Chapter 10

W hen Jessie awoke the next morning, it was to discover that Rob had slept in the settee by the fire, only a handful of feet from the end of her bed.

Her breath caught at the unexpected and wholly overwhelming sight of him. Even though he was still asleep, he presented a formidable figure stretched out along the settee—all long, muscular legs encased in tight, buckskin breeches and black leather boots. His loose, linen shirt spread open at the neck and she glimpsed a deep inverted triangle of surprisingly tanned, taut skin that extended across his collarbones and down to the apex at the center of his breastbone. A pale ray of sunlight filtered through a gap in the window shutters behind him and caressed the dark stubble across the line of his strong jaw.

Despite her uncertain, perhaps even precarious situation, Jessie's thoughts slid into even more perilous territory as she couldn't help but wonder how Rob would look clean-shaven. It would be far easier to sustain her justifiable wariness if the man wasn't so devastatingly handsome. She simply couldn't think straight when she was around him. Why, he had the ability to turn her into a henwit, even when he was asleep. And when he smiled… Jessie shivered. Did he know what power he had over her? Did he wield his charm with calculated purpose? To disarm her so she would let down her guard?

Remember he's a fugitive, Jessie. He's dangerous. You cannot trust him.

You need to leave…

But how? She didn't even know if she could walk.

She carefully pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her arm still throbbed and the stitches tugged sharply, but thankfully her ankle seemed stiff rather than acutely painful. She was about to pull the covers back so she could slide out of bed when Rob stirred.

Damnation .

It took a moment for her darkly handsome captor to rouse completely. He rubbed the back of his neck as he sat up straight, then yawned, pushing his brown-black hair away from his face. The action made him seem strangely vulnerable.

Until his deep blue eyes focused intently on her. "Good morning, Jessie. I trust you slept well?"

Jessie swallowed, the sound audible in the silence. Rob's question threw her. A polite inquiry as to how she'd rested seemed completely out of place, given that the man had effectively stood guard over her all night. But she wouldn't show him that she was rattled.

Somehow she summoned a wry smile. "Better than you, I suspect."

Rob flashed a smile in return at her retort, his eyes traveling over her disheveled form. She blushed and snatched the quilt up to her chest as she realized her linen shirt—like his—had become loosened at the neck and she'd been displaying far too much cleavage.

Annoyingly, his smile widened. "Hmm, I think you may be right. But tell me—even though you look very well to me—how are your injuries?"

As Jessie described how her arm felt, Rob rose and moved over to the bed. "Let me take a look at your stitches. We can't have your wound getting gangrenous now, can we?"

She reluctantly proffered her arm and winced as Rob gently pushed up her sleeve and loosened the linen strip to check his handiwork. Apparently satisfied that everything was fine, he rewrapped it. "You'll have a slight scar I'm afraid."

Jessie shrugged. "It doesna matter." She pushed down her sleeve, confused as to why he showed such an ongoing concern for her welfare, even though last night he and Tobias had unmistakably marked her as a threat. Could Rob have had a change of heart? Perhaps he would let her go after all. She bit her lip as worry gnawed at her belly. She trusted she would be able to deal with any contingency.

She had to.

Rob's gaze ran down the length of the quilt to her feet. "Shall I check your ankle, lass?"

Jessie shook her head firmly. "No, that willna be necessary. It's much improved. I should be able to get about without a problem today."

"Well, I shall leave you to freshen up. I hope you don't mind, but I laid your gown and…and other wet things out by the fire last night. I imagine it may be a while before they're in a state that's comfortable to wear. Just call if you need me to assist."

After the door closed behind him, Jessie shook her head in bewilderment. She couldn't believe Rob had tried to dry her clothes for her and was concerned they may still be damp. Yet again his actions confounded her. If he meant her ill, why worry about the state of her attire?

But puzzling over unanswerable questions wasn't going to get her out of this mess. Getting dressed would be a good place to start.

Dragging in a fortifying breath, Jessie struggled out from under the bedclothes and warily tested her ankle. It was very stiff and painful when she bore weight on it, but she could manage.

There was a chamber pot beneath the bed and a pitcher with ice cold water in it by the hearth. After attending to her ablutions as best she could, Jessie changed into her fresh shift and spare woolen stockings (which she'd packed in her satchel) before confirming her gown was in no fit state to wear, wet or not. Aside from missing the entire left sleeve, the brown worsted wool was bloodied and stained with mud. Her red woolen cloak, also grubby, would be serviceable, but as it was still too damp, she left it by the hearth.

Which meant she would be wearing an unusual combination of garments, to say the least. Better to be fully clothed than no' , she told herself as she surveyed what was on offer.

In the end, Jessie settled for donning her stays, the linen shirt she'd worn during the night, and her almost dry cambric petticoats. She then wrapped the plaid around her waist and over her shoulder in the style of an arisaid before securing it with the silver brooch Rob had used to pin up her sleeve last night. She noticed for the first time that it bore the Clan Grant crest—a burning hill with the motto Stand Fast above it. How ironic, given her circumstances. However Rob Burnley had come by it, she did not think Lord Strathburn would mind if she borrowed it.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the window, drawing Jessie over to take a look at the day. Throwing open the inner shutters, she found the panes were rimed with frost, but she could see enough of the view outside to ascertain that it was a fine, blustery morning. The strong wind had cleared the sky of all traces of cloud and fog. The nearby trees bent against the onslaught, their branches raining fiery flurries of gold, burnt orange, and scarlet leaves to the ground. Even though it was clear, it would be cold.

Catching sight of her faint reflection in the windowpane, Jessie barely stifled a shriek. Her hair was a mass of wild snarls and tangles. Indeed, her appearance was something akin to a fiery Medusa. Although she tended to eschew personal vanity, she blushed to think that Rob had seen her in such a state of disarray. The heat in her cheeks crept across her whole face when she recalled how Rob had already seen her in a worse state of undress when she'd stood before him, all wet and bedraggled and half-naked last night.

To take her mind off the mortifying memory, Jessie hastily dug out her comb from her satchel and attacked her hair with vigor. A few leaves fell to the floor— good Lord —but she made steady progress and felt remarkably more human as her curls were wrestled into submission. As she had no idea where her ribbon had gone, she settled for leaving her hair unbound. Errantly curling hair would just have to do.

As Jessie began to turn away from the window, she suddenly sensed a movement in her peripheral vision. It was Tobias, riding away from the lodge. His horse cleanly cleared a small burn before disappearing into the trees. Frowning, she realized the lad was probably heading to Lochrose to question his cousin, just as he'd mentioned last night.

Of course, that meant Tobias would soon discover she was only the factor's daughter and not the earl's ward. He probably wouldn't glean much else about her, though. She trusted Mrs. MacMillan would never divulge any of the sordid details about Simon's pursuit of her. And the other staff would not be privy to what had really precipitated her flight from Lochrose. Aside from Mrs. MacMillan, everyone else at the castle would have heard how she'd been summoned to Edinburgh to assist her cousin.

It also meant that no one would confirm or deny that the factor's daughter was Simon's lover. Rob might still assume she was his mistress.

Unless I confess all to him.

Right at this moment, she and Rob were all alone. Now would be as good a time as any to tell him the truth.

Squaring her shoulders, Jessie crossed to the bedroom door, pushed it open…then bit back an involuntary gasp. There before the fireplace knelt Rob, naked from the waist up, sharpening his dirk on a whetstone. His linen shirt was tossed carelessly over the back of one of the oak chairs at the table. He glanced up, but he didn't seem perturbed at all that she'd come upon him in a shirtless state.

The shameless rogue nodded at the armchair nearby. "Why don't you take a seat and warm yourself by the fire? It's damnably cool this morning."

Cool? Jessie felt anything but cool. Her pulse skittering and her cheeks flaming, she reluctantly limped to the chair Rob had indicated and sat down with a small indignant huff. How was she to profess her true situation to him and seek to enlist his support when…when he flaunted himself thus? Yet again he'd thrown her off balance and rendered her all but speechless.

Rob was facing her, his head bent forward. He'd tied his hair back with a leather strip, but a stray lock kept falling forward over his forehead. His naked torso was so close, if she leaned forward and reached out she would be able to touch him, trace the hard lines of sinew, muscle and bone. Jessie fisted her hands into the wool of her borrowed plaid, determined to ignore the wanton impulse. Instead, she tried to marshal her thoughts into some semblance of order.

But it was a hopeless enterprise. Never before had she seen a man in such a state of undress. She felt stunned and awed and awkward all at the same time. She determinedly tried not to look at Rob's wide, powerful shoulders and the hard planes of his chest. She desperately tried to ignore the ripples down his lean stomach and the defined, well-developed muscles in his upper arms. Instead, she studied the flames jumping in the grate and contemplated how she was to broach the subject of Simon and her desperate need to get to Edinburgh. Her cheeks still blazed, but not from the heat of the fire.

Rob appeared to stay focused on his task of sharpening the dirk on the moist surface of the stone. Every now and again he tested the blade on his thumb before returning to the process of honing it to razor sharpness.

Jessie cleared her throat to speak but halted, suddenly apprehensive about why he was taking such care in sharpening the knife—the same one that he'd used yesterday to cut her sleeve away. Dear God, surely he wouldn't use it to threaten her, or worse…

She dragged in a breath and found her voice. "Wh-What are yer plans for the day, Mr.Burnley? After you've finished sharpening yer dirk?"

Robert smothered a smile as he tested the blade of his dirk. Jessie was visibly uneasy, no doubt because of his semi-clothed state. Well, let the lass look her fill. He'd certainly had his turn to see her half-naked. It was only fair he returned the favor.

But then, what if she were instead unsettled by the task he was engaged in? Robert frowned as he scraped the blade along the whetstone. Surely she didn't think that he would physically harm her.

Well, more than he'd done already.

Since the hunting accident, he'd done all he could to make amends for the damage he'd inflicted.

Of course, the last thing he wanted to do was frighten the lass. Robert lifted his gaze and whatever he'd been about to say stuck in his throat. Even dressed in a haphazard array of garments, Jessie's beauty stole his breath. Struck him to the very bone. Her cheeks were flushed, and her beautiful red-gold hair curled around her face like a bright halo. A memory of how she'd looked last night in nothing but her wet shift burst into his mind and his cock twitched. God, how he wanted her.

But he couldn't have her . Disappointment settled heavily in his chest.

Jessie was frowning, her whisky-brown eyes wary as she waited for him to answer.

Guilt—for his less than chivalrous conduct and wholly lustful thoughts—suddenly writhed in Robert's gut. He really should put the lass at ease.

"Any plans I have are not untoward, I assure you," he replied, failing to hide the huskiness in his voice. But he cast her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "As for my dirk, I'm just making sure the blade is razor-sharp so I don't cut myself when I dispose of this." He ran a thumb across the thick stubble on his jaw. "Just because we're out in the wilderness, it doesn't mean that I should go around looking like a savage Highlander."

"I see," Jessie responded and he noted a sudden spark lighting her eyes as she delivered her next comment. "Might I suggest an addition of a shirt might assist in yer transformation as well?"

He chuckled at that and noticed how the tension in her posture began to ease. A moment later, her stomach grumbled loudly. "There's an apple left over if you'd like to break your fast." Robert nodded toward the oak table where it sat between the candles. "Tobias has ridden out to forage for more food. He shouldn't be too long."

Jessie doubted that food was all Tobias was gathering. Nevertheless, she took a seat at the dining table. Truth to tell, she was relieved to be farther away from Rob. He made her feel more ruffled than a Highland loch in a storm, and she badly needed to think.

As she bit into the apple, she mulled over in her mind how to tackle the topic of her…situation. First and foremost, she needed to convince Rob to trust her. If she could succeed in this, perhaps she could negotiate with him to stay here at the hunting lodge until she could catch the next day's public coach to Edinburgh as she'd originally planned. She was in no hurry to get to Grantown quite yet.

But she would not begin the conversation she needed to have until the man was decently dressed. She needed her wits about her.

Despite her resolve not to look at Rob, her gaze kept straying toward the fireplace where he was now shaving. He'd propped a small looking-glass on the stone mantelpiece and had lathered his jaw with soap—the small cake sat beside a basin of sudsy water on the hearthstone. She watched in fascination as Rob held the skin of his face taut and ran the wickedly sharp dirk blade over it, revealing smooth tanned skin underneath. With his hair pulled back, she could clearly see the ripple of his defined arm and back muscles whenever he moved.

He'd told her he used to be in the Black Watch. Indeed, he had a warrior's body. Aside from his powerful musculature, there were obvious marks of old, healed battle wounds on his skin. Her gaze traced along the ridge of a particularly nasty looking scar—a long slash that ran across his left shoulder blade down to his rib cage—and she wondered how he'd sustained it. It must have been excruciatingly painful. Her bullet graze was nothing compared to that.

Look away, Jessie Munroe. Now. But her eyes wouldn't obey. Her gaze strayed lower to Rob's lean hips, and she couldn't help but notice how his buckskin breeches hugged the firm curves of his buttocks and muscular thighs.

She bit down hard into the apple to stifle a purely wanton and unladylike groan. Heavens above, Rob was too…too beautiful, too powerful, too captivating. Yet again desire flickered and pulsed deep inside her and she felt disconcertingly slick between her thighs.

Ugh. Flustered, and feeling more than a trifle guilty for ogling the poor man, Jessie was about to look away when she noticed the reflection of his eyes in the mirror, staring back at her with an expression of wry amusement.

Robert Burnley was laughing at her! The rogue!

Anger and embarrassment sparked within Jessie. With a muttered curse, she deliberately shifted her position in the chair and gave the odious man her back. How dare he parade himself in front of her like a…a damn peacock and not expect her to gawp at him? It was audacious to say the least. She would not look at him again until he was fully clothed.

Unfortunately, Jessie had forgotten that Rob had tossed his shirt over the back of a chair on the other side of the table. When he finished shaving, the irritating man walked over to stand directly opposite her. Even though Jessie focused all her attention on nibbling the last remnants of flesh from her apple, out of the corner of her eye she spied the handle of Rob's dirk jutting up near the outline of his lean hipbone. He'd sheathed the knife in a scabbard secured to the waistband of his breeches.

Oh God, dinna stare at the front of his breeches, Jessie Munroe.

"How's the apple?" Rob asked, his tone laced with amusement.

Jessie narrowed her eyes and tossed him a withering look…but then her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my Lord," she gasped, dropping the apple core. It rolled off the table and onto the floor entirely unheeded.

Rob stared, his brow furrowed in apparent confusion. "Are you all right, lass?"

No, no' at all… Jessie stood up so abruptly, her chair tipped over with a crash. "Ye're Robert Grant," she whispered as the truth slammed into her, stealing her breath. "Viscount Lochrose. The Master of Strathburn."

How had she been so blind? It was the same man she'd seen in the miniature portrait belonging to Lord Strathburn. The man before her was obviously older than the handsome youth rendered in the painting. The lines of Rob's face were now leaner, more defined, harder somehow. But she could plainly see that they both shared the same striking features, now the beginnings of Rob's beard were gone. She recognized the same clean square jaw, the wide mouth, the strong blade of a nose, and of course, the man's startling blue eyes.

Other pieces of information came back to her that fitted her construct. This man obviously used to be a soldier, he seemed thoroughly familiar with this countryside and the lodge. He knew Simon's character through and through. How had she not realized it before?

"Ye…ye've come back," she added uselessly as she took a step away from the table, almost tripping over the upended chair.

Rob—or Robert, Lord Lochrose—inclined his head, a sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth. "So it would seem."

"But… It all makes sense now, about ye and Simon. Oh God, Simon… He… When ye and Tobias were speaking last night… When ye were at the loch… Simon and I… Ye mustna believe… It's no' what ye think…" Jessie knew she was babbling, but she couldn't rein in her riotous thoughts or control her runaway tongue as she backed away.

Oh God. There was a hard set to Robert Grant's mouth as he followed her around the table. Fear gripping her heart, she bumped into the wall behind her. What would he do now that she'd recognized him? Now she definitely knew too much?

Robert towered over her, his gaze suddenly hard and assessing. A muscle worked in his cheek. "So tell me, Jessie Munroe, how are things really between you and my half-brother? How am I supposed to trust you?" He leaned forward and rested a muscled forearm against the wall beside her head, his eyes boring into hers. "He's your lover, is he not?"

Jessie swallowed, barely able to breathe. Robert's bare chest was a mere inch or two from her, her lips were just above his collarbone where his pulse beat. Now was the time to tell this man the truth...but she was too ashamed. And she feared he wouldn't believe her.

Hot tears flooded her eyes and threatened to spill. Robert was so close, she could feel the handle of the dirk pushing into her abdomen. Feel the heat radiating from his long hard body. She recalled his words last night. They echoed in her head.

She was a threat. A problem. A complication.

I'm in danger.

"Well, Jessie?" Robert gripped her jaw, forcing her chin up. His gaze searched hers for a moment, then dropped to her mouth. Panic flared. Stole her breath. His mouth hovered over hers.

Oh God, he was going to kiss her. And the kiss would not be kind.

No. Not like this.

Anger rose swiftly, overtaking Jessie's fear, overwhelming her original intentions to be truthful. "Simon and I are handfasted. So I'd suggest ye leave me be, Robert Grant," she all but hissed against his lips.

Robert froze. His eyes darkened to the blue-black of storm clouds and he abruptly released his uncompromising hold on her jaw. Then without a word, he turned on his heel, grabbed his shirt off the chair and marched outside. Through the wide-open door, she saw him stride over to the burn and drop to his knees before sluicing water over his face.

Jessie sank to the floor, her whole body shaking. There was no way to tell if her mad bluff would make things safer for her. She simply prayed that if she was seen as important to Simon, someone of consequence, surely…surely Robert would not harm her. He would assume that Simon would be searching for her sometime today. He would have to move on, or risk capture. But would he let her go?

Dear Lord, what had she done? Why had she jumped straight from the frying pan into the fire? She felt tarnished, tainted, as if she'd sold her soul to the very devil himself.

And Robert probably thought that about her too. Oh, she was a foolish henwit indeed.