The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  When the small stone building came into view, it looked completely deserted—the shutters were closed, no smoke spiralled from the chimney. But the girl was canny—too canny for his liking—and she could just be taking extra care. As Captain MacTaggart ordered his men to search about the lodge and the woods, Simon dismounted and threw open the door. There was a faint, acrid smell in the air and MacTaggart, who’d followed him in, pointed out damp ashes and coals in both of the fireplaces. Someone had indeed been here recently.

  But there was no sign of Jessie. Damn her to hell.

  ‘Mr Grant,’ called one of the young Watchmen from the main bedchamber. Simon entered the room to find the man brandishing a long, brown velvet ribbon, ‘I found this under the bed an’ there are a few strands of red hair on the pillow.’

  Simon snatched at the ribbon and balled it up in his fist. The bitch had been here, there was no doubt about it. She had travelled by foot, so even if she’d set out at first light, there was only so far she could go, especially in this upland terrain of moors, bogs and mountains. He smiled. It would not be long before he found her.

  Simon’s delightfully dark musings were interrupted by the excited call of another of the Black Watchmen who’d been searching outside. He and MacTaggart rushed out to find a young corporal pointing at a space on the ground from which he had cleared a pile of leaf litter. ‘Horse dung, Captain, an’ fresh too.’

  Fuck. Simon ground his teeth so hard his jaw cracked. Where the hell had the chit obtained a horse? From the inn or one of the estate’s tenants? God knows where she could be if that was the case.

  ‘What now, sir?’ asked MacTaggart.

  Simon exploded. ‘How the bloody hell should I know? She could be anywhere by now.’

  MacTaggart did not flinch at all. ‘Per’aps we could return to Grantown an’ question the stablehands at the inn further. I can also send word to the regiments at Cairnmore and Kingussie to keep an eye out on the roads to Inverness an’ to Edinburgh. If she has a horse, she may be headed toward where she originally planned after all.’

  Simon flung out another violent string of curses, overwhelmed by the urge to smash his fist into something. How he hated feeling thwarted. Made a fool of. What the captain had said made perfect sense of course, but as black rage pumped through his veins, he needed a physical release. He briefly contemplated taking a swing at the captain’s face but the man looked as solid as the stone wall of the lodge behind him. Clenching his fists and closing his eyes, he instead envisioned what he’d do to Jessie Munroe when he found her.

  Chapter Six

  Christ, this water’s cold.

  Despite the fact that Robert was thigh deep in a lochan and quite literally freezing his arse off, he remained stock-still. The surface of the ice cold water rippled in the moment before he felt the smooth slide of the trout against the back of his bare knee, and then his waiting palm. Yes. It had been a decade, but he still had the knack of catching a fish with his bare hands. Grinning, he held the slippery, writhing trout aloft for Jessie to see. They might be going to sleep in a cave, but at least they would eat well tonight.

  The corners of Jessie’s mouth twitched in an answering smile. ‘Ah, so you can hunt after all.’

  ‘Wicked wench.’ Robert splashed her and she squealed as the icy droplets rained down on her face and hair. He laughed and waded out of the water onto the mossy bank, tossing the trout onto a nearby rock for gutting and scaling with his dirk. ‘You should be thankful I can, otherwise it would be dried beef again, Miss Munroe.’

  She pressed her lips together as if attempting to look contrite, although she couldn’t quite hide the gleam of mischief in her eyes. ‘I am grateful, truly, milord. I’m so hungry, I would have been happy if you’d caught a hedgehog for dinner.’

  ‘They’re a wee bit tough and have nowhere near enough meat on them. And stop calling me, my lord. Rob or Robert will do just fine.’

  She looked up at him from her perch upon a boulder and lifted a finely arched brow. ‘Well, you only have yerself to blame. You keep calling me Miss Munroe.’

  ‘Aye, I do.’ He wiped his wet palm on his plaid, then proffered his hand. ‘Shall we call a truce for this evening then, Jessie?’

  She narrowed her eyes, but grasped his hand anyway. ‘Agreed. But only if you stop parading around half-dressed. There is only so much informality one can take, Robert Grant.’

  * * *

  Jessie tried to keep her gaze averted as Robert dried off his very tanned bare legs and feet with his plaid before pulling on his buckskin breeches. Not that he probably would have minded if she’d openly gaped at him, in view of his behaviour this morning. Why, the man was utterly shameless, the way he’d stood in the water clothed only in his shirt and plaid, the kilted fabric rucked up around his bare muscular thighs, like a Highland warrior of old. At one point she’d even caught a glimpse of one taut buttock cheek.

  But aren’t you shameless too, Jessie Munroe? If she was truly honest with herself, she couldn’t deny that her mouth was watering, not because of the promise of a trout meal. Even Robert’s long bare feet were attractive. Who’d have thought one could be aroused by such things?

  She wasn’t looking forward to spending another night alone with Robert in close quarters. Her father would be horrified if he knew. At least Tobias would be returning soon—she assumed he’d gone to speak with his cousin at the castle—and would act as a chaperone of sorts. She shuddered—a male chaperone didn’t really count though did it? She could never tell her father about any of this, ever.

  With any luck she’d be on the public coach tomorrow and the last few days would just be a bad memory, nothing more.

  An icy wind suddenly tore through the shadowy glen, pulling at Jessie’s hair and cloak. Heavy grey clouds were rapidly piling up along the granite peaks around them. She glanced at Robert, who was tugging on his half boots. ‘You must be freezing.’

  Robert stood and pulled on his coat. ‘Aye. And you soon will be too. It’s going to snow. As soon as I’ve cleaned this trout, we’ll need to get back to the cave.’

  Jessie frowned. ‘Are you certain we canna spend the night at the lodge?’

  Robert shook his head, the line of his mouth suddenly grim. ‘I didn’t tell you this before, but Tobias spied a search party of Watchmen—and Simon—in the glen earlier this afternoon. I just can’t take that chance, Jessie. Who knows where or when your affianced will turn up again looking for you. Hopefully Tobias will be back from Lochrose soon, with more news.’

  Oh God, Mrs MacMillan had been wrong. Simon had been looking for her up here. An icy tendril of fear, colder than the gale whipping about them, snaked down Jessie’s spine, raising gooseflesh. What if Simon found her …? No, she couldn’t think about it. She was all right—safe here with Robert. Her captor.

  What a tangled mess she was in. A strange urge to laugh suddenly gripped her. She must be slightly hysterical. She dragged in a shuddering breath and deliberately tried to calm her breathing, to slow her racing heart.

  She mulled over the other piece of information Robert had just shared. Tobias had definitely been to Lochrose. By now he would have discovered that no one at the castle had any knowledge of her ‘betrothal’. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to persist with the lie. Robert wouldn’t hurt her, she was certain of it.

  She drew in another steadying breath. ‘Robert …’

  He looked up from his task of scaling the trout and cocked an eyebrow in query.

  She swallowed. ‘Robert, I wanted to—’ Just then, a frigid squall of stinging rain and sleet hit, taking Jessie’s breath away. Robert swore and sprinted over to the Scots pine where his horse was tethered.

  Huddling into her cloak as she limped after him, Jessie gritted her teeth against the biting cold and her frustration. It seemed her confession would have to wait.

  * * *

  What are you waiting for, Jessie?

  Seated on her balled up, ruined cloak—a poor cushion substitute
but it was better than nothing to ward off the hard chill of the cave floor—Jessie held her numb fingers out to the fire, deliberating whether now would be the right time to set things straight with Robert, and more importantly, negotiate her freedom to leave tomorrow.

  Their truce had held throughout the last half hour as they’d trekked to the cave, and whilst Robert had built a fire to ward off the frigid bite of the evening, and to cook their dinner. But now, as she eyed him sitting directly across from her, his too handsome face lit strangely by the leaping flames, she found that the momentary spurt of courage she’d felt by the lochan had completely deserted her—indeed it had been missing ever since they’d returned to the cave and she’d been forced to contemplate the long cold hours ahead. And what was to become of her. It seemed anxiety had frozen her tongue and was eating at her as steadily as the hunger gnawing at her belly.

  Robert also seemed pensive, his brow furrowed deep in thought as he turned the trout on the makeshift spit he’d deftly created from birch branches. She wondered what he was thinking, but wasn’t game enough to ask him. Instead, she watched the flames leap and the smoke spiral upward, toward a narrow fissure in the cave’s ceiling that seemed to act as a natural chimney. Every now and again, a gust of wind sent flurries of snowflakes through the cave’s entrance, but tucked away, toward the back of the deep cavernous space, she and Robert were relatively well protected from the knife-like draft.

  It was evident that Robert was highly familiar with this eyrie-like hiding place in the side of the mountain. The rocky, narrow path his horse had followed to reach here was well secreted—almost impossible to locate unless you knew what you were looking for.

  She would be safe from Simon—but would she survive the night with Robert?

  Her gaze darted to the very back of the cave where a bed of bracken and spent heather lay piled. Robert and Tobias had gathered sheaves of the fronds earlier in the afternoon, before Tobias had headed off to the castle. Not for the first time, Jessie silently questioned what the sleeping arrangements would be for tonight. There did not seem to be a large enough pile of bedding to accommodate more than one person. She certainly wasn’t going to share. She did not know if she would feel more or less awkward if Tobias returned as well. Perhaps both men would be chivalrous and let her use the bed. Or perhaps they could take turn about.

  If Tobias returned. Dusk had long since descended into the inky blackness of night, and Jessie prickled with unease, wondering if Tobias was all right. And if he would find them again. Negotiating the mountain trail would be treacherous at the best of times. In the dark, whilst it was snowing, it would be suicidal.

  Robert suddenly turned to her, startling her out of her worried musings. ‘Perhaps you could turn the trout once every so often, so it doesn’t burn.’ He then stood and moved toward the mouth of the cave.

  ‘Ye’re leaving?’ Jessie couldn’t keep the slight note of panic from her voice. Was Robert returning to Lochrose tonight after all? She knew he was anxious to meet with his father, but surely he wouldn’t leave now. Contrary creature that she was, she was worried about spending the night alone with him, but absurdly, she didn’t want him to go either; it was far too dangerous out there. Foolish, Jessie. You do no’ know what you want.

  Even in the gloom, she could make out the sudden flash of Robert’s white teeth. ‘I’m just going to retrieve my saddlebags and attend to my horse. The snow seems to be getting heavier and I just want to make sure he’s well sheltered. I won’t be long.’

  Jessie sighed with relief when, true to his word, Robert returned but a few minutes later, his saddlebags slung over one shoulder and a half full bottle of single malt whisky in his other hand. He tossed the bags down beside the fire before shaking the snow off his coat and dark hair.

  He waved the whisky at her. ‘We’ll be needing a few drams of this tonight to keep us warm. Tobias definitely won’t be back now, so there’ll be more for us.’ He sat down beside her and with a wolfish grin, offered her the bottle.

  So they would be all alone. All night.

  Jessie’s relief dissipated as quickly as the snow flakes melting on Robert’s broad shoulders. She licked suddenly dry lips. She really didn’t think she should be drinking whisky. Not with Robert smiling at her like that. She shook her head. ‘No’ for me thank you. But perhaps you wouldna mind sharing yer water instead.’

  Robert shrugged and rummaged around in his saddle bag before passing his water flask to her. As she took it, their fingers brushed—the light contact made her skin tingle and a strange shaft of heat shot all the way down to her lower abdomen. Resisting the urge to squirm to ease the feeling, she instead busied herself with drinking from the flask and turning the fish so it would continue to roast evenly.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Robert loosen the linen cravat at his throat before taking a swig of whisky straight from the bottle. After a short pause, she felt his gaze on her.

  ‘How is your arm holding up?’ he asked.

  She grimaced slightly, keeping her eyes on the trout. ‘To be honest, it’s quite sore but I dinna think it’s worth worryin’ about.’

  Robert frowned. ‘Hmm. Nevertheless, I’ll take a quick look and change the bandage, just to be sure. In hindsight, you’ve probably been more active today than was wise.’ He hid it well, but he must be frustrated in the extreme having to play nursemaid as well as guard. It was delaying his reunion with the earl.

  Before Jessie could protest that checking her wound really wasn’t necessary, he’d moved closer to her and had gently rolled up her sleeve. His hands were surprisingly warm on her bare skin as he unravelled the linen.

  ‘All’s well,’ he concluded after a close inspection. His eyes held a spark of amusement. ‘You can look you know. It’s not as bad as you think. I’m quite a good seamstress if I do say so myself.’

  Jessie sucked in a deep breath and looked down at her arm. He was right—the wound was sutured with six neat stitches into a straight red line, about an inch long. There was no sign of swelling or angry purulence. It would heal cleanly. She touched it tentatively. ‘I take it you’ve had some experience wi’ this sort of thing before.’

  ‘A little.’ Robert pulled the loosened linen cravat free from his throat and proceeded to carefully rewrap her arm. The intimacy of the gesture made her pulse quicken and heat flooded her cheeks, but thankfully, Robert didn’t seem to notice. ‘During the Rebellion,’ he continued, ‘and then, when I served with the French army.’

  Surprise sparked within Jessie at this disclosure. ‘You served wi’ the French?’

  Robert shrugged a shoulder dismissively. ‘For three years. After Culloden I went to France. I had to make a living somehow.’

  So Robert Grant had been a soldier for more than three years. That would explain a few things about him—his strong build, his ability to move about as silently as a lion on the hunt, his calmness under pressure. And his battle scars.

  Jessie stole a glance at his profile as he continued to bandage her wound. There were many complexities to this man. She wanted to ask him what else he’d seen and done in the intervening years. His tanned skin suggested he’d been living in much warmer climes. She wanted to know why he’d left it so long to return to Lochrose. And why he’d let the estrangement with his father continue when it was something he regretted. He had been effectively disowned by Lord Strathburn in favour of Simon, obviously to prevent the Strathburn estate being forfeited all those years ago. It was a situation he now clearly wanted to reverse.

  From what she recalled of Mrs MacMillan’s account, Robert had played a relatively minor role in the Rebellion—and it was not unheard of for pardons to be granted by the king if the supplicant was sufficiently penitent and had the advocacy of a highly ranked sponsor. It suddenly occurred to her that if Robert was pardoned and returned to the family fold then Simon would become second in line to inherit the earldom once Lord Strathburn passed, and then only if Robert himself didn’t produce a male he
ir. Was that the cause of such obvious enmity and distrust between himself and Simon? Did Robert really think Simon would have him, his long lost brother, apprehended just to hold onto the inheritance of the earldom?

  He undoubtedly did.

  Jessie contemplated discussing the issue with Robert, but for now, the topic seemed too difficult to broach. Along with all the other issues she needed to discuss. She was suddenly reluctant to ruin the return to easiness between them. It was too fresh, too fragile. She was a coward. She did not want to see the hardness in Robert’s eyes that she’d seen this morning. Or the brooding mood that had overtaken him only moments before.

  Perhaps after dinner she would feel brave enough to try again. She probably needed a dram or two of whisky after all.

  Robert completed his task and eased her sleeve back into place again. Outside the cave, a gust of wind howled past and another flurry of snowflakes drifted in. The fire guttered and the roasted trout crackled and spat.

  Robert tested the fish with the blade of his dirk and smiled at her. ‘I think our dinner may be ready. Ready enough for me anyway.’ He portioned up the fish onto a pair of small tin plates that he’d pulled from the saddlebags. She gratefully accepted one, and ignoring the pain of burnt fingers, began to pick at the succulent, coral flesh.

  * * *

  Robert attacked his serving of trout with relish, all the while conscious of Jessie sitting beside him. The sang-froid he had fought to armour himself with since this morning rapidly evaporated as he noticed her delicately nibbling at her portion with even white teeth.

  But it didn’t seem to matter how many times he told himself, she’s not for you, she’s dangerous, she belongs to your brother. It mattered not at all when her pink tongue darted out to lick the juices from her full bottom lip and the corner of her mouth, or when she set about licking and sucking her moist fingertips. It took everything in him to stop himself groaning aloud like a wild beast. God in heaven, everything this woman did seemed to make him burn. He was as hard as the honed steel blade of his dirk with wanting her.