdy door. But he was angry. Each quiet utterance seemed clipped between his teeth, barely restraining his disgust.
A nagging inner voice urged her to turn around and head to the sanctuary of their chamber, but she had to know what had set his mood so fierce. She tiptoed closer. Blurred fragments met her ears. There was no mistaking Gerard’s distinctive rumble. His voice had taken a hard edge. The chunks she could discern cut through her, dagger-sharp.
Bluidy book. Deamhan’s Cridhe. Cursed stone.
Connor’s reply was coarse and blunt. Bugger it. Duty. Abandon the child.
Dear God. Would he betray her after what they’d shared?
Crouching before the door, she peeped through the keyhole. A dark blur met her gaze. Drat the luck, they’d blocked the tiny opening. Of course, the men had thought to prevent anyone from spying on them.
Treacherous, conniving scoundrels.
Connor had counted on her to remain blissfully oblivious to his intentions, all the while seducing away her doubts with his touch. If the deceitful cur believed she’d lie meekly in a room that still carried the essence of their lovemaking while he plotted and schemed, he had underestimated her. She was made of stronger stuff than that. A night of passion had left her neither addled nor docile.
Connor MacMasters would soon discover how very wrong he’d been.
She’d never give him another chance to deceive her.
Never.
Cranston. Gerard spoke the word as if he’d uttered an epithet. Loch Ness. Granloch Castle. Bluidy fortress.
Connor rebuffed his words, each low syllable more heated than the last.
“Bah, ye’re naught but a fool. Ye cannae give that bastard what he wants.” Seeming to abandon caution, Gerard’s tone rose above a surly whisper.
Damn the MacMasters brothers. If they thought to make a fool of her, how very mistaken they would be.
Connor’s duplicity was a bitter poison. To think she’d begun to trust the scoundrel! Anger flooded her veins. Dull pain throbbed in her chest. By thunder, she’d actually believed herself in love with the rogue. Oh, she’d been so very naive. She, who credited herself with good sense and a level head. Blast it all! How dare he betray her with sweet words and tender kisses. How dare he!
She repeated the names she’d overheard, etching them into her memory. Granloch. Loch Ness. Surely that must be Cranston’s location.
With slow, stealthy steps, she retreated to the chamber they’d shared. She needed the book. Connor was no longer worthy of her trust. She’d find a way to the castle Gerard had described as a fortress. She’d face Geoffrey Cranston on her own. And she’d bring Laurel home.
Connor could content himself with the blasted ruby. Demon’s Heart, indeed. Perhaps, with any luck, the rumors of a curse were true. He could bloody well reap the bitter fruit of his betrayal. He’d deceived her with his vow to save Laurel. Bold lies. Nothing more. He’d said the words he knew would gain her cooperation.
She would not be fooled again. Not by the likes of him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine