The Master Of Strathburn (9 page)

Rob noticed her discomfort immediately. He frowned with what appeared to be genuine concern. His next words however, sparked alarm. ‘Jessie, you’re going to have to get out of your wet things and let me take a closer look at your injuries.’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘N-n-no. If I sit b-by the fire I’ll b-be all right.’

‘No you won’t. You’re suffering from shock and exposure and I have no idea how much blood you’ve lost from the wound in your arm. I think the bullet only grazed you, but I need to be sure. You need to get dry and warm and bandaged up properly.’ He said this with such quiet, serious assurance that Jessie knew he spoke sense. But she was not going to undress in front of him, a complete stranger.
A dangerously attractive man
.

He seemed to guess the reason for her reluctance. ‘I’ll leave you here to change. Would you like some help to the chair or the bed?’

Certainly not the bed
. Jessie shook her head and sat up a little straighter. ‘N-n-no thank-you. I think I will be able to manage.’

Rob’s eyes narrowed slightly but he inclined his head. ‘As you wish. Your satchel is on the chair behind you and there’s a linen towel, dry shirt and plaid at the foot of the bed.’

As soon as the door clicked shut, relief washed over Jessie and she released the breath she’d been holding. She knew she should do as Rob had suggested. And seeing all the items he had laid out for her, she couldn’t help but be touched by how thoughtful he was. She decided then and there that she would take him at face value, that he was just trying to help. Not every man was like Simon.

She slowly got to her feet. Although she still felt slightly unsteady and she could barely take any weight on her ankle, she didn’t think she would pass out. Dropping the already damp blanket along with her sodden cloak in the puddle at her feet, she limped to the bed to begin the painful process of undressing without assistance.

One thing at a time, Jessie
. She sat on the wooden chest and with the towel, dried her face, neck and hair as best she could; somewhere along the way, she’d lost her ribbon and her curls were a snarled, dripping mess. Bending down, she then tried to remove her remaining boot, but even that simple act left her feeling dizzy with pain. Her frustration ratcheted even higher when she discovered the ribbon garters securing the tops of her stockings were hopelessly knotted. Her trembling fingers could not prise them undone no matter how hard she tried.

The task of removing the rest of her soaking wet clothes suddenly seemed beyond her. Untying her gown’s laces would be impossible to manage one-handed. She raised a shaking hand to the back of her bodice, but as she suspected, her efforts were ineffectual. Tears of frustration pricked behind her eyelids.

A light tap on the door made her jump.

‘You m-may come in.’ She tried to hastily brush away her tears as Rob entered. He frowned when he saw her, though whether it was because of her tears or inaction, she couldn’t have said. He’d evidently had no trouble changing out of his wet things into a loose, white linen shirt, tan buckskin breeches and black leather half boots. His dark hair, still noticeably damp, hung loose to his shoulders.

‘I c-canna seem to manage, after all, I’m sorry.’ She gestured toward her bandaged arm by way of explanation for not having undressed.

Without a word, Rob crossed the room and knelt before her. His eyes held hers for one long moment and Jessie couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Even though his expression was unreadable his tone was gentle when he spoke. ‘Let’s take a look at your ankle first. I don’t think it’s broken but let’s check.’

Jessie nodded. She closed her eyes, and her whole face burned with embarrassment when Rob carefully lifted her skirts and began to unfasten the ribbon ties of her stockings just above her knees. Never before had any man touched her like this or seen so much of her body. She gripped the edge of the wooden chest and swallowed past a suddenly tight, dry throat. She couldn’t believe she was letting this complete stranger touch her in such an intimate fashion.

But the most incredible thing of all was that her body was reacting in a completely different way from how it usually did when Simon Grant had taken liberties. She was not repulsed at all by Rob’s hands on her bare skin. She felt strangely unsettled—her skin tingled wherever Rob’s fingers grazed her and a strange warmth began to bloom low in her belly. But she did not have the impulse to shrink away from Mr Rob Burnley.

No, not at all.

* * *

God’s teeth, how am I supposed to help Jessie undress with any semblance of composure?

Robert’s blood began to pound hard and fast through his veins as he bent to the task of lifting Jessie’s skirts and exposing her legs. When he had first entered the room and had realised that he was going to have to help her, he had been determined to steel himself against his body’s primal urges. He had sternly reminded himself that this woman was quite possibly in love with Simon and that he could not trust her.

But despite his resolution, he was swiftly becoming hopelessly aroused. And unaccountably nervous—his hands shook slightly and his breathing was uneven.
For Christ’s sake, control yourself, Robert
. He was reacting like a green, unskilled youth, not a thirty-year-old man who had undressed his fair share of women.

He tried to concentrate on just undoing Jessie’s garters and rolling down the wet woollen stockings one by one, and not on the fact that when he’d first lifted her skirts, he’d accidently caught a glimpse of tight ginger curls at the apex of her thighs; or that her legs were impossibly long, pale and slender; or that where his fingers brushed, they left behind a trail of light goose-bumps.

He carefully lifted her naked right foot in one hand whilst he probed the swollen tissues of her ankle gently with the other. He fought the sudden impulse to kiss the delicate arch of her foot and run his tongue along the silken skin behind her knee. Tried instead to focus on the fact that her ankle was indeed only sprained as they’d both suspected.

‘Good news. No broken bones. I’ll strap it for you after I attend to your arm,’ he murmured without looking at her whisky-coloured eyes. His voice sounded thick, husky. He swallowed and stood up. Thank heavens his long linen shirt hung loose and hid the fact that his cock was straining against the front of his breeches. He did not want Jessie to be alarmed by his inopportune arousal. ‘Do you think you can stand so that I can help with your gown?’

In response, she stood carefully and slowly turned, presenting her slender back to him. He suddenly wondered if she had ever been undressed by Simon. The same frustrated anger that he had felt when he’d seen them together this morning lanced through him. He wondered what she could possibly see in his half-brother.

So he could gain better access to the lacing at the back of her dress, Robert brushed the heavy curtain of her damp hair over one of her shoulders, releasing a tantalising scent of fresh rainwater and something else that was floral and wholly feminine.
Bloody hell
. His cock grew even harder. At this rate, he’d spend in his breeches before he’d even removed her gown.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the pale-as-cream skin at the nape of her neck and the elegant line of her spine that was gradually being exposed as he loosened the laces. As gently and carefully as he could, he eased the ripped bodice over her injured arm. Even so, she flinched and sucked in a sharp breath as the sodden wool slid over the bloody bandage. The other sleeve slipped off easily and then her dress fell to the floor. Her petticoats quickly followed.

Jessie now stood before him in only her torn, wet shift and stays. And God help him—he had never been so physically affected by a woman in all his life. Too scared to make another move in case it was the wrong one, he ran a hand through his damp hair, waiting for some further direction from the lass. Her back was still toward him and she seemed to be fumbling with something.

Then she spoke and her words would surely bring about his undoing. ‘I’m afraid the laces o’ my stays are at the front and they’re knotted too tightly. My fingers do no’ seem to be working verra well.’ Her whole body was trembling and her voice was little more than a husky whisper.

His breath caught in his chest as she turned around to face him.
Christ, she was beautiful
. The firelight illuminated her front and for a moment he was stunned. Enthralled. Her eyes were cast downward, her cheeks flushed and her full lips slightly parted. Above the damp, almost transparent linen of her shift he could clearly see the plump mounds of her surprisingly full breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. He couldn’t help but wonder what colour her nipples were.

Thanking the Lord that she couldn’t hear his rampantly lustful thoughts, he took a step closer and proceeded to untie the stubborn laces. When his knuckles accidently brushed the soft, full underside of her breasts, he almost groaned. As soon as the task was accomplished, he turned abruptly away from her and strode to the other side of the room. He was going to need a dram of whisky, or to go out in the freezing rain again, or both before he would be able to attend to her arm.

Behind him, he heard the plop of more wet garments on the floor and then the rustle of dry fabric as Jessie pulled on the clothes he’d provided—a linen shirt like his own, and a Clan Grant hunting plaid. He was relieved that his family’s plaids had not been confiscated by the dragoons hereabouts. Since the Rebellion, the wearing of tartan cloth had been banned except for members of the Watch. Still safely folded in the chest at the end of the bed between disintegrating bunches of dried lavender, it looked like the clothing hadn’t been disturbed for years. Perhaps ten years.

When Robert turned around, he was surprised at how much it pleased him to see Jessie in his clan’s colours. They suited her well. But then, she’d look beautiful in a sackcloth and ashes. He forced himself to meet her wary gaze. She was obviously waiting for his next move.

He smiled, affecting a calmness he in no way felt. ‘Right, Jessie. Let’s get this arm seen to.’

* * *

Jessie nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. She did not think she had ever endured anything so unsettling before. Indeed, she couldn’t meet Rob’s eyes when he swung her up into his arms again and carried her through into the next room.
Could one die from embarrassment?

The hunting lodge seemed to consist of three main areas—the bedchamber that she’d woken up in, a central kitchen-cum-dining-room furnished with a large oak table and chairs and sitting area before another fireplace, and a smaller room beyond that seemed to contain little more than a single pallet bed. Saddlebags were piled near the door. Tobias, now also dry, stood near the main fireplace, lighting candles with a taper.

Rob carried her over to the sitting area by the hearth and placed her in one of the armchairs. Tobias smiled at her uncertainly. A curious array of items covered the low wooden table before her—several large bowls, one filled with water, a towel, torn strips of linen, a small leather pouch, a silver clan brooch, a few glass tumblers and a bottle of whisky. Jessie bit her lip. She suddenly felt nervous. Very nervous.

Rob sat on an ottoman at her left side. He clubbed his hair back with a leather tie, all business. ‘All right, lass, let’s roll up that sleeve.’

Before she could even say aye or nay, he pushed the loose fabric up to her shoulder and pinned it out of the way with the silver brooch. She was disturbed to see how much blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage. She bit her lip harder and tried not to whimper as Rob unwound the linen. Every movement increased the throbbing.

When the bandage was off, she stole a glance at Rob’s face—his brow had knitted into a deep frown. She could feel warm, fresh blood seeping down her arm. ‘How bad is it?’ she whispered.

‘Deeper than I thought, but I’ve seen worse.’ Rob looked straight into her eyes. ‘Jessie, you’re going to have to be brave for a little longer.’

Her stomach flipped like a landed salmon. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’

Rob squeezed her hand. ‘This may sound odd, but I’ve learned from experience that wounds should be thoroughly cleaned to avoid any purulence developing. And for some reason that I cannot explain, the
uisge beatha,’
he nodded toward the bottle of whisky, ‘seems to do the trick. Once that’s done, I’ll have to put in a few stitches. Five or six at most.’

Jessie closed her eyes and nodded. She did not like the sound of this at all.

‘I want you to drink this first.’ Rob was offering her a tumbler with a sizeable dram of the whisky in it. She took a sip. It tasted of peat and honey as it burned a warm trail down her tight throat.

‘All of it, Jessie. It will help.’

She obediently tossed it back. It was potent stuff and made her cough a little. On an empty stomach, it was already going straight to her head; not only that, an odd warmth seemed to be penetrating her limbs, making her feel almost as limp as a rag doll. Until Rob spoke again. He glanced at Tobias who’d been hovering nearby at the back of her chair. ‘Can you hold her arms, lad?’ His gaze then returned to hers. ‘I won’t lie to you, Jessie. This is going to hurt.’

Her heart pounded hard and fast in her chest and she suddenly felt short of breath as Tobias reached from behind and firmly held her arms against her sides. With horrified fascination, she watched as Rob poured out another measure of whisky into a clean tumbler. He dipped a pad of folded linen into it. And then he pressed the whisky soaked pad against her open wound.

She screamed. Excruciating fire ripped through her and she bucked against Tobias’s hold. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps and nausea swelled within her. ‘I’m goin’ to be sick.’

Rob was ready for her reaction. He calmly and swiftly placed an empty bowl in her lap and held back her hair as she vomited up the meagre contents of her stomach. When she was done he wiped her face gently with the clean towel and offered her water to rinse her mouth.

‘All right, the worst part’s almost over, lass. Tobias will hold you still again while I put in the stitches.’