The Master Of Strathburn (15 page)

Surprise sparked within Jessie at this disclosure. ‘You served wi’ the French?’

Robert shrugged a shoulder dismissively. ‘For three years. After Culloden I went to France. I had to make a living somehow.’

So Robert Grant had been a soldier for more than three years. That would explain a few things about him—his strong build, his ability to move about as silently as a lion on the hunt, his calmness under pressure. And his battle scars.

Jessie stole a glance at his profile as he continued to bandage her wound. There were many complexities to this man. She wanted to ask him what else he’d seen and done in the intervening years. His tanned skin suggested he’d been living in much warmer climes. She wanted to know why he’d left it so long to return to Lochrose. And why he’d let the estrangement with his father continue when it was something he regretted. He had been effectively disowned by Lord Strathburn in favour of Simon, obviously to prevent the Strathburn estate being forfeited all those years ago. It was a situation he now clearly wanted to reverse.

From what she recalled of Mrs MacMillan’s account, Robert had played a relatively minor role in the Rebellion—and it was not unheard of for pardons to be granted by the king if the supplicant was sufficiently penitent and had the advocacy of a highly ranked sponsor. It suddenly occurred to her that if Robert was pardoned and returned to the family fold then Simon would become second in line to inherit the earldom once Lord Strathburn passed, and then only if Robert himself didn’t produce a male heir. Was that the cause of such obvious enmity and distrust between himself and Simon? Did Robert really think Simon would have him, his long lost brother, apprehended just to hold onto the inheritance of the earldom?

He undoubtedly did.

Jessie contemplated discussing the issue with Robert, but for now, the topic seemed too difficult to broach. Along with all the other issues she needed to discuss. She was suddenly reluctant to ruin the return to easiness between them. It was too fresh, too fragile. She was a coward. She did not want to see the hardness in Robert’s eyes that she’d seen this morning. Or the brooding mood that had overtaken him only moments before.

Perhaps after dinner she would feel brave enough to try again. She probably needed a dram or two of whisky after all.

Robert completed his task and eased her sleeve back into place again. Outside the cave, a gust of wind howled past and another flurry of snowflakes drifted in. The fire guttered and the roasted trout crackled and spat.

Robert tested the fish with the blade of his dirk and smiled at her. ‘I think our dinner may be ready. Ready enough for me anyway.’ He portioned up the fish onto a pair of small tin plates that he’d pulled from the saddlebags. She gratefully accepted one, and ignoring the pain of burnt fingers, began to pick at the succulent, coral flesh.

* * *

Robert attacked his serving of trout with relish, all the while conscious of Jessie sitting beside him. The
sang-froid
he had fought to armour himself with since this morning rapidly evaporated as he noticed her delicately nibbling at her portion with even white teeth.

But it didn’t seem to matter how many times he told himself,
she’s not for you, she’s dangerous, she belongs to your brother.
It mattered not at all when her pink tongue darted out to lick the juices from her full bottom lip and the corner of her mouth, or when she set about licking and sucking her moist fingertips. It took everything in him to stop himself groaning aloud like a wild beast. God in heaven, everything this woman did seemed to make him burn. He was as hard as the honed steel blade of his dirk with wanting her.

When he’d finished eating, he wiped his fingers on a clean corner of the discarded linen bandage and took several mouthfuls of the whisky to calm his raging urges. He offered Jessie the bottle again. This time she took it from him and threw back a decent swig. Her cheeks were flushed with high colour and in the fire’s glow, her eyes were the same deep, amber brown as the whisky. He could see why Simon should want the woman so badly. God help him, he wanted her too.

Robert took back the bottle and drank some more. When he felt his body relax and he judged that he could rise from where he sat with some decency, he re-stoked the fire and then dug out a blanket for Jessie and another Black Watch plaid for himself. He draped the blanket around her shoulders and she smiled at him in thanks. He decided then and there that he would have to sleep on the hard, stone floor of the cave by the fire, rather than beside her on the bed of bracken and heather.

As he wrapped himself in the rough wool plaid and resumed his place before the fire, he fell to contemplating the conundrum of Jessie’s betrothal to his half-brother. Something didn’t ring true about the situation.

Perversely, the question that seemed to plague him the most at this particular moment was, did Jessie love Simon? She had never once mentioned that she cared for him. He examined her actions since he and Tobias had first discovered her in the copse yesterday. Not once had she actively fought to escape or demand that she be returned to Lochrose. Neither had she threatened to bring down the full weight of the law upon them if he and Tobias were caught. He wondered about that. Her actions did not seem to be consistent with those of someone deeply in love and who wanted to return to the side of her betrothed.

But maybe that was all just wishful thinking on his part …

What
was
known, was that Simon was actively searching for Jessie—there was no doubt that his brother wanted her back. He now dismissed the theory that Simon had been manipulated into a betrothal by Jessie or her father, as surely his brother would be glad to wash his hands of her rather than pursue her.

Jessie had also asserted that she genuinely needed to leave Lochrose to travel to Edinburgh as she felt duty bound to assist her cousin. Of all the things she had told him so far, he did believe this one thing to be true.

But regardless of what had precipitated Jessie’s flight from Lochrose yesterday, or how much or how little she cared for Simon, would she still betray him, Robert, if the opportunity arose? She might if she really did aspire to be the next Countess of Strathburn. Surely she would want to warn Simon of his return. Whether she was a grasping jade or devoted wife-to-be, or something else entirely, it really didn’t matter.

Any way Robert looked at it, letting Jessie go was still a huge risk. He couldn’t afford to take any chances.

He ran his gaze over Jessie again as he took another slug of whisky. The sight of her as well as the whisky heated his blood. His inner voice whispered to him again.
She’s not for you. She’s dangerous. She belongs to your brother.

* * *

A heavy silence stretched out between Jessie and Robert, broken only by the occasional spit and pop of the fire or the howl of the wind. Jessie squirmed; the strange tension in the atmosphere was becoming more palpable with every passing minute. She occasionally cast a glance Robert’s way, but he was staring fixedly at the flames, lost in thought—dark thoughts, judging by his scowl. She wondered what had triggered such a change in him. He did not seem himself at all.

Putting aside her now empty plate, Jessie determined that she couldn’t put off speaking with Robert any longer—especially now that the whisky bottle was only a quarter full. If Robert was too far gone in his cups, her task would only be harder. Tamping down her unease, and scraping her courage together, she took a deep breath and looked at him squarely. ‘I … I wondered if we might speak o’ what will happen tomorrow. The coach leaves at midday …’

Robert barely spared her a look. ‘I know.’ He drank more whisky.

Jessie frowned at him and bit her lip, struggling for the strength to stop herself from saying something she would regret. Or worse still, hurling the contents of the water flask over Robert to knock him out of this morose mood. To chase away the uncommunicative oaf he’d become. Common sense dictated that she should own up to her falsehood, but it was hard to talk about Simon’s degrading demands when Robert seemed so … remote, even hostile. But then, she was partly to blame for that, wasn’t she? She was going to have a hard time gaining Robert’s trust. But she had to try.

Perhaps it would help if she struck some kind of bargain with him. Offer him a gesture of support, a show of goodwill. She sucked in another steadying breath and resisted the urge to twist her hands. ‘Robert, I know tha’ you have no reason at all to trust me … but perhaps if I promised to help you, you would feel more inclined to help me …’

Robert levelled his gaze on her this time, but his dark blue eyes were almost black, their expression unreadable.

She swallowed and cleared her suddenly dry throat. ‘I’ve been thinking about why you’ve come back after all this time. Mrs MacMillan has told me a wee bit about what happened ten years ago—when you left to rally to Prince Charles’s cause.’

Robert’s face was like stone. ‘Has she now?’

She rushed on, feeling awkward and nervous under his cold stare. ‘Aye. Mrs MacMillan speaks very fondly of you by the way. Anyway, what I was trying to say was, I know how verra difficult it must be for you returning here, an’ being concerned about being recognised … and arrested for taking part in the Rebellion … But having lived at Lochrose, I know the routines of the household and everyone’s schedule. I … I could perhaps help you to enter the castle undetected so you could see yer father …’

Robert’s eyes narrowed. There was a sudden intensity in his scrutiny of her. At last he was interested. Encouraged, she leaned forward a little and continued to plead her case. ‘I know I have no right to speak of such things, but I’m sure yer father misses you too. Although I have no’ heard him speak of you, I know he has a miniature portrait of you tha’ he carries about with him. I’ve seen it—that’s how I recognised you this morning. Mrs MacMillan says yer father was heartbroken after Culloden, that he’s never been the same since yer estrangement. But now … I’m sure that he would give anything to see you again …’ She faltered, at a loss what to say next as Robert’s reaction to her words mystified her.

He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as if a great surge of emotion overwhelmed him. A muscle worked in his jaw.

When he raised his head, he looked straight at her. His eyes were hard and cold with withering anger.

Heavens, what have I done?

‘How can I believe a single word you say, Jessie?’ he bit out. ‘You are betrothed to Simon and both of you are set to become the next Earl and Countess of Strathburn. Why would I trust you to help me, when doing so ruins both your chances of inheriting that glittering prize?’

Did Robert really think so badly of her? Ignoring the lurch in the pit of her stomach in the face of such ire, she somehow summoned her voice. ‘You believe Simon would betray you, but would he really do that? Surely after all this time he would welcome—’

Robert laughed, cutting her off, but there was no mirth in the sound. He raked her with a look that could only be described as scathing. ‘Of course he would betray me. I’m surprised he hasn’t elucidated the whole sorry story to you—how his bloodthirsty and glory-seeking older brother, ignoring the entreaties of their wise father, rushed into battle in support of the evil Pretender and squandered the lives of twenty-six good clansmen.’

Jessie shook her head, tears pricking her eyelids. ‘I had no idea …’

‘What? You don’t know that after the villainous Jacobite managed to escape capture by the English on the field at Culloden, he retreated to Lochrose, craven cur that he was? And that the steadfast, obedient son had him locked up in the wine cellar, ready for the dragoons to take away, because of course that was the noble and right thing to do, wasn’t it?’

Jessie was stunned. If what Robert had just told her was true, Simon had set out to maliciously betray his brother. What sort of a ruthless monster was he? It took her breath away. ‘What a heinous betrayal … I didna know … Mrs MacMillan never told me that …’ she trailed off, lost for words.

Robert was still looking at her as if she was some low creature that had just crawled out from beneath a rock. She knew it was only because in his mind, she and Simon were fashioned from the same mould, and she couldn’t blame him for that. She drew in a shaky breath, wanting to know more. ‘But you managed to escape.’

Robert snorted. ‘No thanks to Simon. Even though I’d defied my father, I suppose he took pity on me. Either that or he couldn’t bear to see the family name dragged through the mud any more than it had been. Better to have a son in exile than one who had been executed for treason. At any rate, he arranged for one of the local Black Watchmen whom he trusted to stitch me back up—’

‘You were wounded?’

Robert shrugged. ‘You’ve seen my shoulder. A bayonet sliced me open. I don’t even remember when it happened during the battle. Anyway, MacTaggart put me back together and released me from Lochrose’s cellar. Along with Tobias, he helped me to get to the coast and onto a fishing boat without being intercepted by the King’s men. It was more than I deserved.’

Robert took another slug of whisky before he continued. ‘Tobias, the poor bastard … he lost his older brother Hamish, you know. All because of my cock-headed idiocy. Why he bothered to come with me, I’ll never know.’

He shook his head, and stared into the fire, the flames making strange patterns of light and shadow over the strong planes of his handsome face. Jessie watched his expression grow distant, his thoughts obviously turning inward. ‘I should have died. I deserved to.’ His voice was laced with bitter self-recrimination. ‘I was so stupid.’

Jessie was shocked at the depth of this man’s inner pain. She recognised immediately that the scars he carried from that long ago battle were much more than skin deep. He was still wounded to the depths of his very soul.

At the risk of being subjected to his disdain again, she rallied her courage to speak, to break the taut, painful silence, to draw Robert back from whatever horrors he was currently reliving in his mind. She knew she could never offer him comfort, but at least she could convey her empathy.