The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  ‘Simon, I suggest you let us be on our way. No need to make a fuss.’

  Robert’s smooth, confident tone immediately fuelled Simon’s ire to blazing proportions. He snorted and clipped his hated brother’s shoulder with the heel of his palm. As if I would ever let you go. Never again.

  ‘Fuck you, Robert. You’ve come crawling back to lick Father’s boots, have you? Well I won’t let you. You’re nothing but a foul traitor. A disgrace. You’re not wanted here.’ He shot a look over Robert’s shoulder, straight at Jessie. ‘And where the hell have you been all this time, you bitch—’

  Robert’s punch was so swift, Simon didn’t even see it coming.

  He staggered back into the window embrasure and slid down the wall. Eyes shut, struggling to suck in air, it felt as if his body was paralysed by an all-consuming combination of shear incredulity, blazing anger and thought-robbing pain. He clutched at the heavy velvet curtains so hard that he almost rent the fabric from the curtain rod. With his other shaking hand, he gingerly probed the left side of his jaw where Robert had landed his bone-shaking blow.

  Before he even opened his eyes, he knew Robert and Jessie were gone. Shit, shit, shit. His head still swimming, he pushed himself up and collapsed onto the window seat then spat out a mouthful of blood and a piece of cracked tooth. He shook his buzzing head, attempting to clear his vision, then scanned the now vacant hallway. Try as he might to convince himself he’d only seen his brother’s ghost, the reality of his throbbing face belied that idea.

  Robert had definitely returned.

  His brother most certainly wasn’t dead as his mother had foolishly convinced him over the years. Simon had always suspected that his father had engineered Robert’s inexplicable escape from the wine cellar ten years ago, but he had never been able to prove anything. Not that it mattered now. No, the only thing that mattered was that Robert was indeed back, and Father had never followed through with his threat to have his eldest son declared dead, or have him disinherited through an Act of Parliament.

  Which meant Simon would have to take action to protect his own interests. Now.

  Holding onto the sagging curtains, he pulled himself to his feet and swallowed back a wave of nausea.

  Another confounding thought suddenly occurred to him—where had Jessie been hiding for the last two days, and how in the devil’s name had she come across Robert?

  The image of them holding hands sprang into his mind’s eye again.

  With a roar that shook the very glass of the window before him, Simon ripped the curtain away. Shaking with rage, he turned towards his father’s room. Robert might have risen from the dead, but he’d make damn sure he stopped his brother from staking his claim on his position and ultimately his inheritance of the earldom.

  And Jessie Munroe.

  ‘Father!’ Storming into his father’s chambers, Simon could tell immediately that he was expected. His father stood before the fire—even though he leaned on his walking stick, there was a steely look in the old man’s eyes; his gaze was cool, disdainful. His father had always despised him. He’d never been enough and never would be.

  Not like fucking Robert.

  Simon sucked in a ragged breath. Somehow he managed to resist the urge to punch his father in the face, and jabbed a finger toward him instead. ‘You can’t let him come back. I won’t let you.’

  Caesar gave a low growl. If Simon was holding a pistol, he’d have shot the bloody dog—Robert’s dog—on the spot.

  His father didn’t even flinch. ‘Leave it be, Simon. He’s back. He will be pardoned. The new Lord Advocate is a personal friend of mine.’

  Simon clenched his fists. ‘You know the law is on my side,’ he gritted out, his jaw throbbing with every sound uttered. ‘Robert’s a God damned traitor—’

  His father snorted and drew himself up straighter. ‘You don’t care about the law. All you care about is not inheriting the fortune that funds your mother’s and your own dissolute lifestyle.’

  True. But the money—everything—should be his. Simon had to make his father see that. ‘But Robert disobeyed you.’ Oh God, he sounded like he was whining. ‘He doesn’t deserve a second chance.’

  ‘Once! He disobeyed me only once!’ his father roared, his face turning a dark shade of puce. He poked his walking stick at Simon’s chest and Caesar rose, growling. ‘What do you think you’ve been doing every single day for the last ten years, if not more? You don’t care about me. You don’t care about the estate or the clan. Like a spoiled child, you only care about yourself.’

  Fuck this. Simon retreated to the door. Ironic that a display of temper seemed to be the only thing he had in common with this fool old man. As he turned the handle, painful, long-buried memories of Robert, outriding him, thrashing him at fencing, outsmarting him during lessons with their tutor, filled Simon’s mind. He swallowed past the hard, bitter lump in his throat and glanced back at his father; a strange red, blurry haze of hatred and anguish blurred his vision. ‘Mother’s right. I’m never good enough am I? It’s not fair. I’ve always been second best to you. ‘

  ‘You take and take, Simon. You never give. It’s you who doesn’t deserve a thing. Time after time I’ve given you the opportunity to prove yourself. But you choose to squander everything. If I let you have free rein, you’d ruin us.’

  ‘Yet it was Robert who charged off and risked bringing ruin upon us all.’ Simon wrenched open the door. ‘I won’t let him get away this time. And there’s not a God damned thing you can do about it.’

  He turned and charged out of the room as if Caesar or the hounds of hell themselves were at his very heels. Robert and Jessie had a fifteen minute head start on him at most. He’d take MacTaggart and his Black Watchmen. Gather a group of Redcoats from somewhere.

  He’d see Robert dead if it was the last thing he did.

  * * *

  The fog was starting to clear when Robert and Jessie finally emerged from the Gate-House. It was mid-morning and a meek sun appeared intermittently between swathes of scudding grey clouds. After their encounter with Simon, they had all but run down the secret stairs to the wine cellar and back through the passage to the factor’s residence.

  Robert’s eyes scanned the leaf littered ground between the house and the copse of trees where they’d left his horse. There was no sign of the Watch, thank God. He had no idea how much time they had, now that Simon had seen them both.

  Simon. Robert’s jaw clenched as he recalled the lewd sneer on his brother’s face when he’d laid eyes on Jessie. He’d been reluctant to use force, but as soon as the cur had insulted her, Robert hadn’t been able to hold back. He judged that there had been enough force behind the punch to incapacitate his brother for at least a little while. With any luck, they would have gained enough time to get clean away before Simon set out after them. Better still, Robert hoped their father would stay Simon from acting at all. But he couldn’t count on it.

  He glanced at Jessie—his betrothed—as she stood beside him in the doorway, clutching at the door frame, catching her breath. He could hardly fathom that she was promised to him. A tempest of conflicting thoughts battered at his brain, but there was no time to sort them out now. Their priority was to get away safely. He grasped Jessie’s hand and caught her worried gaze. ‘Are you ready to make a run for the trees?’

  She offered him a grim smile. ‘Would a fast hobble, suffice?’

  Robert squeezed her hand and nodded. ‘That will do.’

  As planned, MacGowan, his father’s valet, was waiting for them behind the copse with Jessie’s mare, saddled and ready to go.

  ‘Blaeberry,’ Jessie breathed, her face lighting up with joy. The horse snickered in return and rubbed its nose against her.

  ‘You’ll be right to ride on your own?’ Robert asked. ‘We have a long, hard ride ahead if we’ve any hope of evading Simon and making it to Edinburgh in good time.’ Since their hand-fasting, it had been decided that it would be foolhardy as well as unnecessary for Jes
sie to catch the public coach. Lord Strathburn had agreed that there was a good chance Simon was having the road to Grantown-on-Spey and the coaching inn watched.

  Jessie’s eyes shone. ‘I will be fine,’ she reassured him. She patted her horse’s flank. ‘And I willna slow you down at all. Blaeberry will keep up, so do no’ worry about that.’

  Robert thanked MacGowan for his assistance.

  ‘Anytime, milord,’ replied the grey-haired valet bowing. ‘And if ye dinna mind my saying so, it’s verra good to see you back, hale and hearty. If there’s anything else I can do …’

  Robert grinned. ‘Perhaps you could see to it that my brother’s horse needs re-shoeing right now. And if the other horses just happen to be out to pasture, perhaps in the far paddock, that would also be most helpful.’

  MacGowan nodded and returned Robert’s grin. ‘Of course, milord. I wish ye and Miss Munroe swift and safe travel to Edinburgh.’

  * * *

  They rode hard the rest of the morning, only stopping to rest and water the horses briefly when Robert judged they were safely away from Clan Grant land and were not likely to encounter any men from the local Black Watch or dragoon regiments.

  On resumption of their fast and furious flight, Robert began to reflect on the unanticipated turn of events that had thrown them together. They were hand-fasted—promised to each other—but the timing couldn’t have been worse. Guilt gripped his heart. How could he, if he had any sort of conscience, promise to marry a woman when he could very well be arrested and thrown into prison, or worse, executed?

  One thing was clear in his mind—he would do what was right and honourable. Even though he and Jessie were hand-fasted, he would not take her to bed, no matter how much he desired her—not until he had been pardoned and they were wed before a minster. If things should go awry for him, he wanted Jessie to be able to walk away unscathed. He would not compromise her any further than he already had.

  I just have to avoid temptation tonight.

  And that was going to be difficult as he wanted Jessie badly, more than any woman he had ever met. Even now as he watched her slim hips rise up and down in the saddle as they cantered across a lonely stretch of moorland, he could feel the tension building in his loins. Never before had he been overwhelmed by such a fever of longing. Indeed, he’d felt this way since the very first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  If he tried to find a rational explanation for his need, the most likely was that he simply had been without a lover for too long. It had been at least six months since he had last sought pleasure with a mistress. Physical release long denied could do strange things to a man. He also reasoned that he and Jessie had shared nothing but intense experiences over the past few days, and perhaps that was why he had such strong feelings of arousal around her.

  Or was he just simply falling in love with her?

  If Robert was truly honest with himself, he knew he was attracted to Jessie beyond her breath-stealing physical beauty. In their short time together, he had learned that she was quick thinking and intelligent, spirited and loyal to those she cared about. But most important of all, despite their shaky start, she was someone he could trust.

  It suddenly occurred to him as she glanced his way and flashed him a sudden smile, that perhaps the potent mixture of emotions he felt—passion, admiration and a compelling need to protect—were indeed the first stirrings of love. He had never been in love before, so he had nothing to compare his present feelings to. Never in all his years of exile had he ever let himself get emotionally close to a woman. All his relationships had been brief and casual affairs as in his mind, the taking of a wife had always been inextricably linked with his return to Lochrose.

  And all going well with the Lord Advocate, he may have at long last gained both—a wife he could love and the freedom to reclaim all he’d lost—his birthright and home.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until mid-afternoon, when they stopped to rest again, that Jessie noticed how sore and swollen her ankle had become again. As Robert helped her to dismount from Blaeberry, she cried out sharply and gripped his wide shoulders; she could barely put any weight on her foot.

  Robert swore under his breath. ‘Jessie lass, you should have told me that your ankle pained you so,’ he admonished. Before she could protest, he swung her into his arms and carried her over to the shallow, peaty burn that gurgled and splashed its way past a knot of twisted birks and Scots pines. He gently lowered her onto a tussock of frost-burnt grass, then dropped to his knees on the ground beside her. ‘Right, let me see, lass,’ he said gently, one of his strong hands heading towards the hem of her gown.

  Jessie held her skirts firmly around her ankles. ‘I will be all right,’ she said, not sure if she would be able to withstand Robert’s hands on her naked skin in broad daylight, without making a complete fool of herself. Her heart was already racing, her stomach fluttering—and she was only just thinking about it. Heaven knew how she would react when he actually did touch her. Although they were now engaged, the knowledge that Robert would soon have the right to explore her body intimately when he became her husband made her feel strangely hot and achy and edgy all over.

  ‘You’re not going all shy on me are you?’ Robert asked gently with a half-smile. ‘Remember, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And after all, we are hand-fasted now.’

  Damn his canny ability to read me like an open book. But Jessie knew he spoke sense. With a sigh of resignation, she reached under her skirts, eased off her boot and then carefully rolled down her stocking. Closing her eyes and biting down hard on her bottom lip, she tried to ignore the pain as much as the tingling sensation his touch aroused as he gently probed the bruised and swollen flesh.

  ‘This is my fault, Jessie,’ he said ruefully, after he’d completed his inspection. ‘I should never have taken you to Lochrose this morning. You’ve been on your feet far too much.’

  Jessie opened her eyes and frowned, surprised at his self-recriminating tone. ‘But I made you take me,’ she countered. ‘Besides, it ’twas part of the deal we struck.’

  He frowned slightly, his deep blue eyes regarding her with such compassion, it warmed her all the way to her very toes. ‘I could see how frightened you were. As soon as I saw your reaction to the mess Simon had made in the Gate-House, I knew something was wrong. But I’m truly sorry, Jessie, for the physical pain I’ve caused you, as well as for dragging you into the mess of my life.’ His mouth tipped into a wry smile. ‘I’d wager that being engaged to a fugitive was probably never in your plans for the future was it?’

  ‘No, not really,’ she admitted, casting her gaze downwards. Robert’s display of tenderness was playing havoc with her pulse, making her blush. ‘But then I’m sure you were no’ planning on being hand-fasted to someone like me either.’ On an impulse, she reached out and caught Robert’s hand, curling her fingers around his. ‘You shouldna blame yerself for things that you are no’ responsible for, Robert Grant. And my life was verra much a complicated mess as well, even before I met you. And if it was no’ for you,’ she then lifted her gaze to his, discarding her inhibitions, wanting him to see how sincere she was, ‘I wouldna be safely away from Lochrose right now.’

  Robert slid his large hand over hers then brought her fingers to his lips. ‘You are too generous, mo ghaoil.’ His tone was as gentle as his caress.

  Jessie shivered and for a moment she fancied that he was going to kiss her, but then he rocked back on his heels and began to focus on the task of binding her ankle. Disappointment tugged at her heart. She suddenly realised that she yearned to be kissed by him again, and to kiss him back. But she didn’t know how to tell him. Or show him. Although she possessed some basic knowledge about what occurred between a man and a woman in the marriage bed—cousin Maggie had explained such things to her once—Jessie had no idea how to initiate even the most innocent of seductions.

  She guessed that perhaps Robert’s newly gained knowledge about Simon’s forced attentions
tempered his actions. Part of her—the wanton part that thrilled to Robert’s touch and his kisses—wished that he wouldn’t be so solicitous of her feelings.

  But would he be so solicitous tonight?

  After they’d set off again along the rough, moorland military road heading south, Jessie’s thoughts kept returning to the unforeseen complication their hand-fasting represented—and what lay ahead for both her and Robert. She still couldn’t quite believe this was really happening. Everything had transpired far too quickly. Her mind was awhirl, a veritable maelstrom of complicated thoughts and extraordinary feelings; the foremost being shock at the thought of being engaged to a man whom she barely knew.

  She fell to the task of carefully trying to catalogue what she did know about Robert, this wickedly handsome man that made her tremble inside and blush so easily. She considered his behaviour since they’d crossed paths. Right from the very beginning, he had shown her nothing but consideration—even when he’d believed she was hand-fasted to his brother. He’d tended to her injuries and done his utmost to keep her from harm. And even though she strongly suspected he desired her, he did not seem intent on seducing her—at least for the moment.

  But would he want to make love to her now they were hand-fasted?

  Although hand-fasting was viewed by many Highlanders as a marriage of sorts, and was legally binding if the couple physically consummated the union, in her mind, it wasn’t the same as being wed before a minister of the kirk. A kiss was one thing, but anything else … Tonight she must be strong and not betray her beliefs, no matter how much her treacherous body ached for Robert. Or the rakish wiles he might employ to seduce her.

  Jessie slid a glance Robert’s way. He was riding beside her, his long, lean, muscular body moving in perfect unison with his cantering horse, the wind whipping his dark hair off his too handsome face. Although he lacked a plaid, he was a Highland warrior in every other sense.