by Amy Jarecki
As their lips met, he ached to lift her onto his lap and explore her mouth with toe-curling determination. But this was no alehouse wench. This was a jewel as precious as a diamond. She needed a man who was gentle, understanding, and most of all patient. As Janet sighed against his lips, her breath shuddered. Unable to resist, he slipped his tongue into her mouth like a man who had been craving her taste for days. The lass stiffened, and Robert forced himself to ease away. Carefully he brushed her tongue with his, caressing it, showing her how sweet a kiss could actually be.
He hadn’t asked, but by her response, he figured MacGowan had been about as experienced as a mackerel. Cradling her in his arms, he plied her with light, teasing kisses, just enough to still her resistance. And when she slackened in his arms, he returned for more, holding her firmly yet reverently, and deepened his kiss, showing her the potency of the fire coursing through his blood.
* * *
Malcolm MacGowan turned out to have been a complete nincompoop when it came to kissing. There was no question of the validity of Janet’s conviction. She turned to molten honey as Robert’s kiss spilled through her. At first she startled at his forwardness, but as soon as he slowed the pace and showed her how to kiss open mouthed, he aroused an intense yearning in her core—and that was a secret she would carry to her grave.
Under no circumstances should she ever have such a carnal reaction, especially when kissing the forbidden lips of the chieftain of Clan Grant. But he was rugged and braw. Powerful and tender at the same time. His taste shocked her with an unexpected wildness. In a rush, recklessness and hunger thrummed thorough her blood. Without realizing what she was doing, she slid her hand up the wall of his chest and teased a nipple through his shirt.
The friction brought a moan rumbling from the recesses of his throat and renewed fervor to the swirling of his tongue. Janet threw her head back when he pushed her hair aside, bared her neck, and scattered delicious kisses along her throat.
Sighing, she arched her back and gave in to his wiles. Until she leaned on her injured arm. Hot, searing pain made her jolt. “Owww!” She cradled the limb against her waist. “Goodness, goodness, goodness!”
“Jesus, I am a dolt. What can I do to help?”
She ran a hand across her lips, a combination of pain and guilt making her rue the kisses they’d just shared. “Perhaps we shouldn’t imbibe whisky and play hazard in the future. ’Tis dangerous for what remains of my virtue.”
With a shake of his head, the corners of his mouth drew downward. “Nay, ’tis my fault. I never should have allowed myself to lower my guard.” He stood and began stirring the pottage with his back to her.
Janet stared at him. His guard? What did he mean? Had the kiss meant nothing to him? How on earth could he impart such passion without feeling?
Chapter Fourteen
The morn of their third day in the bothy, Robert was on the verge of declaring himself mad and fit for an asylum. Either that, or he might prove his insanity by pledging undying love for Miss Janet. Already he’d conjured dozens of ways to convince her to accept him and claim her as his wife in the way of old Highland tradition, then promptly bed her…which he certainly, absolutely, and unequivocally must not do. This was the eighteenth century, and things had grown quite a bit more civilized since the medieval days when Highland chieftains ruled their lands with absolute power.
Robert liked to think he had absolute power. However, declaring Miss Janet his wife and bedding her, no matter how much he wanted to, would not be appropriate behavior for a man of his station. Not to mention that the lass must be amenable. And by the way she’d kept to herself since he’d kissed her, he assumed she was not.
Though she had melted in his arms and hadn’t pushed him away. The lass might be battling an attraction for him, but she wasn’t daft. She knew as well as he did that there could be no possible future for them, given the generations of feuding between their families.
Grumbling under his breath, Robert saddled his horse, but before he mounted, Janet’s wounded mare nuzzled his stallion’s rump. He eyed the beast. “You stay here.”
She snorted and tossed her head.
“I mean it. Else I’ll have to hobble your front legs, which could be uncomfortable given your bad hock.”
The animal seemed to understand because she sauntered away and stood beneath an old tree.
Robert gathered the reins and climbed into his saddle. “We’ll return anon, ye wee filly.”
The frigid air served its purpose to cool the heat in his loins as he rode through the snow. At least the clouds had cleared and, after having a few days to settle, the drifts weren’t quite as deep and had an icy crust. He took the horse along the brae a good two miles until they reached a vantage point. From there the hills opened and revealed a view all the way down to the shimmering deep blues of Loch Ossian on the eastern edge of Rannoch Moor. With the snow, traveling down the mountains would be challenging but not impossible with a lame horse in tow. But if they could reach the loch, he could slip through the glens to Loch Ness, and then it would only be a few miles to the River Moriston and home.
Robert checked his pocket watch.
Quarter past seven.
Even if they left straightaway, it was unlikely they’d reach home before the witching hour.
He glanced back in the direction of the bothy. If he spent one more night trapped in that tiny space with lovely Janet Cameron, his sanity would be lost forever. The mare had survived thus far. As long as he took it slow, she’d make the descent.
Chances are the snow has melted far more down below.
His decision made, he turned his horse and hastened back to the tiny hovel.
* * *
“You brought me to Glenmoriston?” Janet shouted, standing in the entry of Moriston Hall and thrusting her hands into her hips. They’d ridden hard all day and well into the night, barely stopping to rest while her arm had ached worse and worse not to mention her poor horse could barely keep pace. The only thing that had kept her spirits up was the thought of home—of sleeping in her own bed and stabling the mare where she’d be pampered and well cared for. But Moriston Hall? How dare he?
Mr. Grant spread his hands wide, looking completely aghast, as if he were an innocent bystander. “I said I was taking you home.”
She shook her fists. “Aye, but you made me think you were taking me to my home, to Achnacarry.” In truth, for the past ten miles or so, she hadn’t had a clue where they were headed, but it was dark, and she’d trusted the man—the fiend.
“I did no such thing.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘’Tis time to take you home, lass.’” She jabbed him in the chest with her pointer finger. “You deceived me.”
He guffawed, throwing out his arms. “If that is what you think, then you are gravely mistaken. There is no chance on earth I would venture within twenty miles of Fort William without knowing what that snake Winfred Cummins is up to.”
“Why did you not say so in the first place, blast you? My father’s army is large enough to stand up to an attack by the lieutenant, or the colonel for that matter.”
“So say you. However, I am laird, and thus the keeper of the peace in these parts, and I will decide when ’tis safe for you to rejoin your kin.” He spun on his heel, marched to a narrow door, and opened it. “Mrs. Tweedie!” he bellowed like an overbearing bull.
“What is the scuffle about?” asked a soft, feminine voice from the stairs. Janet stepped around Robert to discover a tall lass standing on the landing. Dressed in a tartan arisaid and a green kirtle, her hair the color of cinnamon, she wasn’t looking at them, but rather her face was tilted upward as if she was listening.
“Emma.” Robert moved to the staircase and extended his hand while the woman descended. She didn’t take his hand and seemed unperturbed when he grasped her elbow. “We have a visitor.”
The lass’s smile was so warm and welcoming, Janet’s ire cooled a bit. “I love visitors.”
&
nbsp; Robert cleared his throat. “Miss Janet Cameron of Lochiel, this is my sister, Emma.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Janet curtsied and bowed her head. When she looked up, Emma was still smiling, but her eyes were closed. On closer inspection, her eyes were recessed a bit, with dark circles around them.
“Pleased to meet you as well,” Emma replied, giving a hesitant curtsy. “We’ve been unbearably worried since Lewis and the men returned without you.”
“We were caught in a snowstorm.” Robert took his sister’s hand and kissed it. “My dearest, would you be so kind as to show Miss Cameron to the rose bedchamber? She has broken her arm and is in sore need of rest.”
The girl stared at the floor. Such odd behavior.
“I’d be delighted, but a broken arm? Goodness, miss, you must be in terrible pain.”
Janet swept an errant strand of hair away from her face. “It has been none too comfortable.”
Robert turned to Janet. “I shall summon a healer at once.”
She arched her eyebrows. “And my father as well? I have no doubt he is worried half to death.”
“Ah. I will dispatch a missive to him straightaway.”
Janet gave him a firm shake of her finger. “And pray he doesn’t come to put this extravagant house to fire and sword.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” said Emma, her hands searching through the air until Robert took Janet’s hand and placed it in his sister’s fingertips. The lass smiled. “Come. I cannot wait to hear about your adventure. It must be quite a story.”
“A tragedy is more apt.” Robert should have warned me about his sister’s blindness.
As Emma pulled her toward the stairs, Janet eyed Robert over her shoulder, but he’d shifted his attention to a woman who’d entered through the narrow door. “There you are, Mrs. Tweedie.”
“Aye, sir.” The woman, who was wearing a coif and apron, wrung her hands. “Thank the stars you’re home at last.”
“’Tis good to be here. Please see to it a lad sets a fire in the rose bedchamber, and summon the healer.”
“At this hour?” Mrs. Tweedie shifted her gaze up the staircase. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Do it, I say, and tell her to bring proper arm splints.”
“Straightaway, sir.”
Emma gave Janet’s hand a tug. “This way.”
“You ken the way?” Janet asked.
“Of course I do, silly. This is my home.”
“But you’re blind, are you not?” she blurted, at a loss for how to state Emma’s condition more delicately.
“Och, you are observant,” the lass said with a tad of sarcasm.
“Apologies. I shouldn’t have been so forward.”
“I fail to see why not. ’Tisn’t as if my blindness is a secret.” After exiting onto the second floor, Emma ran her fingers along the wall, passed one door, stopped at the second, and turned the knob. “I love this bedchamber because it smells of rosewood.”
Janet followed the lass inside. It did have a pleasant scent, but it was also decorated in a lovely shade of pink. It wasn’t a large room, but large enough to sport a four-poster bed with pink bed-curtains with a floral design, an overstuffed chair, and a bedside table holding an ewer and bowl. The window was recessed in an embrasure with cushions on opposing seats—they were upholstered in pink, of course.
A lad came in carrying a pail of peat. “Come to set the fire, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Emma led Janet to the bed and sat—quite familiar of her. “No one ever tells me a thing, and all Lewis would say is Robert rescued you from the clutches of Fort William’s dragoons and you fell down a ravine whilst escaping.” She clutched her hands over her heart. “And the men all presumed you were dead!”
Tired and in pain, Janet practically collapsed beside the lass. “I daresay ’tis a miracle I am not.”
“How did you fall?”
“My horse slipped on ice and the ground gave way.”
“Good gracious, ’tis a miracle you escaped with merely a broken arm.”
“I suppose it is. As I was falling, I thought I might perish before my lifeless body hit the bottom of the ravine, but my horse saved me. I’m convinced of it.”
Emma’s fingers slid over, brushing Janet’s skirts. “You poor dear. Falling is one of my greatest fears.”
“I can only imagine.” Janet bit her tongue, wishing there were something witty she could say, but at a complete loss for words. She sat very still while the lass seemed curious about the texture of the taffeta.
“What I don’t understand is how Robert came to rescue you from the redcoats in the first place. I thought Grants and Camerons were mortal enemies.”
“That we are, and once my father discovers Laird Grant has brought me to Glenmoriston, the feud may grow worse.”
Emma drew her fingers away and clasped her hands in her lap. “Then why did he do it?”
“Bring me here?”
“Aye.”
Janet sighed. “I have no idea—though he says he thinks I’m safer at Moriston Hall.”
“Hmm. If that is what Robert says, then ’tis fact.”
“Oh?” Or does it have more to do with the feud between our clans?
“Aye. If nothing else, my brother is true to his word.”
“Hmm.” Well, Janet wasn’t convinced, though she kept her opinion to herself. “Is he always so domineering?”
“Always—and protective to a fault.”
“I’ll say.”
At the hearth a fire came to life with pops and crackles. The lad took the pail and slipped away without a word.
Emma clapped her hands. “We should plan an outing whilst you’re here.”
“’Tis a bit cold.”
“Aye, but Robert can hitch up the team, and we’ll bring along plenty of blankets. There’s nothing more invigorating than a brisk ride along the river.”
“That could be diverting,” Janet said with a shrug. “Though I’m not certain my arm would like it.”
“How thoughtless of me. I’m such a nitwit.”
“I don’t think you are, not in the least.”
Emma sat for a moment and swayed. Janet was about to inquire as to her well-being when the lass’s face brightened.
“At least we ought to have a feast in your honor.” Emma began clapping again as if she were about to plan a gathering.
Janet wasn’t sure she wanted to agree to any merrymaking activities at the moment. She was still cross with His Lairdship, and no matter how much he professed that she’d misunderstood, in her mind he’d deceived her. She could see it now. All the Grants come to Moriston Hall to have a peek at the ruined Cameron lass who’d spent three days in a bothy with their chieftain.
“A feast? With clan folk?” Her voice cracked. “I doubt I will be here more than a day or two.”
“Och, we do not need a gathering of people for a celebration. Truth be told, I’m not comfortable in the midst of crowds. Leave the planning to me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Though it was nearly midnight, the healer arrived in short order. Robert led her to the rose bedchamber and knocked on the door. “May we enter?”
Voices from behind the timbers grew quiet. “Aye,” said Emma gleefully.
Amused and a bit relieved that his sister had taken to Janet so quickly, Robert ushered the elderly woman inside. “This is Mary Catherine, the best healer in Ross-shire.”
Emma patted Janet’s shoulder as if the pair had been friends for ages. “She’s the only healer allowed under this roof.”
“That’s on account of I do not approve of bloodletting.” Mary Catherine’s serene and careworn face had a way of putting people at ease as well. She set her basket on the bed and bent over Janet’s arm, carefully pulling back the sleeve, then opening a gap in the makeshift bandages for a closer examination. “By the looks of this, the break is not new.”
“We were trapped in the snowstorm,” Robert explained. He tugged h
is sister to her feet. “Emma, would you please go ask Cook to send up a tray? Neither Miss Janet nor I has eaten a substantial meal in days.”
“But—”
He walked her through the door. “Thank you, dearest.” No matter how much he loved his sister, the bedchamber was crowded enough, and giving Emma a task would keep her occupied and out of mischief.
“Let me see you move your fingers,” said Mary Catherine.
Janet winced, but all five fingers twitched.
“’Tis a good sign, but we’ll need to apply a proper splint. This one looks as if it has been through the wars.”
“Proper?” Janet’s voice shot up. “I think it would be awfully painful to change the dressing at this point.”
The healer calmly patted the lass’s hand. “It shouldn’t cause too much pain as long as we keep your arm steady. Now lie flat, if you please.”
The lass cradled her arm against her midriff and pursed her lips, casting a dubious glance at Robert.
But Mary Catherine had too many years of experience to let reluctance dissuade her. “Come, lass, the break will heal better, and your arm will be more comfortable with slats from a linden tree. I have them sanded smooth by the carpenter in Inverness.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Robert stepped nearer. “I think you’ll feel much improved once the healer has set you to rights. I ken I will.”
“Och, if you must.” Janet grimaced as she swung her feet onto the bed. “But if you dare make me endure anything remotely like the pain of setting the bone, I shall never forgive you, Mr. Grant. I shall tell my father to—”
“Understood.” He turned to the healer. “Would it be best if I left you alone?”
“Nay.” Mary Catherine pulled two fresh slats out of her basket along with a roll of bandages. “I’ll need your hands to ensure we do not jostle the arm any more than necessary.”
“Do you have a stick for me to bite down upon?” asked Janet, perspiration already beading her forehead as she continued to cradle her arm against her body.
Mary Catherine returned the question with a serene smile, one that would absolve the sins of every tinker for a hundred miles. “That shouldn’t be necessary. Now stretch your arm out flat.”
