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 boo
k. 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.
Her father had agreed to the arrangement immediately. He was clearly pleased that Lady Strathburn had developed an apparent interest in her because it meant she would be spending a considerable amount of time within the castle instead of hiding away in the factor’s allocated residence, the Gate-House.
And therein was the rub. Jessie strongly suspected her father still harboured the unrealistic hope that Simon Grant may take a romantic interest in her, and that perhaps in time she might make a well-placed marriage. But Jessie knew this would never happen—for two reasons. Firstly, she had nothing to recommend her. A penniless, untitled lass was not marriage material for the son of the Earl of Strathburn. And secondly, but most importantly, she couldn’t stand the man.
Jessie hadn’t yet told her father that Simon’s interest in her was not the least bit seemly or well-intentioned. He’d had enough stress over the past year and worrying about her well-being was the last thing he needed.
But today’s encounter with Simon had been the most invasive by far. Beneath her irritation, Jessie realised she was even a little bit frightened. Right at this moment, fear prickled along her skin and her heart was hammering uncomfortably against her ribs. Her instincts told her to keep well back from the desk, out of Simon Grant’s immediate reach. She really couldn’t wait to quit the library.
‘Mmm, The Iliad, the finest example of the epic poem I do believe. However I see this copy is in ancient Greek. Are you planning on translating it for my father, Miss Munroe?’ Simon’s grey eyes swept over her again, a questioning smile curving his thin lips.
Of course I am. We kept scores of indecipherable texts in ancient languages in Dunraven’s library. Jessie bit her tongue to stop the retort escaping. Be polite, Jessie. You dinna want to provoke him. ‘I’m afraid that my linguistic talents dinna extend to that language,’ she at last admitted through tight lips. ‘I wasna aware that it was written in Greek…’
Simon’s cool, calculating gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘I am adept with the tongue, Miss Munroe. I would be delighted to improve your talents in that area, if you are so inclined.’
When it’s a cold day in hell. Jessie willed herself to ignore Simon’s double entendre, but to her chagrin, her cheeks flushed hotly with both indignation and embarrassment. ‘I’m sure that will no’ be necessary, sir,’ she replied, amazed that her voice was steady. ‘But perhaps you know of another copy. An English version?’ If she could encourage him to look in the shelves, perhaps he would be diverted enough for her to beat a hasty retreat back to the drawing room where Lord Strathburn was waiting.
Simon closed the book and wandered around the desk to the side closest to Jessie. He was decidedly too close for her liking now. He leaned his hip against the desk and tapped a finger against his lower lip. ‘I may have a copy myself. In my private collection. Perhaps you could accompany me upstairs to my rooms to help me look for it?’
Jessie’s stomach lurched with revulsion. Steeling herself to remain impassive in the face of such an inappropriate, indeed, lurid suggestion was proving no mean feat. Nevertheless, she lifted her chin and said, ‘Alas, I fear that I have been far too long already, an’ I’m keeping Lord Strathburn waiting.’ Her gaze darted to the desk as she weighed up the risk of taking the Greek version of The Iliad versus leaving it.
Simon’s mouth curved into a knowing smile and he placed a proprietorial hand on the dusty cover of the book. He knew she wouldn’t go back to his father empty-handed.
Damn him for this cat and mouse game he was playing. He was daring her to come closer to take it.
Jessie changed tack. ‘Perhaps I shall just take the other book Lord Strathburn requested. If ye will excuse me, sir.’ She bobbed a quick curtsy before crossing to the nearest bookshelf and pulled out a random volume. Shakespeare’s Macbeth. It would have to do.
She was about to turn and head for the door when she felt Simon behind her. Stupid, stupid. How thoughtless of her not to have kept her eye on him. A cold frisson of unease swept through her, chilling her to the very bone.
Simon leaned over her shoulder. ‘Macbeth. Another tale of great passion and violence.’ He was so close that Jessie could feel the brush of his breath against the exposed nape of her neck. The sour odour of the claret he had partaken with his lunch still lingered and nausea roiled. She hated feeling so helpless—frozen, like a trapped deer, too afraid to move or breathe. Where was her anger, now that she needed it?
A lock of her hair had escaped a pin and had fallen forward onto her cheek. At these close quarters, Simon had obviously noticed it also. He reached out and tucked it back behind her ear, his long fingers then trailing slowly down her neck before grasping her shoulder. ‘In the words of Macbeth, ‘Let not light see my black and dark desires’,’ he whispered into her ear.
Jessie’s shudder was involuntary. Trapped against the bookcase, she did not dare to turn around.
‘Are you cold, Miss Munroe?’
Simon’s question prompted a sudden idea to effect an escape. ‘I’m a wee chill perhaps, sir. I do hope I’m no’ catching a cold,’ she replied and sniffed, loudly.
To Jessie’s relief, her ploy worked. Simon immediately took several steps away from her, leaving her room to safely turn around without brushing against him. Lady Strathburn had alluded to her on more than one occasion that Simon had a delicate constitution. Jessie had correctly surmised that Simon would be particular about not contracting sickness. With Macbeth in hand, she hurried to the library door.
As she grasped the doorknob, she turned her head to make sure Simon wasn’t following. Thankfully, he had retreated to one of the window embrasures, his attention seemingly claimed by the view of Loch Kilburn.
Do no’ linger, Jessie. Go. She quietly pulled the door open. But then it creaked.
Damn.
Simon glanced over his shoulder at her; his grey eyes held a distinct, predatory gleam. A wolf’s stare. Jessie’s whole body instinctively recoiled and she stumbled over the threshold.
‘Good day, Jessie,’ she heard him murmur as she closed the door. She didn’t bother to reply. An unwanted book in her hand, and her heart in her mouth, she then all but fled back to the drawing room.
* * *
When Simon heard the door close, he sat in the window seat then drew the curtains, his erection straining painfully against his breeches. The maids wouldn’t be in to tend the fire and light the candles for at least an hour or two, so he should remain undisturbed.
He’d thought that slaking his lust on the young, red-headed lass he’d come across in the fields, on a lonely country lane just outside of Nethy Bridge yesterday evening, would dull his appetite for Jessie. But if anything, it had just made the ache in his loins all the worse, especially when he recalled how the girl had struggled until he’d eventually had to knock her out. He liked it when they fought back. He had no doubt that the high-and-mighty Jessie Munroe would try to resist him too.
The throbbing in his groin was now urgent. He swiftly unbuttoned the front of his black velvet breeches and closed his eyes. As the dampness of his release spread into his silk handkerchief, he shuddered and smiled with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. As luck would have it, Jessie’s father was leaving tomorrow to collect rents and inspect the entirety of the Strathburn estate before winter descended. At last his pretty Jezebel would be alone. He would be able to do whatever he wi
shed.
* * *
On Jessie’s return to the drawing room, it was to find Lord Strathburn fast asleep in his favourite chair before the fire. Beside him on the hearthrug lay his devoted deerhound, Caesar. Neither of them stirred at her entry. She had obviously been too long in the library; she hoped the earl wouldn’t be too annoyed with her when he woke.
A half drunk cup of tea sat on a small cherrywood table beside him. The thought of having a cup to calm her jangled nerves was indeed tempting—her hands trembled and her stomach still churned—but the risk of being caught taking such a liberty by the countess made her think better of it. She really didn’t want to jeopardise her father’s position here.
With a shaky sigh, she sank onto the window seat, discarding Macbeth onto the brocade cushion beside her. Outside, the mirror-like surface of Loch Kilburn reflected the fiery wooded braes and azure blue sky. It was the type of autumn day just perfect for riding.
But not for her. Not any more. Gone were the days when she could saddle Blaeberry whenever she liked to ride out and explore the countryside. The longing to be as free as the eagle she could see swooping over the loch was suddenly so acute, tears misted her vision. Perhaps early tomorrow, before Lady Strathburn made a claim on her time, she could sneak away for a ride. It was also the day that her father would be leaving. The thought passed like a dark cloud across her mind.
The idea of spending even a full day alone at Lochrose without her father’s protection, let alone a fortnight, made her inwardly shudder, especially after Simon’s lecherous conduct in the library just now. But to make matters worse—and despite her protestations—her father had arranged for her to stay up at the castle during his absence. It would be almost impossible to avoid Simon. Cold dread snaked down her spine at the thought of the coming days. And nights. She didn’t know if she would be able to tolerate the man’s unwanted attentions for much longer.
But stand it she must, for the sake of her father. She didn’t have the heart to tell him about Simon’s advances, just when his spirits seemed so much improved. Only just this morning, during breakfast, he had reported with a wide smile that the earl was a most canny and fair employer. Jessie knew that if she did tell her father what was really going on, he would be infuriated with the earl’s son and would want to leave here straightaway. And then what would they do?
The Master Of Strathburn Page 2