by Amy Jarecki
Robert’s eyebrows drew together, darkening the rugged angles of his face. “Heavens no. The lass is only seventeen.”
Janet tiptoed nearer. “But she will be ready to wed afore you know it, and her suitor will need to be a patient and affectionate man.”
He eyed her. “Since when did you grow into such an expert? Besides, if my math is correct, you are five years her senior. It surprises me that a woman as bonny as you hasn’t suitors lined up for miles.”
Janet tensed, unable to form words for a moment, while her own circumstances filled her with foreboding. Truly, since she’d fallen, she had put her lack of prospects out of her mind. Now, not only did Emma remind her of the fact that she was unpromised, with no suitors, Robert saw fit to wave it in front of her face. Worse, once Janet returned home, there was every chance her stepmother would have at least one gentleman waiting to take her away to wedded misery. Shaking her head, she gulped, steeled her nerves, and searched for the right words. “But we are not discussing my prospects. We are discussing Emma’s. A-and her situation is unusual—though not untenable.”
“You may be right, but I’m not about to set out to find a suitor today.”
“Of course not.” Janet stepped beside the desk. “Has she always been sightless?”
“She has. Born prematurely. Truth be told, it is a miracle she survived, though our mother did not.”
“So sad.”
“Emma copes quite well, if you ask me. And she’s no trouble, mind you.” He picked up a chair and moved it next to the one already behind the writing table. “Will you sit?”
Janet slid into the chair while studying Robert in a new light. How many people outside his clan even knew he had a sister, let alone a disadvantaged one? It didn’t seem as though he tried to hide the fact. That he loved her was not in question. Emma was happy and healthy and thriving.
Perhaps I shouldn’t meddle.
Robert dipped the quill in the inkwell. “How would you like to begin?”
“‘Dearest Father.’”
He wrote the salutation in a bold hand while Janet looked on, tapping the corner of her lip. “What have you written to him already?”
“That you were abducted by Winfred Cummins and his dragoons and I intervened to prevent you from incarceration in Fort William. We fled up the slopes of Ben Nevis, your horse foundered whilst crossing Finnach Ridge in the midst of a blizzard. Then I went on to say that once I dug you out, we had no choice but to seek shelter in a bothy where I splinted your arm, and you are now under the care of my sister and the local healer.”
“You explained everything, I see.” Janet drummed her fingers, thankful it was clear he had completely forgotten about the bone-melting, divine kiss that never should have been. The mention of the bothy was dreadful enough. “Perhaps I should make it clear that you are writing on my behalf.”
He nodded. “Just say it as you would in a letter. That would be best.”
“Very well.” She drew in a deep breath. “‘Due to the fact my broken arm prevents me from taking up the quill, Mr. Grant is graciously writing my dictation verbatim. I am happy to report that Mary Catherine, the healer, believes my arm was set nicely, and she expects me to fully recover as long as I remain in a splint and do not injure it again. Because of the likelihood of a fall, given our inclement weather, she recommends I remain in Glenmoriston until the roads are clear and my arm is healed.” Again Janet drummed her fingers and watched until his eagle feather stilled.
Robert glanced up.
“New paragraph.” She flicked her hand at the parchment. “‘I am quite concerned about Kennan. Lieutenant Cummins and his dragoons beat him mercilessly and I would be greatly reassured to receive news of him. As for me, I assure you that Mr. Grant and his sister have treated me like kin, and I want for nothing. I do, however, miss home and look forward to the day when I will again see my beloved Achnacarry…I remain your faithful and loving daughter, Janet.’”
He dipped the quill into the ink and continued writing. “Would you like to try to sign with your right hand?”
“My left, please.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’d like to try.”
“Very well.” Once he’d finished, he slid the parchment over, then inked, blotted, and gave her the quill.
Raising her arm hurt far too much, so she stood and supported her left wrist with her right hand and managed to sign while gnashing her teeth. It took thrice as long to scrawl her name as it normally did.
After she finished, Robert sanded the letter and held it up as he stood. “With a signature as steady as this, you’ll be writing entire missives in no time.”
“I hope so.” Janet leaned forward and replaced the quill in the holder, albeit with her right hand. Content with herself, she stepped back, her heel catching on her hem. “Ack!” she squealed, flinging her only good arm out, reaching for anything to break her fall. But topple she did. Time slowed as she closed her eyes and clutched her sling tight to her body, praying not to suffer another break.
Just as she was certain her backside was about to collide with the Persian rug, Robert scooped an arm behind her back. His face hovered above hers while he drew her upright with his muscular arm as if she were no heavier than a bairn. As her feet touched the floor, that same arm held her securely while he moved a hand to her shoulder, gently steadying her.
Flustered, Janet craned her neck and stared at his face. Eyes like ice pierced her heart. They were shadowy, yet crystalline and focused. Emotion flashed through those eyes: concern, urgency, a touch of humor, and something else—something more powerful. Before Janet could examine him more closely, his gaze flickered to her lips.
“Ah…my hem—” Only two words slipped out before he crushed his mouth to hers, growling soft and low in his throat. A shock of searing heat surged through her as she plunged her fingers into his hair, pulling the thick locks from the ribbon.
The world spun with bone-melting anticipation while he lifted her onto the table. He said not a word, those sharp eyes entrancing her as he carefully drew her sling and arm away from her midriff and rested it on his hip. She grew breathless as he stepped between her knees. Lord in heaven, she’d never experienced such passion in her life. His arms slid around her. His lips slowly lowered. “I need another kiss, lass.”
With a thrilling rush of desire, she parted her lips and savored his taste while he tempted her with hot, deep glides of his tongue. His hips rubbed back and forth between her legs—stoking a forbidden desire—passion more potent than anything she had ever experienced. The world around them swam into oblivion, and she held on, never wanting his kisses to stop. Craving more, needing more, moving in tandem with the daring and primitive tempo Robert commanded with the rocking of his hips.
Chapter Seventeen
Somewhere in the back of Robert’s mind a tickle annoyed him—told him to stop—but he paid it no mind. Ever since he’d kissed Janet in the bothy, he’d hungered to have her wrapped in his embrace again, and now that she was there, he was unable to step away. Bless the stars, the lass took to kissing like a goddess. Everything about her was soft. Soft hair, soft skin, soft hips, soft…mmm…soft breasts.
He swirled his tongue deeper, imagining entering her. God save him, with a tug of her skirts he’d slip between those creamy thighs he’d admired in the bothy. Moving his lips to the mounds of her breasts peeking above her neckline, he grasped her kirtle and inched it higher.
“Robert?” Emma’s call came from the doorway.
Moving with lightning speed, he released his hold on Miss Janet. After taking a deep breath, he spun around, clasping his hands behind his back, his eyes wide. “Ah…Emma.” Dear Lord, he sounded as guilty as sin.
She moved inside, turning her ear as she oft did. “Is all well? I thought I heard a moan of pain. Is Miss Janet still here?”
“I’m here and quite well,” the lass responded, also sounding a bit flustered—Good God, her appearance alone broadcast w
hat they’d been up to. Janet’s hair had come undone on one side and hung draped over her shoulder, making a glaring announcement that she’d just been ravished…which she might have been had Emma not interrupted. For the first time in Robert’s life, his sister’s blindness proved a blessing.
“Thank heavens,” Emma said, smiling and clapping her hands. “I just had the most wonderful idea.”
Janet’s gaze flickered with guilt before she quickly averted her eyes and wiped a hand across her swollen lips. Was she wiping away the sensation of their kiss? I hope not. “What is it?” he asked, trying to sound unperturbed.
“It will be the Sabbath three days hence, and after services I thought we might take the pony cart along the river. Miss Janet hasn’t been to Moriston Falls, and Jimmy says the snow on the path has melted—if the outing will not be too taxing for Miss Janet.”
Robert glanced at the Cameron lass, wishing he could have a word with her without his sister’s prying ears. “Ah—”
Janet recovered her wits and smiled graciously. “’Tis a fine idea, and shouldn’t pain my arm overmuch. Would your cook be able to pack a basket for our midday meal?”
“Indeed, I’ll speak to him straightaway.” He retrieved the missives from the writing table. “I left the courier in the kitchen. May as well take these to him whilst I’m at it.” He bowed to Janet, watching her expression, but she remained a picture of good form and returned his gesture with a polite curtsy.
* * *
While he strode out of the library, Janet watched the hem of Robert’s kilt slap the backs of his knees, his well-formed calves flexing beneath his woolen hose. Good heavens, that man had turned her wanton. Her fingers still trembled. His Lairdship had rendered her completely senseless. Drawing her hands to her lips, she recalled the thrill of Robert’s kisses. Then she clutched her palms to her stomach—how she’d come undone when he’d urged open her knees and brushed himself against her most private place.
I shall be accursed for the rest of my days.
“Truly, are you well, Miss Janet?” asked Emma, as if she could sense her unease.
Snapping from her reverie, she faced the lass. “Quite well, thank you. ’Tis very thoughtful of you to suggest an outing to the falls. I think it is exactly what I need to refresh my sensibilities.”
“Och, your arm must be bothering you terribly. I thought a diversion would be just the thing to help.”
To be honest, since Robert brought Janet into the library, she’d experienced many sensations, though physical pain was not one of them. “I’m certain with this new splint I will heal faster by the day.” She hastened over to the shelves and pulled out a couple of books, jostling them in her hand. “Shall I read to you? I love stories—they’re so entertaining.”
“I’d like that. Robert rarely has time to read anymore. And he’s forever away.” Emma touched her way to the door. “Let us retire to the parlor. There’s nothing more comfortable than the overstuffed couch—and there’s even a French-made ottoman to prop our feet upon.”
Janet let out a long breath, her nerves finally settling. She certainly didn’t want to be in the library when Robert returned. “How do you fill your days, Emma?”
Robert’s sister ran her fingers along the wall, though she was very sure of where she was headed. “Every morning I meet with Mrs. Tweedie and Cook and discuss the day’s menu and housekeeping duties, as well as approve purchases of supplies for the house.”
“Oh my, you are gaining such valuable experience running the entire household.”
“I suppose I am.”
“But what do you do for enjoyment?”
“I love music.”
“Do you sing?”
“I do. And play the harp.” Emma opened the parlor door. “Are you musical?”
“I sing a little, though I can’t claim any proficiency with an instrument.”
“Perhaps we can practice a duet.”
“That might be diverting.” Janet followed the lass inside, and they both sat in the downy comfort of the couch while a question needled the back of her mind. Biting her lip, she decided to ask, “You said Robert is oft away. Do you ken if he has plans to travel anytime soon?”
Chapter Eighteen
The answer to Janet’s question came three days later.
Though first, when Robert met them in the entry hall for Sunday services, his stitches were missing, the pink scar prominent just behind his dimple. Janet couldn’t help but stare at it curiously during the sermon. “Why did you not ask me to remove them?”
He gave her a look. “’Twas no bother. Wheesht.”
Still, since Janet had been the one to sew him, she felt she should have been asked to remove the sutures. The service continued with nothing further said, and, afterward, Robert dutifully helped the ladies aboard his new, shiny pony cart. Though the bench looked as if two people might ride comfortably, Emma insisted there was ample room for three, and the Grant heirs bookended Janet, squeezing her in the middle.
She cradled her arm against her stomach while the cart rolled over the rocky path, making all three of them jounce to and fro like a boat sailing through heavy swells. It hurt, but the pain wasn’t unbearable. Emma chatted continuously while Robert manned the reins, his thigh firmly wedged against Janet’s. If she moved to the left, she shifted into Emma. Afraid a jolt might make her knock the lass off her perch, Janet opted to accept the close quarters and lean in to Robert. Sturdy as a stone wall, he seemed not to notice, driving the team of two garron ponies at a lazy walk—any faster and the little cart might lose its wheels on account of the holes and rocks while they rode beneath a canopy of brown trees, their spindly limbs dormant until spring.
“Do you visit the falls often?” Janet asked.
“Mostly in summer,” Emma responded. “But it is so nice to be out and about after enduring such inclement weather.”
“’Tis only November.” Robert looked to the clouds overhead. “There’s plenty of snow and rain yet to come afore springtime.”
“Och, ’tis always raining.” Janet took advantage of the cart’s sway and slipped her hand into the crook of Robert’s elbow—for balance, of course. “My da says if Scots waited until the sun shone, they’d have no fun at all.”
“Well spoken.” Emma beamed. Though she was bundled in her cloak and bonnet, the happiness in her expression was as if she kept a treasure of sunshine in her heart.
Janet smiled in response. “I do believe you have the most positive outlook of any soul I’ve ever met.”
“I agree,” said Robert.
“Why should I not? Things are ever so miserable if one broods about, always filled with melancholy.”
The roar of the water neared until the trees parted and they crossed a narrow bridge. Robert stopped the team and pointed. “The falls start at those rocks.”
“I love the sound,” said Emma.
Janet leaned forward. All around them, hills spotted with patches of snow sloped down to the river and its white swells. The banks were lined with trees thick with green moss. “This place must be magical in summer—I’d like to see it then.”
Robert slapped the reins. “I hope you can, though I venture you’ll be completely healed and reunited with your kin well before.”
A hollowness took up residence in Janet’s chest. Only a few weeks past, she had considered Robert Grant one of the vilest miscreants who stalked the Highlands. Just because she had an affinity to the man didn’t negate the timeworn feud between their clans.
Out of the corner of her eye, she observed him—tawny locks clubbed back, though a wave of hair skimmed his cheek right where his stitches had been. In truth, the scar added to his allure, that and the hint of stubble along his angled jaw. The fullness of his lips, a mouth she had kissed fervently more than once—a mouth she’d like to kiss again. Forbidden temptation.
With a sharp inhalation, she forced herself to look straight ahead and change her train of thought. What am I doing?
They arrived at a stone bower that might have served for a medieval watchtower had there been anything to guard aside from the rushing falls. “What is this place?”
“An old shelter built by our great-grandfather.” Robert secured the reins.
“’Tis a magical place where fairies make mischief.” Emma gave her a playful nudge.
The big laird hopped down from the cart and offered his hand. “I sent Jimmy ahead to light a fire in the brazier. The bower ought to be toasty warm for our luncheon.”
Janet placed her fingers in his palm. But when she looked to the ground, she hesitated. Goodness, it seemed a long hop down. Before she uttered a word, Robert’s big hands closed around her waist. Strong fingers gripped her securely, but not so tight as to leave a bruise. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his shoulder as he lifted. But he didn’t just set her on her feet. Oh no, he drew her against his hard chest, his heartbeat thrumming through the folds of his cloak. His lips parting. Janet watched his eyes turn from ice blue to midnight as he gradually lowered her until her toes touched the earth. Powerless, she remained captive to his spell, expecting and wanting him to dip his chin and kiss her.
“Excuse me,” Emma piped from behind. “I’m waiting, mind you.”
The magic broke when Robert shifted his gaze. “Forgive me, Sister.”
Janet bumbled aside while he helped Emma alight, lifting the lass and setting her on her feet, much as he’d done for Janet. Except it wasn’t the same. Robert didn’t take his time or gaze upon his sister’s face or hold her aloft.
He gestured to the bower. “Go on inside and warm your hands. I’ll fetch the basket.”
* * *
Robert’s mind cleared when Janet took Emma’s arm and led her into the bower. Good God, it was all he could do to keep his hands on the reins while the lass sat beside him, the supple curve of her thigh pressing against his. He thought he’d grown impervious to her scent, but she smelled as tempting as whisky laced with lavender. How the hell did she manage to discombobulate him every time she was in his presence? Had he gone completely senseless? Christ, he’d nearly kissed her when he helped her down. Thank God Emma was there, lest he completely lose control and ravish the forbidden Janet Cameron.
