The Master Of Strathburn (11 page)

With a frustrated groan, she wrenched her mind back to the problem at hand. She reviewed all that she had learned from the exchange she’d overheard between Rob and Tobias. Obviously they were not poachers but fugitives of some kind, given they were taking great care to evade detection by the Black Watch
and
the dragoons.
But why?
What had they done that was against the law?

Somehow, Rob also knew Simon well; he was even aware of his idiosyncrasies. Indeed, Rob seemed to think—for some reason that was completely unfathomable to her—that Simon was his biggest threat. And because of Rob’s mistaken belief that she was in some kind of relationship with Simon, he was now going to assess how much of a potential threat she was to his safety also.

But she was no threat at all. Jessie again contemplated confessing everything to Rob—that Simon was not her lover, and that in actual fact, she was running away from him. At least then Rob would know she had no loyalty to that man. But if she was honest and revealed she was just the factor’s daughter, with no one really searching for her, Rob may see her as even more dispensable. It would be easier to remove a complication if that said complication wouldn’t be missed at all. However if she pretended to be someone of some importance to the earl and his son, it may stay Rob’s hand in acting to silence her.

She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing and quell the maelstrom of panicked thoughts tumbling about in her mind.

Perhaps she should just run now? Perhaps when Rob and Tobias were asleep, she could sneak out and take one of the horses and ride to … where? Castle Lochrose and back to Simon Grant? She’d sooner die than return to him. And if she went to the Strathspey Inn, there was still the distinct possibility that Simon would find her there too.

But in reality she knew that flight would be a near impossible feat given her injuries. Then there was the problem of her lack of suitable clothes. Her gown was ruined and she doubted she’d be able to put it back on again. And wearing a hunting plaid which was proscribed unless you were in the Watch was not conducive to remaining inconspicuous. She’d be noticed and apprehended on sight by any dragoons or Black Watch in the area.

Jessie could still hear the rain lashing the hunting lodge’s windows and the occasional flash of lightning lit the room. It was certainly not a night to be outside, especially considering her current state. Any attempt to leave here was doomed to failure. She had no real way of escape and no safe place to go. She’d never felt so alone in all her life. Tears spilled out from under her eyelids. For a long time she watched the fire dying in the grate, until at last she succumbed to exhaustion.

* * *

When Robert entered the bedchamber again sometime later, it was to discover that Jessie was fast asleep. By the light of the candle he held, he could see she had been crying; he could detect the faint glimmer of half dried tears on her cheeks.

Although he couldn’t say for certain, his gut told him that the girl had been listening when he’d been talking to Tobias earlier. What a fool he’d been to let his guard down. When he’d approached Jessie, he hadn’t failed to notice the tension in every line of her face, her erratic breathing. She’d been terrified. And now she probably knew he’d seen her with Simon, knew he was contemplating what to do next. That he was a wanted man. But did she yet know he was Robert Grant, the Jacobite?

The fire had died to a low reddish glow. He placed the candle on the mantel and after throwing another pine log into the grate, absently watched the sparks fly up the chimney. Behind him, Jessie stirred slightly. He turned to look at her again. The sight of her in sleep made him ache in a way he didn’t like. She was dangerous this woman, dangerous beyond imagining.

When he’d put her to bed earlier and she’d betrayed her nervousness by biting her fulsome bottom lip, it had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed to stop himself from seizing her then and there and kissing her senseless. The lustful male in him wanted to wake her now and join her in the bed, to make her want him as much as his body seemed to want her. And yet he also wanted to lie beside her and cradle her in his arms, fall asleep beside her with his face buried in her luxurious hair. To take succour from all this beautiful Highland lass had to offer. Even now the scent of warm, sleepy female beckoned to him like a siren’s song. But he knew he would do neither of those things tonight with Jessie. She belonged to someone else—his brother.

It suddenly occurred to Robert that his urge to possess Jessie sprang from an entirely selfish need to some extent—that perhaps she could somehow fill the gaping black void within him. To help him forget his fears and ever-present guilt by getting lost in mindless pleasure.

But then again, perhaps he wanted to make her his, simply because he couldn’t stand the idea of her being with Simon. He now recognised the previously indefinable emotion that he felt whenever he thought of Jessie with his half-brother as jealousy. Jealousy, pure and simple. Jealousy that twisted in his gut like a knife.

Frustrated by his conflicting thoughts and his mad, aching desire for a woman he couldn’t have, he sighed heavily then threw himself into the armchair before the fire. He would stay by Jessie’s bedside tonight. Even though he knew it was unlikely that she would run, given her injuries and the wild weather, he could not take that chance. Regardless of what she did or didn’t know about him, or what she might guess, he was now certain that he couldn’t let her go.

* * *

Simon stood before the drawing room window at Lochrose, watching the storm lash the castle grounds and the woodland beyond. Every now and again, lightning illuminated the loch and the brooding mounds of the surrounding braes. The night perfectly matched his own foul mood. His Jezebel had gone, was nowhere to be found. He’d given up the search for her about Lochrose when the bad weather had set in, late in the afternoon. Baird had been sent to Kilburn to look for the girl but had returned alone.

He was certain Mrs MacMillan was somehow involved in the girl’s sudden disappearance. The old cow had been questioned by his mother but to no avail. The woman was sticking to her story that Jessie had been urgently summoned to Edinburgh to assist her cousin. He didn’t believe the tale for a minute.

Impotent anger as black and volatile as the storm clouds outside churned inside him. He tossed back another glass of cognac, but like always, the alcohol did little to douse his fury. His Jezebel was out there somewhere, somewhere close, he could feel it. He knew the public coach for Edinburgh didn’t pass through Grantown-on-Spey until the day after tomorrow. And the chit had not taken her horse or any other mount from Lochrose’s stables. She was hiding from him, but he would find her.

And when he did, he would make her so completely his, she would never dare to defy him again.

When Jessie awoke the next morning, it was to discover that Rob had slept in the chair by the fire, just across from her bed. Her breath hitched at the unexpected and wholly overwhelming sight of him. Even though he was asleep, he presented a formidable figure stretched out as he was in the armchair—all long, muscular legs encased in tight, buckskin breeches and black leather boots. His loose, linen shirt spread open at the neck and she glimpsed a deep inverted triangle of surprisingly tanned, taut skin that extended across his collarbones and down to the apex at the centre of his breastbone. A pale ray of sunlight filtered through a gap in the window shutters behind him and caressed the dark stubble across the line of his strong jaw.

She had a sudden inconsequential and completely incongruous thought, given her situation—how would Rob look clean-shaven? She suddenly wished he wasn’t so devastatingly handsome. She couldn’t think straight when she was around him. He had the power to turn her into a henwit, even when he was asleep.

Remember he’s a fugitive, Jessie. He’s dangerous.

You need to leave…

But how?
She didn’t even know if she could walk.

She carefully began to push herself up. Her arm still throbbed and the stitches tugged sharply, but thankfully, her ankle seemed stiff rather than acutely painful. Pulling the covers back, she prepared to slide out of bed, but then Rob stirred.

Damn
.

It took a moment for Rob to rouse completely—he rubbed the back of his neck as he sat up straight, and then yawned, pushing his brown-black hair away from his face. The action made him seem strangely vulnerable. Until his deep blue eyes focused intently on her. ‘Good morning, Jessie. I trust you slept well?’

Jessie swallowed, the sound audible in the silence. Rob’s question threw her. A polite enquiry with regard to how she had rested seemed completely out of place, given that the man had effectively stood guard over her all night. But she wouldn’t show him that she was rattled. Somehow she summoned a wry smile. ‘Better than you I suspect.’

Rob flashed a smile in return at her retort, his eyes travelling over her dishevelled form. She blushed and snatched the quilt up to her chest as she realised that her linen shirt—like his—had become loosened at the neck and she’d been displaying far too much of her cleavage.

Annoyingly, his smile widened. ‘Hmm, I think you may be right. But tell me—even though you
look
very well to me—how are your injuries?’

As she described how her arm felt, Rob rose and moved over to the bed. ‘Let me take a look at your stitches. We can’t have your wound getting gangrenous now, can we?’

Jessie reluctantly proffered her arm and winced as Rob gently pushed up her sleeve and loosened the linen strip to check his handiwork. Apparently satisfied that everything was fine, he rewrapped it. ‘You’ll have a slight scar I’m afraid.’

Jessie shrugged. ‘It doesna matter.’ She pushed down her sleeve, confused as to why he showed such an ongoing concern for her welfare, even though last night he and Tobias had unmistakably marked her as a threat. Could Rob have had a change of heart? Perhaps he would let her go after all. She bit her lip as worry gnawed at her belly. She trusted that she would be able to deal with any contingency.

She had to.

Rob’s gaze ran down the length of the quilt to her feet. ‘Shall I check your ankle?’

Jessie shook her head firmly. ‘No, that willna be necessary. It’s much improved. I should be able to get about without a problem today.’

‘Well, I shall leave you to freshen up. I hope you don’t mind, but I laid your dress and other clothes out by the fire last night. I imagine it may be a while before they’re in a state that’s comfortable to wear. Just call if you need help.’

After the door closed behind him, Jessie shook her head in bewilderment. She couldn’t believe that Rob had tried to dry her clothes for her, and was concerned they may still be damp. Yet again his actions confounded her. If he meant her ill, why worry about the state of her clothing?

But puzzling over unanswerable questions wasn’t going to get her out of this mess. Getting dressed would be a good place to start. Dragging in a fortifying breath, Jessie struggled out from under the bedclothes and warily tested her ankle. As she had suspected, it was very stiff and still painful when she bore weight on it, but she would manage.

She found a chamber pot beneath the bed and there was a pitcher with water in it by the hearth. After attending to her ablutions as best she could, she changed into her fresh shift and spare woollen stockings that she’d packed in her satchel. She confirmed her gown was in no fit state to wear, wet or not. Aside from missing the left sleeve, the brown worsted wool was bloodied and stained with mud. Her woollen cloak, also grubby, would be serviceable, but as it was still too damp, she left it by the hearth.

Which meant she would be wearing an unusual combination of garments to say the least. She settled for putting on her stays, the linen shirt she had worn during the night and her almost dry cambric petticoats. She then wrapped the plaid around her waist and over her shoulder in the style of an arisaig before securing it with the silver brooch that Rob had used to pin up her sleeve last night. She noticed for the first time that it bore the Clan Grant crest of a burning hill and bore the motto
Stand Fast
. How ironic, given her circumstances. But she did not think Lord Strathburn would mind if she borrowed it.

She might look strange, but she was grateful to be fully clothed.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the window, drawing Jessie over to take a look at the day. Throwing open the inner shutters, she found the panes were rimed with frost, but she could see enough of the view outside to ascertain that it was a fine, blustery day. The strong wind had cleared the sky of all traces of cloud and fog. The nearby trees bent against the onslaught, their branches raining fiery flurries of gold, burnt orange and scarlet leaves to the ground. Even though it was clear, it would be cold.

Catching sight of her faint reflection in the windowpane, Jessie barely stifled a shriek. Her hair was a mass of wild snarls and tangles. Indeed, her appearance was something akin to a fiery Medusa. Although she tended to eschew personal vanity, she blushed to think that Rob had seen her in such a state of disarray. The heat in her cheeks crept across her whole face when she recalled that Rob had already seen her in a worse state of undress when she’d stood before him, all wet, bedraggled and half-naked last night.

To take her mind off the memory, she hastily dug out her comb from her satchel and attacked her hair with vigour. As she had no idea where her ribbon had gone, she settled for leaving her hair unbound. Errantly curling hair would just have to do.

As she began to turn away from the window, she suddenly sensed a movement in her peripheral vision. It was Tobias riding away from the lodge. His horse cleanly cleared a small burn before disappearing into the trees. Frowning, she realised the lad was probably heading to Lochrose to question his cousin.

Jessie recalled Rob and Tobias discussing the possibility last night. Of course that meant Tobias would soon discover she was only the factor’s daughter and not the earl’s ward. He would not glean much else about her though. She trusted that Mrs MacMillan would never divulge any of the sordid details about Simon’s pursuit of her. And the other staff would not be privy to what had really precipitated her flight from Lochrose. Aside from Mrs MacMillan, everyone else at the castle would have heard that she’d been summoned to Edinburgh to assist her cousin.