When he’d finished eating, he wiped his fingers on a clean corner of the discarded linen bandage and took several mouthfuls of the whisky to calm his raging urges. He offered Jessie the bottle again. This time she took it from him and threw back a decent swig. Her cheeks were flushed with high colour and in the fire’s glow, her eyes were the same deep, amber brown as the whisky. He could see why Simon should want the woman so badly. God help him, he wanted her too.
Robert took back the bottle and drank some more. When he felt his body relax and he judged that he could rise from where he sat with some decency, he re-stoked the fire and then dug out a blanket for Jessie and another Black Watch plaid for himself. He draped the blanket around her shoulders and she smiled at him in thanks. He decided then and there that he would have to sleep on the hard, stone floor of the cave by the fire, rather than beside her on the bed of bracken and heather.
As he wrapped himself in the rough wool plaid and resumed his place before the fire, he fell to contemplating the conundrum of Jessie’s betrothal to his half-brother. Something didn’t ring true about the situation.
Perversely, the question that seemed to plague him the most at this particular moment was, did Jessie love Simon? She had never once mentioned that she cared for him. He examined her actions since he and Tobias had first discovered her in the copse yesterday. Not once had she actively fought to escape or demand that she be returned to Lochrose. Neither had she threatened to bring down the full weight of the law upon them if he and Tobias were caught. He wondered about that. Her actions did not seem to be consistent with those of someone deeply in love and who wanted to return to the side of her betrothed.
But maybe that was all just wishful thinking on his part …
What was known, was that Simon was actively searching for Jessie—there was no doubt that his brother wanted her back. He now dismissed the theory that Simon had been manipulated into a betrothal by Jessie or her father, as surely his brother would be glad to wash his hands of her rather than pursue her.
Jessie had also asserted that she genuinely needed to leave Lochrose to travel to Edinburgh as she felt duty bound to assist her cousin. Of all the things she had told him so far, he did believe this one thing to be true.
But regardless of what had precipitated Jessie’s flight from Lochrose yesterday, or how much or how little she cared for Simon, would she still betray him, Robert, if the opportunity arose? She might if she really did aspire to be the next Countess of Strathburn. Surely she would want to warn Simon of his return. Whether she was a grasping jade or devoted wife-to-be, or something else entirely, it really didn’t matter.
Any way Robert looked at it, letting Jessie go was still a huge risk. He couldn’t afford to take any chances.
He ran his gaze over Jessie again as he took another slug of whisky. The sight of her as well as the whisky heated his blood. His inner voice whispered to him again. She’s not for you. She’s dangerous. She belongs to your brother.
* * *
A heavy silence stretched out between Jessie and Robert, broken only by the occasional spit and pop of the fire or the howl of the wind. Jessie squirmed; the strange tension in the atmosphere was becoming more palpable with every passing minute. She occasionally cast a glance Robert’s way, but he was staring fixedly at the flames, lost in thought—dark thoughts, judging by his scowl. She wondered what had triggered such a change in him. He did not seem himself at all.
Putting aside her now empty plate, Jessie determined that she couldn’t put off speaking with Robert any longer—especially now that the whisky bottle was only a quarter full. If Robert was too far gone in his cups, her task would only be harder. Tamping down her unease, and scraping her courage together, she took a deep breath and looked at him squarely. ‘I … I wondered if we might speak o’ what will happen tomorrow. The coach leaves at midday …’
Robert barely spared her a look. ‘I know.’ He drank more whisky.
Jessie frowned at him and bit her lip, struggling for the strength to stop herself from saying something she would regret. Or worse still, hurling the contents of the water flask over Robert to knock him out of this morose mood. To chase away the uncommunicative oaf he’d become. Common sense dictated that she should own up to her falsehood, but it was hard to talk about Simon’s degrading demands when Robert seemed so … remote, even hostile. But then, she was partly to blame for that, wasn’t she? She was going to have a hard time gaining Robert’s trust. But she had to try.
Perhaps it would help if she struck some kind of bargain with him. Offer him a gesture of support, a show of goodwill. She sucked in another steadying breath and resisted the urge to twist her hands. ‘Robert, I know tha’ you have no reason at all to trust me … but perhaps if I promised to help you, you would feel more inclined to help me …’
Robert levelled his gaze on her this time, but his dark blue eyes were almost black, their expression unreadable.
She swallowed and cleared her suddenly dry throat. ‘I’ve been thinking about why you’ve come back after all this time. Mrs MacMillan has told me a wee bit about what happened ten years ago—when you left to rally to Prince Charles’s cause.’
Robert’s face was like stone. ‘Has she now?’
She rushed on, feeling awkward and nervous under his cold stare. ‘Aye. Mrs MacMillan speaks very fondly of you by the way. Anyway, what I was trying to say was, I know how verra difficult it must be for you returning here, an’ being concerned about being recognised … and arrested for taking part in the Rebellion … But having lived at Lochrose, I know the routines of the household and everyone’s schedule. I … I could perhaps help you to enter the castle undetected so you could see yer father …’
Robert’s eyes narrowed. There was a sudden intensity in his scrutiny of her. At last he was interested. Encouraged, she leaned forward a little and continued to plead her case. ‘I know I have no right to speak of such things, but I’m sure yer father misses you too. Although I have no’ heard him speak of you, I know he has a miniature portrait of you tha’ he carries about with him. I’ve seen it—that’s how I recognised you this morning. Mrs MacMillan says yer father was heartbroken after Culloden, that he’s never been the same since yer estrangement. But now … I’m sure that he would give anything to see you again …’ She faltered, at a loss what to say next as Robert’s reaction to her words mystified her.
He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as if a great surge of emotion overwhelmed him. A muscle worked in his jaw.
When he raised his head, he looked straight at her. His eyes were hard and cold with withering anger.
Heavens, what have I done?
‘How can I believe a single word you say, Jessie?’ he bit out. ‘You are betrothed to Simon and both of you are set to become the next Earl and Countess of Strathburn. Why would I trust you to help me, when doing so ruins both your chances of inheriting that glittering prize?’
Did Robert really think so badly of her? Ignoring the lurch in the pit of her stomach in the face of such ire, she somehow summoned her voice. ‘You believe Simon would betray you, but would he really do that? Surely after all this time he would welcome—’
Robert laughed, cutting her off, but there was no mirth in the sound. He raked her with a look that could only be described as scathing. ‘Of course he would betray me. I’m surprised he hasn’t elucidated the whole sorry story to you—how his bloodthirsty and glory-seeking older brother, ignoring the entreaties of their wise father, rushed into battle in support of the evil Pretender and squandered the lives of twenty-six good clansmen.’
Jessie shook her head, tears pricking her eyelids. ‘I had no idea …’
‘What? You don’t know that after the villainous Jacobite managed to escape capture by the English on the field at Culloden, he retreated to Lochrose, craven cur that he was? And that the steadfast, obedient son had him locked up in the wine cellar, ready for the dragoons to take away, because of course that was the noble and ri
ght thing to do, wasn’t it?’
Jessie was stunned. If what Robert had just told her was true, Simon had set out to maliciously betray his brother. What sort of a ruthless monster was he? It took her breath away. ‘What a heinous betrayal … I didna know … Mrs MacMillan never told me that …’ she trailed off, lost for words.
Robert was still looking at her as if she was some low creature that had just crawled out from beneath a rock. She knew it was only because in his mind, she and Simon were fashioned from the same mould, and she couldn’t blame him for that. She drew in a shaky breath, wanting to know more. ‘But you managed to escape.’
Robert snorted. ‘No thanks to Simon. Even though I’d defied my father, I suppose he took pity on me. Either that or he couldn’t bear to see the family name dragged through the mud any more than it had been. Better to have a son in exile than one who had been executed for treason. At any rate, he arranged for one of the local Black Watchmen whom he trusted to stitch me back up—’
‘You were wounded?’
Robert shrugged. ‘You’ve seen my shoulder. A bayonet sliced me open. I don’t even remember when it happened during the battle. Anyway, MacTaggart put me back together and released me from Lochrose’s cellar. Along with Tobias, he helped me to get to the coast and onto a fishing boat without being intercepted by the King’s men. It was more than I deserved.’
Robert took another slug of whisky before he continued. ‘Tobias, the poor bastard … he lost his older brother Hamish, you know. All because of my cock-headed idiocy. Why he bothered to come with me, I’ll never know.’
He shook his head, and stared into the fire, the flames making strange patterns of light and shadow over the strong planes of his handsome face. Jessie watched his expression grow distant, his thoughts obviously turning inward. ‘I should have died. I deserved to.’ His voice was laced with bitter self-recrimination. ‘I was so stupid.’
Jessie was shocked at the depth of this man’s inner pain. She recognised immediately that the scars he carried from that long ago battle were much more than skin deep. He was still wounded to the depths of his very soul.
At the risk of being subjected to his disdain again, she rallied her courage to speak, to break the taut, painful silence, to draw Robert back from whatever horrors he was currently reliving in his mind. She knew she could never offer him comfort, but at least she could convey her empathy.
She watched him quietly and waited until he met her gaze again. ‘I know I couldna even begin to understand what Culloden has cost you, Robert,’ she ventured gravely, her heart clenching for him. ‘But I want you to know tha’ I am truly abhorred by the knowledge of what Simon did to you. ‘
Her bid for reconciliation failed dismally. Robert stood abruptly, looking down at her, nothing but contempt in his eyes. She shrank back, pulling her blanket about her tightly, as if it could provide her with protection.
He raised the whisky bottle in a mock toast. ‘Here’s to you, Jessie Munroe and your betrothal to the Honourable Simon Grant, heir to the Earldom of Strathburn. I wish you well.’ He drank from the bottle, and then strode to the entrance of the cave. Leaning against the rock wall, he kept his back to her and stared out into the bitterly cold night.
Jessie stared at his rigid form. His derision stung more than she cared to admit. But it was undeniably her own fault that Robert viewed her with such enmity; she kept perpetuating the lie about her relationship with Simon. She suddenly couldn’t bear the idea of being associated with such a low, despicable creature any longer. Once and for all she needed to set things straight. Tell Robert the truth, no matter how ashamed she felt.
Although stiff and cold, she dropped the blanket and pushed herself to her feet. He half turned his head as she drew close. His face was in darkness. She sensed rather than saw his animosity. It fairly vibrated off him.
She dragged in a shaky breath. ‘Robert …’ To her dismay her voice shook slightly. He turned around and stared at her, his eyes like deep black hollows. She started again. ‘Robert, there’s something you should know. It’s difficult for me to talk about …’
Except for the frigid wind, lifting the lock of hair over his brow, Robert remained motionless. Enough, Jessie. She would not be intimidated by him again. This must be done.
‘I’m ashamed to admit tha’ I havena been completely honest with you. I need to explain—’
Robert laughed, a short, sharp derisive bark. ‘Well, I must say that doesn’t surprise me, given the company you keep.’ He dropped the now empty whisky bottle and pushed away from the cave wall and took a step toward her. Despite the quaking in her bones, she held her ground. Snowflakes swirled in the air between them. ‘What continues to surprise me though, is that you find my brother even remotely worthy of your attention. I mean, what the hell do you see in him? Can you just explain that to me, Jessie, because I’d really like to know.’
Jessie swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold his searing gaze. ‘I … it’s no’ what you think … when you saw Simon with me yesterday—’
‘You’re lovers. Don’t deny it.’ Robert took another step closer. Jessie stepped back and felt the rough stone of the cave wall behind her. She had nowhere to go. She closed her eyes as a deep chill ran through her. This wasn’t going well at all.
Robert was relentless. ‘So what is it about him that attracts you, Jessie? Is it his fine form, charming personality and sparkling wit?’
Jessie shook her head. ‘You dinna understand …’ Coherent thought seemed to have fled. Robert was so close now, he was almost pressed flat against her. The scent of him—pine needles, wood smoke, whisky and something that was essentially male—surrounded her. Drugged her mind. He leaned forward and placed his forearms against the cave wall behind her. Framing her. Trapping her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He bent low, his voice a heated rasp against her ear. ‘Or is it his wealth and promise of a title?’
‘No,’ she whispered, her own voice little more than a whimpered breath; torn between wanting Robert and wanting to push him away so she could explain. ‘No, it’s no’ like that at all.’
Robert traced a finger down the side of her cheek and along her jaw, down to her collarbone. His touch was like fire upon her skin. Her whole body trembled from head to toe and her heart slammed frantically against the wall of her chest. But whether it was from fear or anticipation, she hadn’t a clue. Robert’s mouth was so close to hers, his frosted breath mingled with hers. ‘Or is it the way he kisses you, Jessie that has you so enthralled?’
Before she could utter a sound, he clasped her jaw and claimed her in a bruising kiss. His lips were hard, demanding as they crushed against hers. Hot anger flared within her, dousing any fear. How dare he kiss her like this. He was as despicable as Simon!
But even as Jessie tried to wrench her mouth away, hot liquid warmth coursed through her, as potent as the whisky they’d both been drinking. She futilely pushed her hands against Robert’s chest, but his lean, rock hard body crushed her hard up against the cold stone. She felt hot and cold all at once as if she was overcome with some strange fever.
Robert buried both hands in the tangle of her hair and deepened the kiss, his mouth moving urgently over hers. Never before had she experienced a kiss like this, and never before had her body responded in such an inexplicable way.
A firestorm raged inside her—fury at Robert for taking such liberties, yet deep, pulsing arousal beyond anything she’d ever known flooded through her. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips and then pushed inside, she gasped at the invasion. But she soon yielded to the intimate stroking of his tongue against hers, even tasted him in return. It was as if her body had surrendered even though her mind resisted. Gradually by degrees, she felt her ire start to dissolve into the molten heat that throbbed through her veins. Without conscious thought, and ignoring the pain in her wounded arm, she grasped the back of his neck with both hands and pulled him closer. She heard herself moan.
And then Robert pushed her away. He roughly pulled her hands from his neck and clasped them up against her chest. He was breathing raggedly, his breath a harsh sawing sound. ‘Tell me, Jessie … does he kiss you that way?’ His dark, smouldering gaze searched hers. ‘Is that what you love about him?’
She shook her head. ‘Please … I—’
‘Or does he kiss you like this?’
Again Robert took her mouth in his, but this time the kiss was slow, sinuous, teasing. A hot, satiny glide. He released her hands and cupped her face gently. His thumbs softly stroked the sensitive flesh beneath her jaw and down the sides of her neck. He broke the contact briefly to draw breath, before lowering his head once more. The tip of his tongue ran over the swell of her bottom lip before pushing into the recess of her mouth again, tasting her as if she was the most exquisite delicacy.
Jessie was melting. If Robert’s body hadn’t been pressing against hers, holding her up, she would have slipped to the ground. Her hands curled into the wool of his plaid, pulling his body closer. One of his muscular legs pushed between hers and she half stood, half straddled him. Even through the layers of her cambric petticoats, the heat of his body penetrated through to her own. When Robert pushed closer into her, his pelvis gently thrusting against her hip, she moaned again, her breasts aching, her mound throbbing. Heaven help her, she was completely overwhelmed. A warning bell clamoured somewhere at the back of her mind—this had to stop before …
With a shudder, Robert ripped his mouth away, panting hard. He pushed away from her and she felt like she had been doused with a bucket of cold loch water. ‘I won’t dare ask if there’s anything else you love about my brother.’ His tone was harsh, bitter. Then he turned abruptly and stalked off into the darkness outside.
A sound almost like a sob escaped from Jessie’s swollen lips. She touched them with shaking fingers. Yet again she’d failed to tell Robert the truth. She fought against the urge to cry. Damn her weakness. And damn Robert Grant for making her feel this way. She hoped he froze to death out there.
The Master Of Strathburn Page 12