The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Who was she? From this distance it was difficult to make out anything in particular about the woman beyond the fact that she had glorious, red-gold hair. The only other thing he could deduce was that as she was obviously out for a ride, she definitely couldn’t be one of the castle’s servants.

  His interest piqued to razor sharpness, he slipped from his horse and tethered the reins to a low pine bough. Thanking the Lord for his hard-earned soldier’s stealth, he slowly descended the last part of the slope before silently threading his way through the trees by the bank, toward the woman. When he was only twenty yards away, he took cover behind the thick trunk of an ancient chestnut tree, the golden foliage of the low hanging boughs providing him with sufficient camouflage.

  The woman was now slightly angled toward him. Her head rested on her knees, as if she were dozing, her unbound hair cascading like a waterfall of living flame around her. He silently begged her to look up so he might see her face.

  And then she did and his breath caught in his throat. She was one of the most stunning women he had ever seen.

  Even from this distance he could see that her face was classically beautiful with a small straight nose, determined chin and lush mouth. Her high cheekbones were blushed pink from the cold of early morning. He was too far away to discern the shade of her eyes but he imagined they were brown. A rich warm brown. But it was her tumble of magnificent hair that transfixed him the most. He was suddenly filled with an inexplicable urge to run his fingers through its rich abundance. To bury his face in the curls at her neck and inhale her sweet scent. To taste her satiny skin and those delectable lips …

  She was smiling serenely, gazing out across the water. Her beauty was so arresting he suddenly fancied her to be a mystical creature—a naiad of the loch, a lady of the lake. Something within him stirred, a feeling stronger than mere arousal. It was a longing so acute he wondered if he was bewitched.

  He burned to know who she was.

  The unmistakable sound of another horse approaching shattered the silence. Damn. The young woman and her horse had heard it too. Cursing silently again, Robert retreated a little farther behind the tree. The girl stood in one swift, graceful movement and despite the fact that she wore a cloak, he could see that she was as slender as a willow bough. She turned away from him toward the trees.

  And then horse and rider emerged.

  Simon.

  For a moment, time seemed to stop. Robert’s blood pulsed hard and hot and every muscle in his body tightened, battle-ready. Simon slid from his horse and prowled toward the girl, who remained silent. Motionless. Had she been waiting for him?

  The answer came quickly enough when Simon greeted her. ‘Well met, Jessie my dear.’

  Jessie. The goddess had a name.

  Robert’s jaw clenched to the point of pain. Jessie and his brother knew each other, and obviously well, given they were on a first name basis. It suddenly occurred to him that he was witnessing an early morning lovers’ assignation. Bitter disappointment churned in his gut at the thought. What the hell was a goddess like her doing with his despicable brother? It took every ounce of his mercenary training to keep his careening emotions in check while he continued to watch.

  Stay Robert. Don’t be a fool. You might learn something useful.

  An expression that could only be described as lustful distorted Simon’s features as he grasped the girl, Jessie, about the arms and pulled her hard against him. He spoke, and Jessie replied, but at this distance, Robert could not hear the exchange. Nor could he see Jessie’s expression, as she continued to stand with her back toward him. Resentment roiled afresh when Simon caressed her cheek then pressed his face against her hair and whispered something in her ear. There could be no doubting their relationship now.

  Then, just as he had imagined doing only moments ago, his half-brother speared one hand into the fiery mass of Jessie’s hair and crushed her lithe body even closer to his. Their kiss was long and intense. Passionate.

  A lover’s kiss.

  Disappointment settled like a cold, hard stone in Robert’s belly. He’d seen enough. Jessie was not for him.

  With a snort of disgust, he turned away and quietly retreated back up the hill.

  * * *

  ‘Well met, Jessie my dear.’

  Jessie stood frozen, terror gripping her insides as Simon stalked toward her. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that he had sought her out like this. Her father had only been gone an hour and already he was upon her. She was suddenly dreadfully aware of how isolated and vulnerable she was out here by the loch. How stupid of her to have put herself in this position.

  Well, she could be gormless no more. She would have to brazen out this encounter if she had any hope of remaining unscathed. She instinctively knew that attempting to run from Simon would only inflame the situation. So she fisted her hands and lifted her chin. But she couldn’t quite swallow away the hard lump of fear clogging her throat when Simon stopped before her.

  His silver-grey eyes gleamed with fierce hunger as they raked over her. A predator about to attack the lamb. Despite her mental bravado, Jessie’s heart crashed crazily against her ribs. Her mouth was so dry it felt as if it was filled with sand. Try as she might, she couldn’t formulate words. God help her. For the moment she was struck dumb with horror.

  Then Simon reached for her, grasping her forearms roughly. His fingers were like claws, bruising her even through her clothes. He bent toward her, his face so close that she could smell his hot, fetid breath. ‘I think it’s about time that you do something more to earn your keep here at Lochrose, don’t you?’ His tone both cajoled and threatened.

  Jessie was sure that if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly, her knees would have buckled beneath her. ‘Wha’ever do you mean?’ Damn it! Her breathless voice betrayed her fear. And although her question indicated otherwise, she knew exactly what he meant.

  Simon’s smile was knowing as he stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved fingers in a mock caress. ‘Ah, still playing coy are we?’ His expression suddenly changed, grew harder, wolfish. ‘Make sure you wear your prettiest nightrail for me tonight, my sweet Jezebel. And if you please me, I might let your father retain his position.’ His grey eyes darkened and dropped to her lips. ‘Mmm, you are too delicious for your own good, Jessie Munroe.” His mouth pressed against her ear and he whispered, “I could eat you all up right now.’

  One of his arms suddenly lashed around her waist, encircling her like a steel band, crushing her body against his. His other hand gripped her head and forced her to remain still as he violated her mouth, smothering her rising scream. He kissed her with such force, she could only gasp with pain. His tongue plundered inside and his teeth ground so hard against her lips that she tasted her own blood.

  When he raised his head, his cold eyes were filled with cruel triumph. ‘You will leave your door unlocked tonight. Do I make myself clear?’

  Jessie nodded, still mute with terror. She instinctively knew that defying him could be the catalyst for something much, much worse than the kiss she had just been forced to endure.

  However, Simon seemed satisfied with her response. He smiled his wolf’s smile again. ‘Good. I’m pleased that we now have this matter sorted out, my sweet Jezebel. I don’t want to have to punish you for being disobedient.’ He trailed a gloved finger along her swollen bottom lip.

  As if he cared. Jessie knew that a desire to inflict cruelty and fulfil his own indecent urges were the only motives behind Simon’s actions.

  As soon as he disappeared into the trees, Jessie ran to the water’s edge and threw up. Her whole body shaking, she somehow dragged herself up and walked unsteadily toward Blaeberry. Her horse, clearly sensing something was amiss, nuzzled her gently.

  ‘I would sooner die than let him come anywhere near me again,’ she whispered against the mare’s neck as hot tears burned her eyelids. ‘Aye, I’ll leave my door unlocked … but I willna be there.’

  * * *
>
  When Jessie set foot in the kitchen, Mrs MacMillan recognised that something was wrong with her straight away. The good woman dropped her rolling pin and enveloped Jessie in a warm floury hug. ‘Och, goodness gracious, lassie, sit down before ye fall down, an’ I’ll fix ye some tea.’

  The rotund cook ushered Jessie to a wooden chair set at the large, well scrubbed oak table in the centre of the room, and quickly poured her a cup from Lady Strathburn’s very own fine bone china teapot. Jessie began to protest but was duly ignored as Mrs MacMillan added two lumps of sugar and cream to her tea. To her dismay, her hands shook as she took a sip.

  Mrs MacMillan frowned and shook her head, wild strands of her grey hair escaping the edges of her mob cap as she did so. She was clearly aghast at Jessie’s state. ‘Yer shakin’ like the birks when there’s a nor’ west wind a blowin’. When yer done wi’ yer tea, ye must tell me what’s happened. But I dinna think it will surprise me if it has something to do with Mr Grant.’

  Jessie nodded then dutifully drank the sweet, milky tea. Mrs MacMillan also set a freshly baked bap smothered in butter and blackberry jam in front of her, but Jessie couldn’t bring herself to touch it. Her throat was tight and nausea still roiled within her.

  When she’d drained her cup, Mrs MacMillan shooed away the two scullery maids who had been stealing curious glances at her. ‘Now lass, ye must tell me exactly wha’ tha’ bastard has done,’ she said gravely, her shrewd brown eyes studying Jessie’s face.

  Jessie closed her eyes and swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill. She felt completely unlike herself—shaky, humiliated and at the same time, angry as a cat caught in a rainstorm. Damn Simon Grant to hell for making me feel this way.

  But she knew she must confide in someone. She wouldn’t survive this situation unscathed unless she had help. Taking a deep breath, she looked Mrs MacMillan in the eye, and proceeded to reveal the details of her recent encounter with Simon as well as all her fears about tonight and for the coming days. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the quiver from her voice.

  Mrs MacMillan’s eyes flashed and her cheeks grew bright red with indignation as she listened. ‘Och, tha’ sorry excuse for a man needs castrating wi’ my meat cleaver,’ she blustered when Jessie had finished. ‘I’d do it meself but for the fact tha’ I’d end up swinging for it.’

  Despite her distress, Jessie smiled a little at the thought of unmanning Simon. Though she was also astounded he had the audacity to believe he could behave in such an abominable way and get away with it. Mrs MacMillan had warned her on her first day to be wary of him. But to go so far as to rape her under his parents’ roof—how could he even consider such a thing?

  She wondered if the earl and the countess knew how depraved their son really was. ‘Do you think Lord an’ Lady Strathburn know of Mr Grant’s … intentions?’

  Mrs MacMillan’s brows knitted together. ‘I would say tha’ there would be little tha’ escapes her ladyship’s notice. She knows aboot her son’s vices and does naught to stop him. As for the earl … I wouldna ken. He doesna ha’ much to do with Mr Grant, other than trying to limit his drinkin’ and spendin’ as much as he can.’

  Jessie was certain the earl would be appalled by his son’s behaviour, if he knew what was happening. It was a gamble, but she needed to consider entreating Lord Strathburn for aid as a course of action, if only to ensure Simon didn’t have a hand in having her father dismissed. ‘What if I spoke to Lord Strathburn? Do you think he might help?’

  Mrs MacMillan shrugged. ‘I dinna ken how he would react to be honest. His lordship has always been a man of honour. But if it were just yer word against Mr Grant’s … well I wonder if Lord Strathburn would think tha’ havin’ yer father and yerself here would be more trouble than it’s worth, when all is said and done.’

  And that was exactly what Jessie feared also. When it boiled down to it, they had only been at Lochrose for a few weeks. Lord Strathburn may simply see her as a troublemaker. In the end, it was a chance she was unwilling to take if it meant her father would lose his position.

  There was only one thing to do, as she’d known all along after Simon had threatened her at the loch. I have to leave.

  Mrs MacMillan obviously knew that too. ‘Right m’lass, enough of this speculatin’,’ she said, her expression grim. ‘There’s only one thing ye can do to protect yerself. Ye must go, at once.’

  Jessie knew Mrs MacMillan spoke sense but she was still torn between her sense of self-preservation and duty to her father. ‘I know I must, but how do I go about it without jeopardising my father’s position? Tha’ is still the question isn’t it? Mr Grant has threatened to have him dismissed if I do no’ …’ She stumbled, unable to complete the hideous thought.

  ‘Dinna ye worry aboot yer father, lassie. Lord Strathburn will have already seen how canny a manager he is, so whatever Mr Grant says to slight him, in the end it willna matter to his lordship. You must only think o’ yer own safety now. Do ye no’ have any other family or friends ye can turn to?’

  Jessie considered her question. ‘When we lost Dunraven Hall, my da initially thought about sending me to Edinburgh to stay with my cousin, Maggie Henderson. She is married to a tea merchant and has three young children wi’ another on the way. I am sure she wouldna mind if I came to stay, even for a wee while.’

  Mrs MacMillan’s face creased into a wry smile. ‘With that many bairns I’m sure she wouldna mind if ye stayed a long while.’ Her expression changed, became serious again and she reached out to squeeze Jessie’s hand. ‘Now, here’s what ye should do, lass. Ye must write yer father a note telling him that word has come from yer cousin, begging ye to come and stay at once, to help with the wee ones. I shall keep the note an’ give it to yer father when he gets back, so he willna fash himself aboot yer whereabouts.’

  ‘What shall I tell Lord and Lady Strathburn?’ The earl’s good opinion really mattered to Jessie. She did not wish to put him out and have it reflect on her father’s good standing.

  ‘I will tell them the same story, so dinna worry,’ replied Mrs MacMillan, patting her arm. ‘The post arrived in Grantown-on-Spey earlier today so they should believe ye aboot yer cousin sending word. Yer father canna be blamed if ye need to attend to a family crisis. The earl wouldna countenance tha’.’

  Tears of relief and gratitude filled Jessie’s eyes. ‘I canna thank you enough.’

  Mrs MacMillan pulled a handkerchief from her apron and offered it to Jessie. ‘’Tis nothing, m’lass. Nothing at all. Now, the only obstacle we have to overcome is how to get ye to Edinburgh.’

  Jessie frowned. ‘I dinna think it would be wise for me to ride all tha’ way by myself. It is well over one hundred miles.’

  Mrs MacMillan nodded. ‘The public coach from Inverness passes by the Strathspey Inn in Grantown-on-Spey, two days from now. At noon. It only goes by once a month an’ it is verra slow. But respectable folk use it. Why, even Mrs MacIntosh, the kirkman’s wife, has travelled to Edinburgh on it, to visit her sister. And I would be happy to help ye with the money for the fare.’

  Jessie smiled. ‘No, that willna be necessary, dear Mrs MacMillan. You are too kind. I have a wee bit o’ money set aside. But the question is,’ she sighed heavily, ‘what shall I do between now an’ when the coach leaves? I still need to avoid Mr Grant. If I stay here, or even at the inn in Kilburn or Grantown, I am certain he will find me.’

  ‘Aye. And he wouldna think twice aboot forcing himself on ye, even at an inn. You need to disappear.’ Mrs MacMillan’s brow dipped into a deep furrow as she thought a little longer. Then a mischievous smile creased her ruddy face. ‘I ken just the place, m’lass. Some place he willna look at all.’

  Chapter Three

  Jessie paused beneath a Scots pine on a sharp ridge and wiped a trickle of perspiration from her brow. She’d been walking and climbing for over an hour, and aside from needing to catch her breath, she wanted to get her bearings before continuing on. The loch and the castle lay in
the wide glen far below her. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought it was a scene from a fairy-tale, rather than the setting for the nightmare Simon had planned.

  But she wouldn’t stay at Lochrose to become Simon’s unwilling doxy. She’d much rather scale mountains and traverse lonely upland moors any day.

  Glancing upwards along the ridgeline, Jessie could just make out the path leading to the isolated glen that was her ultimate destination. She prayed Mrs MacMillan was correct in surmising that Simon wouldn’t think to search for her at Lord Strathburn’s hunting lodge. Two nights—tonight and tomorrow—were all that Jessie had to brave alone before she made her way to Grantown-on-Spey on the other side of the range.

  A solitary cloud passed across the midday sun and a chill breeze pulled at the loose curls that had already escaped Jessie’s braid. It was time to press on. The weather still held relatively fair, but up here, the elements could change in the space of a moment. Jessie knew that the sooner she reached the shelter of the hunting lodge, the better. As she only had her wren-brown woollen gown and travelling cloak to wear, she really didn’t want them to get ruined if she could help it.

  Gathering her resolve, Jessie hitched her leather satchel higher on her shoulder before carefully negotiating the ridgeline and scaling the next slope, steeper still. Tumbled boulders and outcroppings of rock appeared and the wind-bent Scots pines thinned out. The ground became less even and she needed to take care where she stepped. When she at last reached the narrow pass curling between towering pillars of grey rock, her breath was coming in short ragged pants and her thighs ached with the exertion of climbing. She stopped for a brief rest, regretting that she had packed her satchel so hurriedly she’d forgotten a water flask. But if she had followed Mrs MacMillan’s directions accurately and was on the right track—and she fervently hoped that she was—she would soon reach a burn.