The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  He was certain Mrs MacMillan was somehow involved in the girl’s sudden disappearance. The old cow had been questioned by his mother but to no avail. The woman was sticking to her story that Jessie had been urgently summoned to Edinburgh to assist her cousin. He didn’t believe the tale for a minute.

  Impotent anger as black and volatile as the storm clouds outside churned inside him. He tossed back another glass of cognac, but like always, the alcohol did little to douse his fury. His Jezebel was out there somewhere, somewhere close, he could feel it. He knew the public coach for Edinburgh didn’t pass through Grantown-on-Spey until the day after tomorrow. And the chit had not taken her horse or any other mount from Lochrose’s stables. She was hiding from him, but he would find her.

  And when he did, he would make her so completely his, she would never dare to defy him again.

  Chapter Five

  When Jessie awoke the next morning, it was to discover that Rob had slept in the chair by the fire, just across from her bed. Her breath hitched at the unexpected and wholly overwhelming sight of him. Even though he was asleep, he presented a formidable figure stretched out as he was in the armchair—all long, muscular legs encased in tight, buckskin breeches and black leather boots. His loose, linen shirt spread open at the neck and she glimpsed a deep inverted triangle of surprisingly tanned, taut skin that extended across his collarbones and down to the apex at the centre of his breastbone. A pale ray of sunlight filtered through a gap in the window shutters behind him and caressed the dark stubble across the line of his strong jaw.

  She had a sudden inconsequential and completely incongruous thought, given her situation—how would Rob look clean-shaven? She suddenly wished he wasn’t so devastatingly handsome. She couldn’t think straight when she was around him. He had the power to turn her into a henwit, even when he was asleep.

  Remember he’s a fugitive, Jessie. He’s dangerous.

  You need to leave…

  But how? She didn’t even know if she could walk.

  She carefully began to push herself up. Her arm still throbbed and the stitches tugged sharply, but thankfully, her ankle seemed stiff rather than acutely painful. Pulling the covers back, she prepared to slide out of bed, but then Rob stirred.

  Damn.

  It took a moment for Rob to rouse completely—he rubbed the back of his neck as he sat up straight, and then yawned, pushing his brown-black hair away from his face. The action made him seem strangely vulnerable. Until his deep blue eyes focused intently on her. ‘Good morning, Jessie. I trust you slept well?’

  Jessie swallowed, the sound audible in the silence. Rob’s question threw her. A polite enquiry with regard to how she had rested seemed completely out of place, given that the man had effectively stood guard over her all night. But she wouldn’t show him that she was rattled. Somehow she summoned a wry smile. ‘Better than you I suspect.’

  Rob flashed a smile in return at her retort, his eyes travelling over her dishevelled form. She blushed and snatched the quilt up to her chest as she realised that her linen shirt—like his—had become loosened at the neck and she’d been displaying far too much of her cleavage.

  Annoyingly, his smile widened. ‘Hmm, I think you may be right. But tell me—even though you look very well to me—how are your injuries?’

  As she described how her arm felt, Rob rose and moved over to the bed. ‘Let me take a look at your stitches. We can’t have your wound getting gangrenous now, can we?’

  Jessie reluctantly proffered her arm and winced as Rob gently pushed up her sleeve and loosened the linen strip to check his handiwork. Apparently satisfied that everything was fine, he rewrapped it. ‘You’ll have a slight scar I’m afraid.’

  Jessie shrugged. ‘It doesna matter.’ She pushed down her sleeve, confused as to why he showed such an ongoing concern for her welfare, even though last night he and Tobias had unmistakably marked her as a threat. Could Rob have had a change of heart? Perhaps he would let her go after all. She bit her lip as worry gnawed at her belly. She trusted that she would be able to deal with any contingency.

  She had to.

  Rob’s gaze ran down the length of the quilt to her feet. ‘Shall I check your ankle?’

  Jessie shook her head firmly. ‘No, that willna be necessary. It’s much improved. I should be able to get about without a problem today.’

  ‘Well, I shall leave you to freshen up. I hope you don’t mind, but I laid your dress and other clothes out by the fire last night. I imagine it may be a while before they’re in a state that’s comfortable to wear. Just call if you need help.’

  After the door closed behind him, Jessie shook her head in bewilderment. She couldn’t believe that Rob had tried to dry her clothes for her, and was concerned they may still be damp. Yet again his actions confounded her. If he meant her ill, why worry about the state of her clothing?

  But puzzling over unanswerable questions wasn’t going to get her out of this mess. Getting dressed would be a good place to start. Dragging in a fortifying breath, Jessie struggled out from under the bedclothes and warily tested her ankle. As she had suspected, it was very stiff and still painful when she bore weight on it, but she would manage.

  She found a chamber pot beneath the bed and there was a pitcher with water in it by the hearth. After attending to her ablutions as best she could, she changed into her fresh shift and spare woollen stockings that she’d packed in her satchel. She confirmed her gown was in no fit state to wear, wet or not. Aside from missing the left sleeve, the brown worsted wool was bloodied and stained with mud. Her woollen cloak, also grubby, would be serviceable, but as it was still too damp, she left it by the hearth.

  Which meant she would be wearing an unusual combination of garments to say the least. She settled for putting on her stays, the linen shirt she had worn during the night and her almost dry cambric petticoats. She then wrapped the plaid around her waist and over her shoulder in the style of an arisaig before securing it with the silver brooch that Rob had used to pin up her sleeve last night. She noticed for the first time that it bore the Clan Grant crest of a burning hill and bore the motto Stand Fast. How ironic, given her circumstances. But she did not think Lord Strathburn would mind if she borrowed it.

  She might look strange, but she was grateful to be fully clothed.

  A sudden gust of wind rattled the window, drawing Jessie over to take a look at the day. Throwing open the inner shutters, she found the panes were rimed with frost, but she could see enough of the view outside to ascertain that it was a fine, blustery day. The strong wind had cleared the sky of all traces of cloud and fog. The nearby trees bent against the onslaught, their branches raining fiery flurries of gold, burnt orange and scarlet leaves to the ground. Even though it was clear, it would be cold.

  Catching sight of her faint reflection in the windowpane, Jessie barely stifled a shriek. Her hair was a mass of wild snarls and tangles. Indeed, her appearance was something akin to a fiery Medusa. Although she tended to eschew personal vanity, she blushed to think that Rob had seen her in such a state of disarray. The heat in her cheeks crept across her whole face when she recalled that Rob had already seen her in a worse state of undress when she’d stood before him, all wet, bedraggled and half-naked last night.

  To take her mind off the memory, she hastily dug out her comb from her satchel and attacked her hair with vigour. As she had no idea where her ribbon had gone, she settled for leaving her hair unbound. Errantly curling hair would just have to do.

  As she began to turn away from the window, she suddenly sensed a movement in her peripheral vision. It was Tobias riding away from the lodge. His horse cleanly cleared a small burn before disappearing into the trees. Frowning, she realised the lad was probably heading to Lochrose to question his cousin.

  Jessie recalled Rob and Tobias discussing the possibility last night. Of course that meant Tobias would soon discover she was only the factor’s daughter and not the earl’s ward. He would not glean much else about her tho
ugh. She trusted that Mrs MacMillan would never divulge any of the sordid details about Simon’s pursuit of her. And the other staff would not be privy to what had really precipitated her flight from Lochrose. Aside from Mrs MacMillan, everyone else at the castle would have heard that she’d been summoned to Edinburgh to assist her cousin.

  It also meant that no one would confirm or deny that the factor’s daughter was Simon’s lover. Rob would still assume she was his mistress.

  Unless I confess all to him.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she and Rob were all alone. Now would be as good a time as any to tell him the truth.

  Squaring her shoulders and with her chin resolutely raised, Jessie pushed open the bedroom door—and bit back an involuntary gasp. There, before the fireplace knelt Rob, naked from the waist up, sharpening his dirk on a whetstone. His linen shirt was tossed carelessly over the back of one of the oak chairs at the table. He looked up briefly, but he didn’t seem at all perturbed that she witnessed him in a shirtless state.

  He nodded at the armchair nearby. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and warm yourself by the fire? It’s damnably cool this morning.’

  Cool? Jessie felt anything but cool. Her pulse skittering and her cheeks flaming, she reluctantly limped to the chair Rob had indicated and sat down. How was she to profess her true situation to him and seek to enlist his support when he flaunted himself thus? Yet again he threw her off balance and rendered her all but speechless.

  He was facing her, his head bent forward. He’d tied his hair back with a strip of leather but a stray lock kept falling forward over his forehead. His naked torso was so close, if she leaned forward and reached out she would be able to touch him, trace the hard lines of sinew, muscle and bone. She fisted her hands into the wool of her borrowed plaid, determined to ignore the wanton impulse and instead tried to marshal her thoughts into some semblance of order.

  But it was a hopeless enterprise. Never before had she seen a man in such a state of undress. She felt stunned and awed and awkward all at the same time. She determinedly tried not to look at Rob’s wide, powerful shoulders and the hard planes of his chest. She desperately tried to ignore the ripples down his lean stomach or the defined, well-developed muscles in his upper arms. She tried instead to focus on the flames jumping in the grate and how she was to broach the subject of Simon and her need to get to Edinburgh. Her cheeks still blazed, but not from the heat of the fire.

  Rob stayed focused on his task of sharpening the dirk on the moist surface of the stone. Every now and again he tested the blade on his thumb before returning to the process of honing it to razor sharpness. Jessie cleared her throat to speak but halted, suddenly apprehensive about why he was taking such care in sharpening the knife—the same one that he’d used yesterday to cut her shift and sleeve away. Dear God, surely he wouldn’t use it to threaten her or worse …

  She dragged in a breath and found her voice. ‘Wh-what are yer plans for the day, Mr Burnley? After you’ve finished sharpening yer dirk?’

  * * *

  Robert smiled to himself as he tested the blade of his knife again. Jessie was visibly nervous but he was not sure if it was due to his semi-clothed state or the task he was engaged in. Perhaps it was both. Either way, he was amused. Let the lass look her fill—he’d certainly had his turn to see her half-naked. It was only fair he returned the favour.

  But he also didn’t want Jessie to be afraid of him. Surely she didn’t think he would physically harm her any further. Since the hunting accident, he’d done all he could to make amends for the damage he’d inflicted.

  He lifted his gaze and whatever he had been about to say stuck in his throat. Even dressed in a haphazard array of garments, Jessie’s beauty stole his breath, struck him to the very bone. Her cheeks were flushed and her beautiful red-gold hair curled around her face like a bright halo. A memory of how she’d looked last night, in nothing but her wet shift, burst into his mind and his cock twitched. God, how he wanted her.

  But he knew he couldn’t have her. Disappointment settled heavily in his chest.

  Jessie was frowning, her whisky-brown eyes wary as she waited for him to answer.

  Guilt—for his less than chivalrous conduct and wholly lustful thoughts—suddenly writhed in his gut. He really should put the lass at ease. ‘Any plans I have are not untoward, I assure you,’ he replied, failing to hide the huskiness in his voice, but he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘As for my dirk, I’m just making sure the blade is razor sharp so I don’t cut myself when I dispose of this.’ He ran a thumb across the dark stubble on his jaw. ‘Just because we’re out in the wilderness, it doesn’t mean that I should go around looking like a savage.’

  ‘I see,’ she responded and then he noted a sudden spark of spirit lighting her eyes as she delivered her next comment. ‘And might I suggest an addition of a shirt might assist in yer transformation as well.’

  He chuckled at that and noticed that the tension in her posture eased slightly. A moment later, he heard her stomach grumble loudly. ‘There’s an apple left over if you’d like to break your fast.’ He nodded toward the dining table where it sat between the candles. ‘Tobias has ridden out to forage for more food. He shouldn’t be too long.’

  * * *

  Jessie rose and seated herself at the table, doubtful that food was all Tobias was gathering. However she was relieved to be farther away from Rob. He disconcerted her dreadfully and she badly needed to think.

  As she bit into the apple, she contemplated again how to raise the topic of her situation. She needed to convince Rob to trust her. If she could succeed in this, perhaps she could negotiate with him to stay here until she could catch the next day’s public coach to Edinburgh as she’d originally planned. She was in no hurry to get to Grantown-on-Spey just yet.

  But she would not begin the conversation she needed to have until the man was decently dressed. She needed her wits about her.

  Despite her resolve not to look at Rob, her eyes kept straying toward the fireplace where he was now shaving. He’d propped a small looking-glass on the stone mantelpiece and had lathered his jaw with soap—the small cake now sat beside a basin of soapy water on the hearthstone. She watched in fascination as Rob held the skin of his face taut and ran the razor sharp blade over it, to reveal smooth tanned skin underneath. With his hair pulled back as it was, she could clearly see the defined muscles in his corded arms and back as he moved.

  He’d told her he used to be in the Watch. Indeed, he had a warrior’s body—aside from his powerful musculature, there were obvious marks of old, healed battle wounds on his skin. Her gaze traced along the ridge of a particularly nasty looking scar—a long slash that ran across his left shoulder blade down to his rib cage—and she wondered how he had sustained it. It must have been excruciatingly painful. Her bullet wound was nothing compared to that.

  Look away, Jessie Munroe. Now. But it seemed her eyes wouldn’t obey. Her gaze strayed lower to Rob’s narrow hips and she couldn’t help but notice how his buckskin breeches hugged the firm curves of his buttocks and muscular thighs. She bit down hard into the apple to stifle a purely wanton and unladylike groan. Heavens above, Rob was too … too beautiful, too powerful and utterly mesmerising. The strange warmth she’d felt in her lower abdomen yesterday began to pulse again and she felt slick between her thighs.

  Flustered, and feeling more than a trifle guilty for ogling Rob, she was about to look away when she noticed the reflection of his eyes in the mirror staring back at her with an expression of wry amusement. He was laughing at her!

  Anger and embarrassment sparked within her and with a muttered curse, she deliberately shifted her position in the chair so her back was to him. How dare he parade himself in front of her like a … a peacock and not expect her to gawp at him. It was audacious to say the least. She would not look at him again until he was fully clothed.

  However, she’d forgotten that he’d tossed his shirt over the back of the chair opposite her
. When he finished shaving, he walked over to stand in front of her so she couldn’t help but notice him. She concentrated on nibbling the last remnants of flesh from her apple core. He’d pushed the dirk into a scabbard secured to the waistband of his breeches. Even though her gaze was directed downwards, she could see the handle jutting up near the outline of his lean hipbone. Oh God, don’t look at his hips or lower, Jessie Munroe.

  ‘How’s the apple?’ he asked, in a thoroughly amused tone.

  She lifted her gaze to give him what she hoped was a withering look but instead her eyebrows shot up as utter amazement overwhelmed her. ‘Oh, my Lord,’ she gasped, dropping the apple core. It rolled off the table and onto the floor unheeded.

  Rob looked at her, his eyes narrowed, clearly puzzled.

  Jessie stood up so abruptly, her chair tipped over with a crash. ‘You’re Robert Grant.’

  The truth slammed into her, stealing her breath. How had she been so blind? It was the same man that she’d seen in the miniature portrait belonging to Lord Strathburn. The man before her was obviously older than the young man in the painting; the lines of Rob’s face were now leaner, more defined, harder somehow. But she could plainly see that they both shared the same striking features, now that the beginnings of Rob’s beard were gone. She recognised the same clean strong jaw, the wide mouth, the dark hair pulled back and the startling blue eyes.

  Other pieces of information came back to her that fitted her construct. This man obviously used to be a soldier, he seemed thoroughly familiar with this countryside and the lodge, knew Simon’s character through and through. How had she not realised it before?

  ‘You’ve come back,’ she added uselessly, and took a step away from the table, almost tripping over the upended chair.

  Rob, or Robert, inclined his head, a sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth. ‘So it would seem.’