The Highland Renegade

by Amy Jarecki

  Neither man was smiling when they left, but Miss Janet’s grin was enough to warm the chill out of winter when she came inside. “I have some news.”

  He beckoned her closer while shifting his gaze to his factor. “Is there anyone else waiting?”

  Wallis checked his ledger. “Not unless someone has arrived whilst we’ve been in session.”

  “Go check, please. I need a word with Miss Janet.” After Mr. Wallis left, Robert turned his attention to the lass, his fingers itching to grab her hand and pull her onto his lap. Fresh in his mind was the memory of the wee hours of last eve, her warm thighs either side of his face. “What is your news?”

  She waggled her shoulders as if very proud of herself. “The tinkers do not ken the name of the person who paid them to poach your cattle, but they ken what he looks like.”

  Robert’s jaw dropped. “They admitted to poaching my cattle?”

  “They had a hand in it—and the thefts occurred over several weeks—whenever the shepherd was elsewhere. And the tinkers were paid poorly, if you ask me.”

  “How much?

  “One penny per head.”

  “That is ridiculous, considering each man could swing from the gallows for reiving cattle.” He tapped his lips. “You said a person hired them. What does this vagrant look like?”

  Janet’s shoulders danced again. “He’s plain, brown hair, stands about seventeen hands, and has a dark mark on the side of his right cheek…and he has beady eyes. Do you ken anyone of that description?”

  “About half the men in Ross-shire.”

  “I’ll wager the mark will help us. They said it was prominent.” She smiled. “And I cannot think of a single one of my father’s men thusly described.”

  That still doesn’t mean Lochiel is innocent. “Didn’t they ask his name? Where is the man from? Where did he plan to sell my beasts? Was he dressed like a tinker or a gentleman?”

  “They said the stranger wore Highland dress, but—” She tapped her lips.

  “Yes?”

  “He didn’t sound as if he hailed from these parts and definitely wasn’t a Gaelic speaker—they thought he might be a Lowlander.”

  “The plot thickens. And all from a gift of a few blankets.”

  “I reckon the hot cider made up their minds for the most part.”

  Robert could resist no longer. He snatched Janet’s hand and pulled her onto his lap. Careful not to jostle her arm, he nuzzled her ear. “What else did you learn about my prisoners?”

  Giggling, she leaned away. “They’re poor, broken men who are down on their luck, for the most part.”

  He brushed an errant curl away from her face. “Men who turned to thievery. They cannot be trusted. How do you know any of what they told you is true?”

  “The leader says he marched to Edinburgh with the Grant regiment in 1708 when the true king sailed to the Firth of Forth from France.” Janet examined Robert’s scar, drawing her finger down the length of it.

  “He did.” He enjoyed having her eyes on him. “Leith is from Inverness, had a taste for drink and an aversion to hard work. It didn’t surprise me to see he’d taken up with that mob of tinkers.”

  Her gaze shifted to his mouth. “Half of them are young lads from the crofts. They have no trade and no work.”

  Robert moistened his lips. “If offered a day’s work for fair wages, I doubt they’d finish the job afore they tired—or pilfered something.”

  “Mayhap you could give them a try.” She dipped her chin.

  “And have my silver go missing?” He guided her face closer with the crook of his finger.

  “Is silver more important than souls?” she asked, her voice soft and dreamy.

  Swallowing, he yearned to kiss her. “Perhaps I can find them a task where temptation will not whet their appetites.”

  “Now there’s a thought.” Finally their lips joined. Warm, delicious, stirring. Robert’s insides turned molten.

  But no sooner had he coaxed her lips to join with his than Mr. Wallis appeared and cleared his throat.

  Janet flew off Robert’s lap as if she’d been jabbed by a poker. “My heavens, you are brash, sir,” she said, as if acting out a part in a Shakespearean play.

  Robert gave her a wolfish grin and played along. “Och, there’s no harm in a wee kiss.”

  “So say you.” Clutching her splinted arm against her midriff, she shook her finger, though her eyes twinkled with playfulness. “Just remember that Emma expects you to be dressed in your finest tomorrow evening. She has something grand planned.”

  “Bless my sister, and thank you for humoring her. Things are not easy for the lass.”

  “No, they are not, though I commend her for her decorum. She sets an example for us all.”

  * * *

  Janet soon found Emma an ideal student when it came to knitting, and Janet tasked her with making scarves while she focused on mittens, holding one needle stationary in her left hand while working the other with her right. It was arduous, but in two days they’d made sufficient progress.

  Stopping only to prepare for dinner, Janet checked her hair in the mirror, recognizing Mrs. Tweedie’s robust knock at the door. “I have something for you.”

  “Enter.”

  Janet clasped her hands, preparing for another chiding, but the woman smiled, a gown of blue taffeta draped across her arm. “I’ve cleaned and mended this. It would mean ever so much to Miss Emma if you would wear it.”

  “My gown?” Janet crossed the floor as Mrs. Tweedie held it up. “Good heavens, it looks new, though I doubt that Emma will mind what I wear one way or the other.”

  “She may not see, but Emma senses things you and I would never dream of.” Hmm. There seemed to be many facets to Mrs. Tweedie. And just when Janet was thinking the servants had begun acting aloof, the matron turned about with an unexpected kindness.

  “I’m sure that’s true. Every day I grow more astonished by her. And if it will make her happy, I will certainly comply.” Janet released the bow on her kirtle. “We must hurry.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Tweedie set the gown over the chair and helped Janet slip her arm out of the sling. “How is your arm faring?”

  “I think it is healing well, though it itches terribly.”

  “I’m sure you will be happy when you no longer have to wear the splint.”

  “I most certainly will be. I think Emma is making more progress knitting scarves than I am with mittens.”

  After donning her third petticoat, Janet stepped into the gown. “So much has happened since the Samhain gathering it makes my head spin to think on it.”

  “It must be difficult to be away from your kin for so long.”

  “I do miss home, I suppose.” To be honest, Janet hadn’t thought much of Achnacarry in the past weeks. She’d traveled to Inverlochy with Kennan to escape her stepmother and to secretly observe the gentlemen for a possible suitor. Nonetheless, after Mrs. Tweedie had been so outspoken, Janet hadn’t been inclined to discuss anything of a personal nature. The fact that the woman had taken it upon herself to clean and repair the gown was a surprise—and the work hadn’t been done hastily.

  Mrs. Tweedie threaded the bodice laces in the back. “This is such a fine color on you. It enhances your eyes.”

  “How very nice of you to say.” Over her shoulder, Janet looked at the woman pointedly. “I beg your pardon, but yesterday I believed you would prefer to have me return to Achnacarry as soon as practicable. What has changed?”

  “I want to see Miss Emma happy.” The woman pursed her lips as her gaze shifted away.

  Janet tapped her lips with her pointer finger. It didn’t take a seer to realize Mrs. Tweedie was either fabricating her response altogether or hiding something. “Mr. Grant asked you to repair the gown, did he not?”

  “Aye.”

  “And he also asked you to help me dress, I imagine.”

  Though she didn’t respond, by the scarlet infusing the woman’s cheeks, Janet had guessed
right.

  Janet inhaled deeply. “Well, I think Mr. Grant is a remarkable man, and when I do return to my kin, my father will certainly hear of it.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if the feud between our clans were no more? Heaven’s stars, we have enough to worry about with that imposter on the throne and her brother living in exile.”

  “Yes, miss.” Now this was more like the Mrs. Tweedie she’d come to know. The woman hadn’t taken it upon herself to mend the gown. And for some reason she’d now decided it best to hold her tongue.

  What if Robert tried to resolve the feud between their clans? What then? Would they have a chance at everlasting happiness? Might he ask her to marry him?

  Janet’s insides swirled with bubbles of joy…until she thought about her father.

  Would the great chieftain of Clan Cameron pay heed to a Grant laird and agree to start anew, or would he take up his sword?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Janet hastened below stairs but stopped before opening the door to the dining hall. She took a deep breath, patted her hair to ensure all the pins and curls were still in the right places, then proceeded inside to find Robert and Emma dancing.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six. That’s right,” he said with a sweet gentleness. “If you ken the steps, your partner will lead you and prevent you from bumping into the other dancers.”

  Emma giggled as her brother began a circular promenade. The lass followed well and efficiently executed the steps, though instead of carrying herself rigid as girls were taught to do by being made to balance books on their heads, Emma swayed and flitted gaily as if there were actually music playing. Wearing an ivory damask gown, she made a picture of a bonny Highland lass, though she may have been overshadowed by the magnificence of her brother. He was bold and imposing in his kilt, waistcoat, and short black doublet, and his neckcloth was perfectly tied at his throat. The hem of his kilt swished in time to the dance steps, accentuating his stockings, tied with plaid flashes—or was the accent made more alluring by the flexing calf muscles beneath? Whatever the reason, Janet wouldn’t have been able to hide her smile for a hundred guineas.

  When the dance ended, she applauded. “You pair are marvelous.”

  “Miss Janet!” Emma spun toward the sound. “Did you see us? I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Then you must have been having a great deal of fun, because you have the best hearing of any soul I have ever met.”

  Robert led his sister forward. “I agree.”

  Grinning, Emma sashayed. “I wish I could go to a real ball.”

  “I think your brother ought to take you.” Janet looked at Robert pointedly. They’d had this conversation. “Perhaps to a smaller affair at least. I’ll have to set my mind to finding the ideal occasion.”

  “Then I will await your recommendation.” Robert took Janet’s hand, bowed deeply, and kissed it. “You look especially radiant this eve.”

  “As do you—most handsome, that is.” She took Emma’s elbow and led her to the table. “But you, my dear, are bonny enough to steal the heart of any gentlemen within forty miles.”

  “You jest.”

  “I never jest about beauty.”

  “Take heed, Sister. Miss Janet kens what she’s on about.” His Lairdship strolled along behind them. “As I recall, at the ceilidh in Inverlochy, every man in the hall queued all night just for a chance to dance with her.”

  Emma clasped her hands. “Och, I dream of such a night.”

  “Then you must have it.” Janet arched her eyebrow at Robert. He alone must see to his sister’s prospects.

  Robert held a chair for each of the ladies before taking his own. The table was set with fine china depicting pastoral scenes in pastels. There were crystal goblets, polished silver, and two footmen to serve the meal.

  “My, this is as lavish as a royal feast,” Janet said while a footman poured the wine.

  “Have you been to a royal feast?” asked Emma.

  “Only one—held by the Duke of Gordon in Glasgow. His Grace hosts a grand ball every year.”

  Robert raised his goblet to his lips. “Do you go there often?”

  “Occasionally—when Da has business to conduct. I always plead with him to bring me along for the shopping.” Janet admired the china plate in front of her, which depicted a couple enjoying a meal beneath a sycamore with roses encircling the edge. “Dearest Emma, what wonderful dishes have you planned for the menu this eve?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t plan twelve dishes per course like there should be at a real ball.”

  “That was very smart and prudent of you.” Picking up her goblet, Janet swirled her wine. “I daresay the three of us will have difficulty finishing off one dish.”

  The door from the kitchen opened, and in walked a footman carrying a tureen of soup from which wafted a delicious aroma.

  Emma clasped her hands and inhaled deeply. “The first course is beef broth with leek. The main course is roast goose and cabbage, bread of course, and then we will need to save room for apple tart with honey.”

  “My favorite.” Robert licked his lips.

  “And ’tis the last of the apples from the cellar.”

  Emma had done as lovely a job as the hostess as if she’d been born to it, and everything proceeded like a king’s feast.

  During the second course, Janet delicately cut a bite of goose. “This is the finest supper I’ve had in all my days.”

  “Even the one served by the duke?” Emma asked.

  “Absolutely, and as tasty, for certain.”

  Robert reached for the saltcellar and used a wee spoon to season his food. “It is very good. We must ensure we compliment Cook come morn.”

  “Aye, we must.”

  After the footmen had cleared the second course, just as Emma promised, an apple tart baked in individual crockery was set in front of each of them. “Och, I believe I could live on the final course alone,” said Emma, spoon in hand.

  Janet closed her eyes while a bite of the tart melted on her tongue. “This has been a meal I shall never forget.”

  “To make the evening perfect, I believe a bit of entertainment is in order.” Robert tapped Emma’s arm. “Would you play for us?”

  “Oh, yes.” Janet clapped. “You promised to play your harp for me.”

  “I did, and Jimmy moved it to the hall just for this eve.” Emma pushed back her chair and stood. “This is exactly why I have been practicing all these years.”

  Robert stood and took his sister’s hand. “I’m certain there will be many more performances to come.”

  While Robert helped Emma situate her harp, the footmen moved two chairs in place. Taking her cue, Janet shifted to one of them. Once Robert joined her, Emma looked up expectantly—though not at them, at the far wall. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m always ready to listen to your music,” Robert said.

  A mesmerizing cascade of notes began the performance. The hall came alive with sound as Emma’s fingers expertly plucked the strings.

  Janet leaned in to Robert. Covering her mouth, she whispered, “Where did she learn to play? She is a virtuoso.”

  “The vicar’s wife comes once a fortnight. It began as an act of charity, but I’d say the student has become the master in this instance.”

  “’Tis such a shame not more people are able to hear her play.”

  “It is.”

  “You could invite the locals for a recital—you said she is accepted by the clan.”

  “Perhaps I will. She has played at gatherings, but a recital would be something she could plan for—something that is entirely her own.”

  The tune ended with a magical scale of notes and the two of them applauded animatedly, Janet making as much noise as she could by holding her injured arm against her ribs and clapping with her right. “That was the most delightful, stunning, flawless Celtic harp I have ever heard.”

  A furrow formed in Emma’s brow. “But
you pair were chatting all the while. I heard your whispers.”

  “We were discussing how practiced you are,” said Robert.

  “And I think you should plan a recital,” Janet said.

  Robert gave her a stern look.

  But Emma beamed. “Truly?”

  “Ah…” Robert waffled. “You should think on it. Select your best.” Why wasn’t he ready to commit?

  Janet believed Emma far too talented to let the issue pass without some sort of commitment. “I would plan something for this winter when everyone is home and the work is minimal. Mayhap after Christmas and Hogmanay have passed. What say you, Robert?”

  “I think—”

  “Oh please, Brother. My mind is already running rampant with the repertoire.”

  “In the new year, then.” Robert gave a thin-lipped nod. He knew it was time to face the facts that his sister was coming of age and he could no longer cosset her. Surely there was a man out there for her. She was too endearing to keep hidden. “But.” Robert held up his finger. “I would like you to play a minuet, for I haven’t had the honor of dancing with Miss Janet yet this eve.”

  “I’ll play you a dozen minuets. I’ll play all night if you’d like.” Smiling, Emma began to play again.

  Robert stood, bowed, and offered his hand.

  Janet placed her palm in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. “That went rather well,” she whispered.

  “Aye, though I would have liked to have some time to ponder the idea first.”

  “What’s to ponder? She’s magnificent. Such talent should not be hidden.”

  “But…”

  “What?”

  “I do not want to see her hurt.”

  “Something tells me you will ensure she will not be.”

  “True. I’d challenge anyone who would dare.”

  “I expect no less. Though…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Everyone experiences setbacks. ’Tis part of life.”

  “Believe me, my sister has endured enough setbacks.” Instead of taking Janet’s hand for the promenade, Robert pulled her into his arms and dipped his chin, pressing his lips to her ear. “But I do not want to talk about recitals this eve. I want to kiss you everywhere.”