The Highland Renegade

by Amy Jarecki

  She grinned. “Aye, so that is why you slipped in through the rear door? You want to make Miss Cameron swoon?”

  “Mayhap a winsome sigh would do quite well.” He gave the lass a wink for added benefit. “Will you help me? Tell the old lurker the coachman needs his assistance for a moment.”

  She held out her palm. “For a crown?”

  He dug in his sporran and dropped a coin in her palm. “My thanks.”

  “’Tis I who should be thanking you.” She slipped the crown into a pouch tied around her waist. “This coin will buy shoes for my bairns.”

  “A very good cause indeed.” Robert waited in a window embrasure midway down the corridor while the maid told Mr. Ellis he was needed in the courtyard, bless her.

  Once Ellis headed down the stairs, Robert stepped into the chamber. “Miss Janet, I need a word at once.”

  “Mr. Grant? Whyever are you here?”

  “Never mind that, please. I haven’t much time.”

  She closed her book and gave a nod. Hastening to take her elbow, he led her into a storage cupboard and closed the door.

  “What is—”

  “Wheesht.” He held up his finger. Good God, she smelled sweeter than a vat of simmering lavender. His head spun, but now he had her alone, he needed to impart his findings before the bloody knave returned. “Did you ken Winfred Cummins has been working here at the soldiers’ hospital all along?”

  “Here?”

  “Aye. How long has that mongrel been following you?”

  “He’s been following me?”

  “I reckon so—and I also reckon he’s behind your ruined white roses.”

  “My heavens.” She covered her mouth, her eyes filling with shock. “I remember now. I even asked Kennan if he’d seen Lieutenant Cummins at the recital.”

  “Where you received the second rose?”

  “Aye—I thought I saw him hobbling away during intermission—and then I found the rose on my seat directly after.”

  “’Twas he. Make no bones about it.”

  “Have you confronted him?”

  “Nay. He’s not here—hasn’t shown his face since the sale.” Robert grasped her shoulders. “You must be vigilant. I do not want you to venture outside without an escort—your brother or Mr. Ellis or…”

  “Or you?” she asked, her gaze meeting his.

  Robert’s heart stuttered out of rhythm. “A-aye…and I must have a word with your uncle straightaway.”

  “But Sir Broden mightn’t agree to see you.” Her hands moved to Robert’s waist as she stepped nearer.

  He licked his lips, fighting the desire to pull her into his arms. “He’ll see me, all right,” Robert growled. “And I’ll make damned sure he does.”

  Footsteps pounded in the corridor. “Miss Janet!” Mr. Ellis’s muffled shout rumbled through the timbers.

  The lass started to draw away, her mouth opening, her head turning as if she were about to give away their hiding place. But Robert wasn’t ready for this moment to end. Giving in to his yearning, he drew her into his embrace and covered her mouth, stealing a kiss. His hand slid up her back, slipped over the softness of her throat, and cupped the silken warmth of her cheeks. His knees turned molten as he dared to thread his fingers into her hair—

  “Miss Janet?” The man’s voice grew nearer and more frenzied.

  With Robert’s next breath, the lass pulled away and turned. “I’m here.” She slipped out the door, leaving him alone.

  “Why the devil were you in there?” Ellis brayed.

  “I needed a moment of respite,” she replied in the smoothest tone Robert had ever heard. “That poor sentinel is facing such hardship.”

  The silence filling the corridor stilled the air. Robert dared not breathe—frozen in place—not a finger twitched.

  “I see,” Ellis finally said. “Where is your hat, Miss Janet?”

  Robert glanced downward. Damnation, he held her blasted feathery bonnet between his fingers.

  “Heavens, it must have fallen off,” Janet said, her voice filled with wonderment.

  The latch clicked. Robert stood out of sight behind the door. When Janet stepped inside, the backlighting emphasized the mess he’d made of her hair, with tendrils spiking in every direction. The lass looked as if she’d been ravished for certain. Robert held the hat up where only she could see.

  “Here it is. How daft of me!” She snatched it away and slammed the door. “Shall we be off?”

  * * *

  The next morn, Janet sat in the drawing room with Uncle Broden, which had become their custom for the morning meal. Auntie Dallis never came below stairs before ten o’clock and always broke her fast in her chamber as she dressed for the day. Quiet morns were welcome, and Janet ate her porridge while her uncle read the gazette, oblivious to her presence.

  Lionel, the butler, stepped into the chamber. “You have a caller, sir.”

  “’Tis a bit early.” Sir Broden lowered his paper. “Who is it?”

  “Laird Grant.”

  Janet coughed, spewing her oatmeal back into her bowl. Taking in a gasp, she hastened to cover her mouth while erupting in a cacophony.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  Unable to stop coughing, Janet nodded and waved her hand.

  Sir Broden looked to Lionel. “What the devil does His Lairdship want? Wasn’t he here just a few days past?”

  “He didn’t say, sir. And aye, he took Miss Janet out to exercise her new hackney in Laigh Green.”

  Sir Broden heaved a sigh. “Have him leave his weapons with you and show him to the parlor. I’ll be along after I’ve read my gazette.” Once again Uncle disappeared behind his paper. “Fie, I believe it is time for Glasgow to stop growing, lest we see more vile characters knocking on my door at an indecent hour.”

  Janet glanced at the pocket watch attached to her chatelaine. Quarter past nine. “’Tisn’t all that early.”

  He lowered the paper a fraction and gave her a dour look. “If I say it is too early, then it is so.”

  “Of course.” Janet busied herself spooning another bite of porridge. Should she tell Sir Broden about Robert’s suspicion of Lieutenant Cummins? She’d thought about it last eve, but then Auntie Dallis might have made a scene. She’d already made her disapproval quite clear where Laird Grant was concerned. Cursed clan feuds.

  Janet lifted the spoon to her lips but couldn’t eat. She glanced at her uncle, still reading the gazette. For the love of God, the thing is two measly pages. I could have read it twice by now.

  When he finally set the blasted paper aside, Janet’s gaze darted to her bowl.

  “You’d best go above stairs and check on Her Ladyship. Doubtless she’ll have your day completely planned by now.”

  “I will after I finish breaking my fast.” Janet’s reply didn’t say anything about when that would be or the detours she might take along the way.

  As soon as he left the drawing room, she sprang to her feet and followed on tiptoe. Down the corridor, the double doors to the parlor were closed. If only they had left them slightly ajar, it would have been far easier to eavesdrop.

  “It is bold of you to come to my home.” Uncle’s muffled voice resonated through the timbers. “Have you forgotten the MacLeans are staunch allies of the Camerons? My sister, God rest her soul, was Sir Ewen’s first wife.”

  Janet moved closer, pressing her ear to the door.

  “I understand I may not be exactly welcome—”

  “That is an understatement.”

  “Nonetheless, I must inform you that I have spent the greater part of a year investigating the theft of my cattle—”

  “Your cattle again, is it? Aye, we’ve all heard about how you accused Lochiel and Kennan of thievery.”

  “I admit I may have jumped to conclusions, but in my defense—”

  “Of course you misjudged us. Clan Grant always—”

  “I beg your pardon, Sir Broden.” Robert’s voice boomed loudly enough to shake
the door. “But if you continue to interrupt me, I will never say what needs to be said, and the matter is of grave import.”

  Uncle cleared his throat while Janet stifled a snort. She could picture the dour man staring at Robert with a pinched brow. “Go on.”

  At least he hasn’t shown him the door.

  “I have not ignored the fact that the Camerons suffered losses last season as well, and I believe I have found the culprit who robbed us both.” Uncle remained silent while Robert told him about Winfred Cummins, starting with Samhain, including meeting and hiring Leith Whyte, how the lieutenant lost his leg and ended up working at the hospital, the white rose incidents, and the incident at the saleyard, and finishing up with the fact that the lieutenant was at large.

  She clapped a hand over her heart. She’d die if he mentioned any number of things from Glenmoriston—the parlor, the bedchamber. Lord help me.

  She jolted when the front door opened, and in walked Kennan. Stepping away from the parlor, Janet clasped her hands behind her back. “Kennan. I didn’t know you were returning this day.”

  “Kennan, is that you?” Of course, Auntie Dallis chose that very moment to venture below stairs.

  “It is.” He offered his hand and helped his aunt waddle down the last few steps.

  With perspiration on her brow, she looked very annoyed, as if on the verge of a spell. “Lionel just advised that Mr. Robert Grant is in the parlor with your uncle.”

  “What the devil?” Anger stretched Kennan’s handsome features. “Why did you not say something as soon as I walked in?” He reached for the parlor’s doorknob.

  “Stop!” Janet grasped his elbow. “He has uncovered the mystery of the missing cattle.”

  “Mystery, my arse.” Kennan flung the door wide and marched inside. “Laird Grant, you are trespassing, and I must ask you to leave at once.”

  Robert stood and whipped around, his fingers sliding to his dirk but grasping air.

  Lionel took his weapons.

  “Listen to what he has to say afore you haul off and accuse him,” Janet yelled, rushing between the two men before they came to blows. “I swear on our mother’s grave, I ken how feuds are started. ’Tis on account of bull-brained men jumping to conclusions afore they hear the whole story!”

  Kennan threw out his hands. “Damnation, I’m beginning to think you’re taking his side.”

  “Aye, dearest, the way you are carrying on is simply not ladylike,” Auntie scolded from the doorway.

  Groaning, Janet chose to ignore Her Ladyship and focused on her brother. “And I’m beginning to think that when it comes to this man, you behave like a complete and total Whig!” She thrust her fingers at the two opposing chairs. “Now both of you sit down while I relate the story once again.”

  Robert immediately took a seat, while Kennan waited for a nod from Uncle Broden before he sauntered to his chair. The two men crossed their arms as well as their legs and gave each other dead-eyed stares while Janet did her best to sum up recent events, much as Robert had just done.

  Once she finished, Kennan tipped up his chin. “So, you are no longer blaming Camerons for your livestock losses?”

  Janet held her breath while Robert unfolded his arms. “As much as I’d like to believe in your guilt, Miss Janet has spoken true.”

  Kennan snorted. “I never thought I’d hear such an admission come from a Grant’s mouth.”

  “I would not grow accustomed to it,” Robert said, straight faced. “And there is still the issue of the white roses. After all that has transpired, I fear your sister is in grave danger.”

  “Well then, ’tis a good thing I returned early from Edinburgh. You needn’t worry about Miss Janet. I will see to her safety. I always do.”

  Robert eyed him. “Aye, just like you did at the Inverlochy crossing.”

  “There were six of them, ye bloody maggot—or would you prefer another duel?”

  “Kennan!” Janet chided.

  Robert placed both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “I’m ready to face you again at any time. But only if you agree to be searched. I’ll tolerate no concealed weapons, and you’ve proved you cannot be trusted.”

  Kennan sat back and smirked. “I reckon I did you a favor. My wee bit of work makes your bonny face actually look like a man’s.”

  “You’re full of shite.” Robert pushed to his feet but bowed his head to Janet. “Beg your pardon, miss.”

  “My brother doesn’t behave so poorly unless you are about. I thank heavens he’s otherwise a good man, though you haven’t enjoyed the pleasure of observing his good-naturedness.”

  “Enough,” Kennan barked.

  Robert turned to Uncle Broden, who had taken a seat behind the writing table. “It is not safe for Miss Janet to venture out alone. If anyone sees or hears of Cummins’s whereabouts, I want to hear about it straightaway.” Again he bowed. “Thank you for your time. I shall take my leave.”

  Janet hastened to accompany Robert to the door. “Will you be attending the Duke of Gordon’s ball?” she whispered.

  Resting his hand on the latch, he stopped and faced her. “I will.” He winked, taking her hand, and plied it with a brief peck. “I trust you will save a dance for me?”

  “Most certainly. And thank you for your concern.” Sighing, Janet clutched her hands over her heart as she watched him leave.

  “I’d like you to stay away from him at the ball,” Kennan said, leaning against the doorjamb.

  Auntie Dallis nodded rapidly. “Aye, and there will be so many eligible gentlemen there. You mustn’t give Grant a second thought.”

  Kennan draped an arm around Janet’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze—a loving squeeze, albeit untimely. “Are you worried about the dragoon?”

  “Concerned, aye.”

  “Do not be. Cummins is no longer a threat, though I cannot say the same for the Grant laird.” Kennan kissed her forehead. “And I’m not certain I like the way he looks at you.”

  Janet pushed her brother away. “I must fetch my bonnet. Auntie and I are off to the cobbler.” Tenser than the head of a snare drum, she clenched her fists and started up the stairs but stopped before the landing.

  Enough is enough.

  Unable to allow her brother’s remark to pass, she grasped the banister and faced him. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Grant has behaved with nothing but kindness toward me, and, moreover, I happen to like him.” Not waiting for any of her opinionated kin to provide a retort, she dashed for her chamber.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I’ve never seen such a beautiful gown in all my days,” said Lena as she fastened the back of Janet’s bodice, the last piece of eight layers…or was it nine?

  Janet smoothed her hands down the gold silk. “I cannot say I have, either, unless a painting of Queen Anne counts.”

  “It does not.”

  The ivory virago sleeves alone were a work of art. In two pieces, they puffed at the shoulder and gathered above the elbow and again at the forearm. The top piece had been slashed vertically to allow the gold to shine through beneath. The ivory silk tapered off at the elbow, with the gold extending to three quarters. But her favorite part of the gown was the peplum skirt made voluminous by rows of gossamer ruffles, muted slightly by a short overskirt of satin in the same ivory as the upper sleeves.

  Facing the looking glass, Janet ran the tips of her fingers over the delicate lace around her plunging neckline, so low it scarcely covered her nipples. “I feel a wee bit bare. Perhaps you should tuck in a modesty panel.”

  “Absolutely not,” Auntie Dallis insisted as she flung the door wide, carrying a velvet box. Her ladyship wore a lavender gown, her flamboyant tresses piled even higher than Janet’s curls and adorned with at least five purple ostrich feathers. “Now, let me have a look.”

  Janet covered her cleavage with both hands. “We still have the hat to pin in place.” Though the collection of silk roses and feathers was more of an embellishment than a hat.

 
Her Ladyship stamped her foot. “Never mind the hat. I want to see this masterpiece!”

  Releasing a long exhalation, Janet opened her arms and turned. “What do you think?”

  “Oh, my heavens, you are stunning. I do not believe I’ve ever beheld a gown so lovely or a lass so bonny. What say you, Lena?”

  “Aye, m’lady. I was just telling Miss Janet the very same.”

  Auntie Dallis pattered forward like a clucky hen. “Show us a minuet, dearest. I want to see how well the skirt holds up to vigorous movement.”

  “Subdued movement, I say. Minuets are stately and sloooow.” Janet complied, pretending she had a partner, stepping and executing a turn with grace and precision, just as her dance master had drilled into her since the age of ten.

  “Lena, retie the bodice. It needs to be tighter.” Her Ladyship pointed. “See? There’s a bit of a buckle on the right.”

  “Straightaway.”

  Janet moved to her place in front of the looking glass and placed her palms firmly on her waist. “I’m already laced so tight I can hardly breathe.”

  “Not to worry.” Auntie Dallis snorted, making every inch of her person jiggle. “If you swoon, a dashing gentleman will hasten to your aid, and that’s what we want, is it not?”

  If the gentleman happens to be the chieftain of Clan Grant. “I certainly hope that will not happen.” Janet flashed an appropriate smile, though thinking about how dreamy it would be to swoon into Robert’s arms and have him whisk her away—yet she knew her brother, her uncle, and even Auntie Dallis would muster an army before they’d allow her braw hero to kiss her hand in public, let alone ride off to the land of Happily Ever After with her in his arms.

  “Pin the hat, Lena, and then I have a surprise.”

  Janet had learned not to relish the anticipation of her aunt’s surprises. Once her hat was pinned in place, she was ready—wrapped in lace, silk, gossamer, and feathers to prance before Scotland’s noblest in the hopes of catching a suitor’s eye. Saints preserve me.

  Grinning, Auntie opened a velvet box and pulled out a string of pearls holding a gold locket engraved with the profile of a beautiful lady. She opened it to reveal a miniature of the profile of a young woman. “This was my mother’s, and since the Lord did not bless me with a daughter, it will go to you when I pass.”