The Master Of Strathburn (2 page)

Ignoring the coil of tension in his gut, Robert calmly met the man’s interested gaze, and raised his glass in a silent toast, watching for Haldane’s reaction. Even though Robert had been residing in the British colony for nearly five years and he was confident his bona fides would hold up even under the most careful scrutiny, it was his natural instinct to be cautious.

Thankfully, Haldane simply smiled back at him, then winked. Blast the man. He obviously knew what a trial the Ogilvy woman could be, and was merely amused by her behaviour.

The countess suddenly squeezed Robert’s thigh under the table in an attempt to reclaim his attention. ‘Oh you are wicked, Mr Burnley,’ she simpered. ‘It’s a shame you’re not Scottish though. I think I’d rather fancy seeing you in a kilt. Although now the King has had them banned, it’s quite possible I’ll never see a good pair of bare male legs again.’

Across the table, Robert’s good friend Captain Kenneth Drummond started to laugh at him from behind his glass of claret.

‘I think perhaps I’m sometimes mistaken for a Scotsman because of the dubious company I keep,’ Robert said with a deliberately rakish grin. ‘Take the captain of my merchant vessel,
The Phoenix.
’ He gestured toward his friend. ‘He’s a Highland rogue if ever I saw one, don’t you agree?’

The countess turned her slightly cross-eyed gaze toward Drummond, who was barrel chested, florid faced and shaggily bearded. Robert had always thought his friend bore a remarkable resemblance to a Highland bullock.

‘Hmmm,’ she murmured, clearly unimpressed, before fixing her attention back on Robert. ‘But you, my dear Mr Burnley, are decidedly more handsome.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘In fact, I know who you remind me of—and what a handsome devil of a Scotsman he was back in his day—William Grant, the Earl of Strathburn.’

Blazing, bloody hell!
Again Robert strove to keep his face devoid of any kind of reaction. How damned unlucky could he be, to be seated next to someone who’d known his father? He really couldn’t wait for the governor to announce it was time for the ladies to depart so the gentleman could indulge in cigars and port. Fortunately, Haldane was deep in conversation this time and had not noticed the countess’s latest inopportune pronouncement. Though he noticed Drummond was listening.

‘Strathburn … I’m not familiar with that particular line,’ Robert drawled in a low voice as he skimmed his gaze over the woman’s décolletage in an attempt to distract her.

Lady Ogilvy smiled crookedly. Leaning forward so that her nose was only inches from his, she gazed into his eyes. ‘You have Lord Strathburn’s eyes I think … Such a remarkable shade of dark blue …’

Sighing, she then sat back and took a sizeable swig from her wine glass. ‘I was in love with William once, you know. But then he went and married that dreadful woman, Caroline Hamilton. And all the rest he’s had to endure … it’s such a tragedy. His eldest son was apparently lost at Culloden and now his rogue of a younger son is proclaiming himself to be the sole heir. Now there’s a pretender for you. Simon, I think his name is. When I was last in Edinburgh a few months ago, I heard he’d just about gambled away half his family’s fortune—’

At that moment, the governor’s wife stood to announce that the ladies would withdraw. Robert cursed inwardly again. Although he was glad to be rid of the dowager’s cloying company, she’d been cut off just as she was about to tell him something of significance. As he and Drummond stood with the rest of the gentlemen, he exchanged a speaking look with his friend. They needed to talk.

As soon as it seemed polite enough to disengage themselves from the rest of the assembled party, they armed themselves with cigars and port glasses and retreated to the wide balcony that overlooked Kingston Harbour.

‘Ye ken, it’s yer own fault you were cornered by tha’ woman, being such a bloody handsome devil an’ all.’ Drummond laughed as he looked his friend up and down.

Robert ignored the jibe and shrugged. He was used to his friend’s teasing about the attention he received from women. This evening he’d adopted his usual guise—that of a typical English fop. He was kitted out in snug-fitting black satin breeches and a finely tailored, midnight blue velvet frock coat with an abundance of frothy white lace at wrist and throat. Although he eschewed wearing a powdered wig. He really couldn’t abide them at the best of times and certainly not in these tropical climes. Instead, he wore his dark hair neatly clubbed at the nape with a black velvet ribbon.

But he didn’t clothe himself in expensive, gentlemanly attire and assume this urbane persona to attract the fairer sex. It was simply a way to blend into the upper echelons of Jamaican society. Although, if the occasion called for it, he was not averse to wielding his charms. And this evening it appeared that doing so had helped him glean some unexpected intelligence about his own family from Lady Ogilvy.

‘So how reliable do you think that woman’s information is?’ Robert asked quietly. Even after all these years, the pull to go home, the need to find out how his father and the clan fared was as inexorable as the tug of the moon on the sea before him. It was in his blood. He may go by the name of Burnley, but he was a Grant to his very bones.

Drummond frowned. ‘’Tis hard to say. Although there may verra well be a grain of truth in it. Tha’ last letter from yer squire’s cousin hinted tha’ there were troubles at Lochrose. Perhaps it’s time ye returned to find out for yerself, my friend.’

Robert took a sip of his port, considering what Drummond suggested.
Home
. So many times he’d been tempted to return, to beg his father for forgiveness. Make amends. But it had been easier to ignore his innermost desire when he had thought the clan was better off without him.

But it seemed it wasn’t. Simon had always been lazy and self-indulgent. And cruel. As for his step-mother—even during his youth, Robert was aware of her greed and spendthrift nature. It had been a source of constant conflict between Caroline and his father over the years.

Now duty called to Robert as surely as a fiery cross. He wasn’t a foolish twenty-year-old youth anymore. He was a successful plantation owner and merchant. And his father and clan needed him. Despite the risks—almost certain rejection by his father again and the danger of arrest—he had to try.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. ‘You’re right, Drummond. It seems the time has come to set sail for home.’ His mouth suddenly quirked into a wry grin. ‘Damned inconvenient that I probably still have a price on my head though.’

Drummond slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Och, ye’ve faced worse. Take Lady Ogilvy for instance. It doesna get more frightening than tha’.’

* * *

October 1756

Lochrose Castle, Strathspey, Scotland

Jessie Munroe reined in her exhausted horse, Blaeberry, on the crest of a brae overlooking what was to be her new place of residence—Lochrose Castle. She hesitated to call it home yet; that would depend upon whether her father’s new employer, the Earl of Strathburn and his family, made her and her father feel welcome.

The loch before the castle reflected the last of the evening light; the silver-grey waters shimmered as a light breeze ruffled the surface. The shade reminded Jessie of the heraldic pewter targe that had once graced the Great Hall of Dunraven, their former home. It was but one of the many priceless family heirlooms of their clan, Munroe of Dunraven, that they had been forced to hand over to the bank when it had reclaimed the Jacobean manor house and indeed the entire estate of the profligate Laird of Dunraven, her uncle.

Jessie pushed a lock of her incessantly unruly red hair out of her eyes and glanced over to her father. Alasdair Munroe, the younger brother of the former Laird of Dunraven, was now the new factor of the Strathburn estate. Her father’s pride had suffered a mighty blow with this fall in their fortunes within the last year. It saddened her greatly to see him brought so low, not just in spirit, but also physically. Not only did he stoop in his saddle as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, his face was now more deeply lined and his red hair was beginning to show signs of grey. She silently prayed that this new situation would restore some of his old vitality and return the spark to his brown eyes.

As if sensing her gaze, her father turned and his mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile. ‘Weel, Jessie lass, what do ye think of Lochrose?’

Jessie cast her gaze back to the sprawling, turreted castle of whitewashed stone. Its mullioned windows winked at her in the fading light as she considered his question. Lochrose was impressive, much grander than the somewhat ramshackle Dunraven. No doubt, it was a very large estate and her father would be busier than he’d ever been for her uncle. Not for the first time, doubts about her own future niggled at her mind. What would she do with her days after she had finished assisting her father with the ledgers? How would she be received by the earl and his countess and the other staff at Lochrose? The long-held frustration that she’d had, even at Dunraven, that she was an outsider—someone caught on the shadowy landing between the lower gentry and the upper servants—flared inside her. But she wouldn’t burden her father with her own disquiet. Instead, she summoned what she hoped was a bright smile and answered his seemingly simple question. ‘It’s beautiful, Da. Verra grand.’

‘Aye, indeed it is, Jessie. I just hope that this time, I dinna fail in my duties managing such a large estate.’

Jessie reached over and squeezed her father’s gloved hand. ‘We’ll be fine, Da. I know it. Just you wait and see.’

Alasdair nodded and sighed. ‘It’ll be a different life, Jessie. No’ the one I’d hoped for you.’ He patted her hand in return and caught her gaze, a wistful expression in his eyes. ‘If only Duncan Ross had offered ye his hand in marriage. Ye would be happily hand-fasted with a braw future, full o’ wee bairns ahead o’ you.’

Perhaps.
Jessie knew she wanted to wed one day, but it would be to someone who truly cared for
her
, not just the contents of her bridal tocher. And that someone was evidently not Duncan Ross. As soon as the Munroe’s fortunes had dried up, so had the young laird’s attentions. Deep down, Duncan’s rejection still smarted a little, but she certainly wasn’t going to show it.

Jessie tossed her wind-blown curls out of her eyes again. ‘That’s haver, Da. You know as well as I do, that Duncan Ross turned out to be—and you must excuse my coarse expression—a horse’s behind.’

Her father’s bark of laughter was such a reward to her ears, Jessie couldn’t help but grin back. ‘I’m only nineteen, Da. Please dinna fret about whether or no I’ll make a good marriage. Let’s just focus on making a good first impression with Lord and Lady Strathburn, and their son.’

‘The son isna married, you ken,’ her father replied with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. ‘I checked.’

Jessie rolled her eyes as she flicked Blaeberry’s reins. ‘Well, let’s just hope he isna a horse’s arse as well.’

* * *

Three weeks later …

Jessie closed her eyes and cursed inwardly on suddenly finding herself in an extremely vulnerable position, in more ways than one. At the present moment, she was perched on a ladder, reaching for an ancient and dusty volume on the topmost shelf of one of the many bookcases in Lochrose’s library. The pretender to the title, Master of Strathburn, the son of her father’s employer and resident horse’s arse, also had his hand on her ankle.

‘You’re certain you can reach it, Miss Munroe? Here, let me steady you.’ Simon Grant’s voice dripped with contrived concern as his hand continued its upward journey under her wren-brown wool skirt to her stocking clad calf.

As Jessie grasped the unwieldy copy of Homer’s
Iliad
, she had a sudden and overwhelming urge to drop the epic onto his head. But due to the fact that Lord Strathburn himself had requested the volume, she refrained from giving into the impulse. She was sure it would not go down well with the earl if she knocked his son unconscious.

‘I am verra steady, sir. But perhaps you might take the book from me.’ Jessie passed down the heavy tome so that Simon was forced to grasp it with both hands. She then quickly descended the ladder and stepped away from him. She would not give him the opportunity to trap her body up against the bookcase. Although she had only been living at Lochrose for a few short weeks, she was already wise to most of Simon’s insidious methods of gaining close and unwelcome proximity to her.

‘It’s always a pleasure assisting you, Miss Munroe,’ Simon said in a silken tone. He traversed the richly woven Turkish rug to a mahogany desk and made a brief pretence of studying the book’s pages. ‘An interesting choice of reading for a young lady like you, if you don’t mind my saying so.’ Looking up, his gaze slid over her body with such deliberate slowness, Jessie was unable to suppress a shiver. Displeasure and disgust tangled her insides into tight knots. Some might consider Simon’ Grant’s grey eyes and patrician features handsome, but not Jessie. She was rapidly learning from experience that there was nothing attractive about this man whatsoever. The refined air he affected—from the top of his perfectly powdered periwig to the tips of his high-heeled, silver buckled shoes—it was all a façade.

The Honourable Simon Grant was no gentleman.

‘Yer father asked me to locate the book,’ she said as docilely as she could whilst undergoing the odious man’s continued scrutiny. Her father had begged her to control her sharp tongue around the earl and his family. Which was easier said then done when she was with Mr Grant. ‘As yer mother is otherwise engaged with her seamstress this afternoon, she asked me to spend some time reading to his lordship while he takes tea.’

‘I see,’ drawled Simon, turning his attention back to the volume.

Wonderful.
Now he was going to read the cursed book. Under the cover of her skirts, Jessie began to tap her foot.

Within a few days of their arrival and her father’s commencement as factor, the imperious Lady Strathburn had informed Jessie that as her father already had an assistant, and therefore she obviously had nothing better to do with her time, she must make herself useful; she was to be Lady Strathburn’s companion. Jessie recalled how the countess’s glittering green eyes had regarded her with a peculiar mix of speculation and disdain as she pronounced that surely she, Jessie, couldn’t expect to remain at Lochrose unless she earned her keep. And of course, Jessie could do nothing but acquiesce.