by Amy Jarecki
“You’re not taking that off, are you?” Jimmy asked, his eyes bugging out.
“Just loosening them so the maid can breathe.” Once Robert finished, he tugged Janet to his body. Her head lolled back against him with her moan. Was she coming to? Robert looked at her face, but her eyes were still closed. “Now drape the tarpaulin around us.” It was nothing more than oiled leather but would provide a modicum of insulation.
Twenty minutes later, the fire was roaring, with coals beginning to radiate at its base. Robert stretched out his feet to warm them.
“Do you think Miss Janet will live?” asked Jimmy.
“Bloody oath, she had better, or the lot of us might as well give ourselves up and board a convict ship bound for the Americas.” Not only did they have a mob of redcoats on their tails, if Sir Ewen and his sons learned the lassie had died in Robert’s arms, they would not rest until Grant lands had been burned to ashes. “Spread half of the coals in the pit, then cover them with dirt—no rocks, mind you.”
Robert continued rubbing Miss Janet’s extremities while the men worked to make up the heated bed by the light from the blaze. “One-hour watches,” he ordered. “We’ll ride at dawn.”
“I reckon the dragoons have turned back by now,” said Jimmy.
“I hope you’re right. Cummins needs to sleep off the drink and realize he’s the one who blundered—save the lot of us a bellyful of misery. But I’ll nay take any chances.”
Once the coals were covered by a good three inches of dirt, Robert gently patted Miss Janet’s face. “Are you awake, lass?”
“Mm,” she moaned, her body still limp.
“Och, ’tis most likely best if you’re not awake.” He looked to Jimmy. “Take the tarpaulin and lay it flat over the bed.”
“She’ll sleep nice and warm on that.” Jimmy did as he was told.
“Aye.” Robert stood and carried Janet to the bed, rewrapped his cloak around the lass, then lay down and pulled her beside him so her back molded to his front. He draped his arm around her waist and nestled his legs into her form. “Wrap the edges of the tarpaulin over us, then tuck it in good and tight. And make sure our feet are covered.”
Jimmy didn’t move. “You’re not planning to stay there all night, are you, sir?”
“Where else am I going to sleep? I said this lassie will not die on my watch, and I stand by my word. She needs warmth and I have it aplenty. Now wrap that cloth over us, tuck it in, then go find your own place to bed down.”
“Aye, sir.”
The men chuckled as they went about their business.
“And I’ll tolerate no snide remarks, you lot of miserable sops.” The chuckles subsided, but no one needed to utter a word. And it didn’t take a soothsayer to know their heads were filled with unchaste thoughts. Robert growled under his breath. They can confess their sins on Sunday, the lot of them.
He adjusted the position of his hips, carving out an indentation in the earth, and pulled Miss Janet closer. Warmth from the coals below soothed the tension in his shoulders. As he closed his eyes, the scent of woman mingled with lavender enveloped him, suddenly stirring potent male instincts akin to those his men had chuckled about.
Robert growled low in his throat. This is not the place or the time, and ’tis definitely not the woman for me.
Aye, Robert was as red-blooded as any Highlander, but that mattered not in the slightest. The woman in his arms needed his protection, and it must be given. Janet Cameron would be safe on his watch. He closed his eyes. Nary a soul will touch her. I swear it.
Chapter Eight
Janet’s head throbbed while she dreamed of running. Warmth surrounded her, though her mind hovered beneath the threshold of consciousness. Daylight told her the morn had come and she must wake. But every time she began to stir, the pounding in her skull grew worse.
When something shifted against her back, her eyes blinked open for a moment, then lazily closed. She winced at the pain not only from the megrim, but because her entire body ached.
Dear Lord, please let me sleep for a few moments longer.
An arm was clamped around her waist, and a deep voice sighed. A very deep, masculine voice that in no way should be behind her when she was sleeping. Janet’s eyes popped wide while her body stiffened. Not daring to take a breath, she slowly turned and looked back.
Holy snapdragons!
With a jolt she drew her fists beneath her chin. Of all the people in Christendom who could be slumbering alongside her, it had to be Laird Grant. Deliciously handsome, rugged-looking Mr. Grant. The wound on his cheek oddly served to add to his allure while he breathed through slightly pursed lips. Soft, gentle, masculine lips. Were they as kissable as they looked? Her tongue tapped the top of her mouth as she considered how wickedly delicious he might taste.
No, no, no, no! This is an abominable state of affairs.
She inched up the stiff blanket and peered out. Good heavens, they weren’t alone. Men covered with snow lay around the embers of a fire. Oddly, she was warm and dry, yet snow continued to fall. Shifting her gaze upward, she understood why. She’d been sleeping beneath a rock shelter—with Mr. Grant.
Lord have mercy, what if my father learns of this?
Suddenly panic seized her chest, making it impossible to breathe. If she didn’t escape this very instant she might die of utter mortification. How had she ended up in such a precarious situation? Yes, Mr. Grant had ridden to her rescue. He’d given her his cloak when she was on the verge of freezing to death. Thank the stars for his kindness, but she hadn’t given him leave to do…to do…good glory!
This disaster might ruin her for the rest of her days. She could ill afford to stay wrapped in a cocoon with Mr. Grant a moment longer.
Janet kicked her feet, but they wouldn’t budge. She pushed against the blanket, but it was as stiff as oak bark. Had they bound her in this contraption? Had they taken advantage and accosted her while she was out of sorts?
Her megrim throbbed tenfold while she thrashed and kicked. “Let me out!” Gaining a bit of room, she jabbed her elbows into the big Highlander behind her. In her panic, Janet’s chest tightened, making it harder and harder to breathe.
“God’s blood, woman!” Mr. Grant bellowed. In a heartbeat the blanket released her.
She sucked in a gulp of precious air.
Sitting up, he threw the blanket aside and sprang to his feet. “Have you caught fire?” he demanded, grabbing her shoulders and looking her from head to toe, his eyes wild and filled with alarm.
Janet gave him a hearty push as she scooted away. “No, you brute!” Looking down, she froze. Her life was all but over. How could he have removed her clothing and left her wearing nothing but a shift and stays? She was practically bare, and now she had nearly a dozen men staring at her. In her undergarments of all things. Swiftly hopping to her feet, she grabbed the leather blanket they’d been wrapped in and clutched it beneath her chin, trying to shake away the miserable pounding in her skull. “I demand you tell me why I am in such a compromising state of undress.”
His Lairdship spread his palms to his sides as if pleading innocence. “I beg your—”
She shook her finger. “You—you—you have taken advantage of a helpless maid. My brother was right. You are a scoundrel of the worst sort.”
“I did no such thing! If I had not taken action and removed your damp garments, you would have succumbed to the cold.”
She spotted her cloak and gown draped across a big rock under the shelf. Careful to ensure the blanket covered as much as possible, she scooted toward them.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Janet,” said Jimmy, shaking the snow off as he stepped toward them. “But Robert speaks true. You were half-dead when we arrived last eve. And he bellowed at us all, telling us to mind our own affairs and leave ye be.”
The lad’s words only served to make her shudder. She snatched her cloak and threw it over her shoulders. Had they all stood by and gaped while the laird removed her outer garment
s? She reached for her gown, suddenly realizing her stays had been loosened as well.
How dare he?
“I bid you all turn your heads whilst I dress,” she said in a commanding voice—at least she sounded as commanding as possible given her disgraceful state of dress.
Once all backs were turned, Janet pulled on her gown and tied the laces as best she could. Thank goodness her clothing was dry—even her shift and stays had dried, though they were as frigid as ice. When certain her cloak covered every possible loose string, she glanced to the laird’s satchel. “May I have my shoes, please?”
“If Your Ladyship will allow me to turn.”
“I am composed.”
“Very well.” He retrieved the shoes and gave them to her. “We have a bit of dried meat. We shall eat and be off.”
She slipped her feet inside the shoes, the fit a bit snug with Mr. Grant’s stockings. Janet looked down. No, I’m not giving them back until I’m safely home. “Are we heading for Achnacarry? My father will have a word with the colonel at Fort William. I’m certain he can set things to rights with the lieutenant.”
A rider approached from the glen, the snow making him look fuzzy at first. “Redcoats spotted!”
“Blast. The bastard cannot let petty grievances lie,” Mr. Grant said, marching toward the rider and jamming his fists onto his hips. “How far out?”
“Twenty minutes, mayhap more with the hackneys they’re riding. Those English nags cannot negotiate the mountains like our Highland stock.
“Pack up your gear and mount your ponies, men.” Grant handed Janet a stick of dried beef. “I’m sorry, miss. You must eat on the run.”
“Are we not doubling back?”
“I do not recommend it. Not with the redcoats on our tail.”
Holding the mare’s reins, Jimmy walked Janet’s horse up beside her, then bent down to give her a leg up. But she didn’t step in the lad’s threaded palms. Not yet. She wasn’t about to ride off with Robert Grant while there was no end in sight to what had become a treacherous storm. “Then where are we to go? We’ll all catch our deaths if we venture farther into the mountains while it keeps snowing like this.”
“I’ve kept you alive this far, have I not?” A tic twitched in Mr. Grant’s jaw as he tied his satchel behind his saddle. “I’ll tell you true, lass. I could have ridden for Glenmoriston last eve. If I had, I’d be sitting before home’s hearth about now, but I turned back. God only kens why.”
Janet looked to the pass from which the rider had come. Her choices were dreadful no matter in what direction she went. And if the redcoats were on their trail, she wasn’t about to head west. Groaning, she allowed Jimmy to help her mount while a tempest nearly as violent as the wind blowing through the cliffs swirled in her breast. She was extremely grateful to Mr. Grant for coming to her aid. If he hadn’t, she would surely be in dire straits in the hands of Winfred Cummins.
But why had the big Highlander risked his life for her? He was her father’s sworn enemy. And now she was in his care, what would the chieftain of Clan Grant do with her?
Can I trust him?
* * *
Bloody women. All of Christendom would be better off without them. Try to do the right thing by a lady, and her scorn was the thanks he got? And why the blazes had she awakened prior to Robert? He was a light sleeper. He’d planned all along to be up and about before Janet roused. She mightn’t have even known he’d slept by her side all night. And it hadn’t been easy to do so.
God save him, never in his life had Robert Grant slept with such a beautiful woman in his arms and behaved himself. And the woman had been unduly aghast—treated him with disdain. If anything, Miss Janet should be bubbling with appreciation.
Robert removed his feathered bonnet and combed his fingers through his hair. He’d thought something like this might happen. Damn it all, any woman of Janet’s station would have reacted the same way. She was completely within her rights to be outraged and offended. And now he’d gone and made a mess of things. No matter how hard he tried, he’d never be a good man in that woman’s eyes. He’d always be her father’s enemy. There was no use trying to convince her otherwise; her hatred had been ingrained since birth.
And now they were venturing through the most treacherous mountains in Scotland. Aye, Robert and his men could weather the storm and the crags, but could Miss Janet? The lass had spent her entire life being cosseted in a castle nestled beside a picturesque river.
He glanced back at her face—pursed lips, a determined glint in her eyes.
We are not turning back. Not on my life. I have too many responsibilities to be rotting in the bowels of a gaol.
The lass might be uncomfortable traveling under Robert’s protection for a time—at least until Winfred Cummins gave up his hunt and opted to pursue someone more deserving of his ire. But the lass couldn’t dispute that enduring Robert’s company was a great deal better than spending God knew how long in Fort William’s hell awaiting a sham of a trial.
“Lewis.” Robert signaled to a lookout point he’d used before. “Climb up Scout Rock and report back.”
“Straightaway, sir.”
The snow came harder and, with it, the wind. All the riders hunched low and clamped their cloaks and plaids tightly about their shoulders. Miss Janet rode up behind Robert. “The storm’s growing worse.”
“It is.”
“Do you have a plan? What if we’re stranded up here?”
“We’ll not be stranded.”
“So tell me you do have a plan,” she insisted.
“One’s coming together.” Robert shrugged, trying to ease her trepidation. “When on the run, a man has no choice but to improvise a bit.”
“Improvise? The snow is nearly to my mare’s barrel. If it gets much deeper, she’ll not be able to move at all.”
“That’s part of my plan.”
“For us to be stuck in the snow, unable to move? Heavens, we shall all die of cold exposure.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Lieutenant Cummins and his wayward dragoons will falter afore we do.” He pointed ahead to a peak in the distance. “Once we cross that ridge yonder, we’ll be on a downward slope.”
“And then turn for home?”
“Aye…” More or less. He wasn’t about to tell her they wouldn’t be seeing Achnacarry for a fortnight or more. He was a cautious man and could not take her home before he knew the troops had given up their search. They’d be safer at Glenmoriston, where Robert’s kin kept watch for a twenty-mile radius. It was home, just not Miss Janet’s home. No one came near his manse without Robert’s knowledge.
He led them through the rugged high country for a few more hours before Lewis rejoined them.
“What did you see?” asked Robert.
“I caught a wee glimpse of red is all. Otherwise, there was nothing but white. She’s coming in from the west like no storm I’ve ever seen.”
Robert shook his head. Blasted Cummins hadn’t turned back, the bull-brained mule. Not good news. On one hand, Janet was right. If they didn’t start down the mountain now, they’d end up stuck. He’d set out to take her down through the glens, but if he turned north, they’d descend faster. That meant traversing the treacherous Finnach Ridge. “How is your mount faring, Miss Janet? Can she handle a bit of a challenge?”
“She’s as sturdy as your stallion.” That was a stretch, though thus far the lass had proved herself to be an accomplished horsewoman.
“’Tis settled, then.” He circled his hand over his head. “We’re heading down Finnach Ridge.”
“Is that a good idea, Rob?” asked Jimmy.
“Have you a better one?”
Miss Janet looked to the lad. “I will be fine, if that concerns you.”
“’Tis what I like to hear,” said Robert before the naysayer could interject. “We’ll stop after we cross the tree line to rest the horses and build a fire.”
“That sounds wonderful. I wish I could warm my hands by a fir
e for the rest of my days.”
“It’ll take some digging to find dry wood,” said Jimmy.
Tormond snorted. “Ever the cynic. Not to worry, Miss Janet. There are always dry bits. Ye just need to ken where to look.”
Ten minutes later, Robert stopped his horse at the edge of the ridge. A narrow, snow-covered path with perilous braes sloping downward on both sides reminded him of the devil’s spine. “We’ll ride single file from here.” He looked to Miss Janet. “Let the men traverse first. Once I’m confident the crossing is safe, I’ll follow you.”
She gave a nod, her face a bit white, whether from cold or fear, he didn’t know. What he did know was that on a midsummer’s day the path could be treacherous. Now it was the first of November, and the ice and snowdrifts made Robert’s toes curl. One missed step, and horse and rider would end up at the bottom of the ravine and most likely dead.
Neither one of them said another word while they watched each of his men take a turn. The lady gasped when Tormond’s mount slipped on a boulder. The horse foundered a bit while the rock hurtled down the slope, its noise muffled by freshly fallen snow.
Willy’s pony stopped in the middle of the crossing as if considering whether it was a good idea to turn back. After a few nudges from Willy’s heels, the beast started forward and made it without incident.
Once the last man had crossed, Robert gently patted the mare’s neck. “Are you ready, Miss Janet?”
“Aye, may as well be off afore I lose my nerve.”
“Your mount is surefooted, else I wouldn’t let you ride.” He kept his hand on her horse for a moment longer. “I am impressed with your fortitude, miss. You have weathered our misfortune far better than I ever would have guessed.”
“My thanks…I think.” Miss Janet tapped her riding crop along with her heel, commanding her sidesaddle with expert precision. The mare picked her way across with her head low, her steps sure.
When Janet had nearly made it to the other side, Robert looked skyward and thanked God the lass had been blessed with a Highlander’s spirit. Most well-bred women would have swooned ten times over by now. As his gaze shifted back to horse and rider, snow and rock fell away beneath the horse’s front hoof in a shower of debris.
