Chapter 14

R obert's grasp was warm and reassuring as they descended into the cellar.

Although Jessie had been more than a little frustrated with the man for taking so long to reveal his secret strategy—a strategy which had involved leaving her behind—Jessie cared not a fig where he was going to lead her now. She trusted him.

After all she'd been through over the last two days, she now knew without a doubt that she could count on this man to keep her safe. Her initial reason for claiming she was handfasted to Simon—to protect herself from Robert—now seemed utterly absurd. After Robert was reunited with his father, she swore she would tell him the truth.

She watched with interest as Robert went to one of the far dark corners of the cellar. After placing the lantern on a disused crate, he ran his hands along the roughly hewn bricks until he located one that seemed to be loose, and without too much effort, levered it out. He put his hand inside the dark recess and pressed down on something that made a decided click. A part of the back wall immediately grated open a fraction.

Robert replaced the brick and beckoned to her. "Do you think your ankle is up to this, Jessie?"

"I think so." She would not be left behind. "I will do my best no' to slow us down."

"I believe you, lass." He gave her a quick smile and then took her hand again to guide her into the underground tunnel beyond.

A blast of stale, frigid air immediately hit Jessie. When the door closed behind them, they were plunged into inky blackness save for the pale flickering flame of the oil lantern. Jessie couldn't quite suppress a shiver.

As if sensing her unease, Robert drew her close and squeezed her hand. "Courage, Jessie. Tobias was down here yesterday and he assured me the way is clear."

"Where does the passage lead?" she asked, following Robert through the heavy darkness. The stone floor of the tunnel was uneven and sloped slightly downward. The ache in her ankle made her concentrate on each step.

"To Lochrose's wine cellar. When my great-grandfather had the castle constructed, he insisted on escape tunnels in the event of an attack. There's another tunnel that forks off this one to the loch, but Tobias says part of its wall has collapsed and would need digging out. Rising damp from the ground near the loch has probably weakened the mortar." Robert glanced back at her, and she caught the flash of his smile even in the weak light. "But never fear. That's not the case with this tunnel."

They continued walking for an indeterminate amount of time, Robert carefully leading Jessie around the occasional protruding rock or warning her to duck when the ceiling became low. The cold was damp and penetrating. By the time they reached another bricked doorway, Jessie was shivering in earnest.

Robert located a latch and the door reluctantly scraped open. Stepping through, Jessie could see that they were indeed within a wine cellar. Rows and rows of casks and bottles lay neatly stacked in racks that stretched away into the darkness. She heard the dull thud of the door closing behind them, and then Robert was leading her toward a set of stone stairs at the other end of the chamber.

"Careful where you step." Robert indicated a pile of rusted chains and manacles in their path.

Jessie looked down and stopped as the import of their presence here struck her. "This—this is where Simon had ye chained up? Like an animal?" She gripped Robert's hand as tears welled in her eyes. "Oh my God, Robert. How could he? And ye were wounded…" Even in the dim light, she could see the mortar between the flagstones was stained, undoubtedly with Robert's blood.

Bright, white-hot anger sparked in Jessie's heart. The tangible evidence of Simon's cruelty took her breath away.

Robert shrugged, reaching out and brushing a thumb across her cheek, wiping away a spilled tear. "It was long ago, lass. Dry your tears. I'm not worth it."

Without thinking, Jessie pressed his palm against her face. "Aye, you are, Robert Grant. What Simon did was wrong. Verra wrong."

Holding her gaze, Robert drew her hand to his lips and glanced a kiss across her knuckles. His mouth was warm, his lips oh, so soft. This time when Jessie shivered, it wasn't with cold. Heat scalded her cheeks, and she couldn't rip her gaze from Robert's.

If only things were different, for both of us. If I were a fine lady, if Robert Grant wasna a wanted Jacobite, he might just be the man to win my heart and hand…

The lantern's flame momentarily dimmed, and Robert sucked in a breath, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. "Come, let's go, mo ghaoil . It's time I stopped putting off this meeting with my father."

Instead of taking the stone stairs, Robert led Jessie to the alcove beneath them where several barrels were stacked. After she took the lantern, he pushed the barrels aside then pressed on a wooden panel—another door swung open, revealing a narrow staircase concealed behind the wall. "This will take us to the hall where my father's rooms are," he said, reaching for her hand again.

Although he appeared outwardly calm, Jessie could sense a growing tension in Robert. A muscle worked in his jaw and his grip on her hand was so tight, it was almost uncomfortable.

With a jolt, she suddenly realized the source of his disquiet. "How do ye feel, seeing yer father after all this time?" she asked softly.

To her surprise, Robert's mouth pulled into a lopsided grin. "Nervous as hell," he admitted. "But there's no going back now." He took the lantern then ushered her into the stairwell, encouraging her to lead the way. "You set the pace, Jessie. I wouldn't want you to trip if I hurry you along too much."

Jessie nodded. Lifting her skirts, she began to scale the steep and narrow stairs.

The lantern gave off just enough light that she could see where she was going without too much trouble. However, her ankle soon started to give her grief. Ignoring the sharp twinges as best she could, she continued to climb. At one point she stumbled, gasping with both pain and alarm. Robert caught her, holding her steady against the solid wall of his chest.

"I've got you. How's your ankle?" His breath was warm against her ear.

"A wee bit sore but I'll be all right," Jessie whispered back, thankful he'd suggested she go first. He must have anticipated something like this. "Thank ye for catching me."

She felt his lips curve in a smile against her ear. "It's my pleasure, Jessie. It's not every day a bonnie lass falls into my arms."

"Hmph. That's what ye say, Robert Grant, but I'm no' inclined to believe you," Jessie rejoined, trying to ignore the fluttering of her pulse in response to his words. The feel of his strongly muscled arm about her waist was equally disconcerting. "Yer rakish smile is far too well-practiced. I'm sure bonnie lasses fall for ye all the time." When she pulled away, she strongly suspected that Robert had muttered that she truly was a wicked wench. She couldn't help but grin.

By the time Jessie reached the top of the stairs, she was breathless but relieved the painful climb was over. If for some reason she had to run, though… She closed her eyes, praying it wouldn't come to that. She had to trust that Simon was such a slugabed that he wouldn't have risen yet—and now was definitely not the time to lose her nerve. She drew the hood of her black wool cloak over her telltale hair, preparing for the next, most hazardous part of their mission.

Robert gently pushed past her to carefully hang the lantern on a small hook above her head. The wicked wench within her suddenly had the urge to throw her arms around his broad chest and draw in his masculine scent, to take pleasure in his strength one last time.

But she didn't. She didn't want to distract Robert or seem any more of a burden. Even in the dim, flickering light she could see that the tension within him had not lessened. His expression was drawn, his mouth a tight line.

He placed his ear to the panel-like wooden door in front of them. "Fingers-crossed it's all clear, Jessie," he whispered. Then he released the catch and pushed.

The door swung open onto a wide hallway which was heartbreakingly familiar. Robert paused on the threshold, his heart clenching in the oddest way.

He was home.

He glanced up and down the corridor, thanking God it was completely deserted. As he stepped out, Jessie followed closely behind. She'd done well to make it this far with him. Her resilience and determination astounded him. Robert looked her way, and she gave him a tremulous smile. Beneath her veneer of courage, she was obviously as nervous as he was.

It was utterly silent up here where Lochrose's main bedchambers lay. The thick Turkish carpet muffled their footsteps as Robert and Jessie quickly traversed the long hall, heading toward his father's suite.

Nothing much had changed. The stone walls between each bedchamber door were still hung with fine tapestries and paintings of Highland landscapes. The other side of the corridor was interspersed at regular intervals with arched mullioned windows, through which he could see that the fog hadn't yet dissipated. With a sharp pang of regret, Robert realized he couldn't see the rose garden his own mother had installed so long ago when he was but a wee babe.

They passed Simon's suite of rooms. Not a sound emanated from within. Robert prayed the cur was still abed, not just for his own sake but for Jessie's as well.

At last. Robert drew Jessie into the shelter of the window embrasure directly opposite the last set of paneled oak doors at the end of the hall. The Earl of Strathburn's suite. He threw Jessie the devil-may-care smile she'd teased him about, as much to reassure himself as well as her. "Well, here we are."

Jessie smiled back. "Aye."

A pale ray of sunshine which had managed to penetrate the dense fog highlighted flecks of gold in her whisky-hued eyes. Robert decided he could happily drown in those eyes. His gaze dropped to Jessie's bewitching mouth. Scoundrel that he was, he suddenly couldn't resist the sight of her full, oh-so tempting lips. And this might be his last chance to ever kiss them, if the following meeting didn't go well.

"Kiss me for luck?" Robert whispered and before Jessie could reply, he dipped his head and kissed her once, gently.

He needn't have worried that she would not be acquiescent. She responded immediately, her lips parting slightly in complete acceptance of the stolen kiss.

Surprise sparked and Robert was tempted to press her for more, to deepen the kiss and taste her fully. But as much as he wanted to, this was not the time or place to linger in an embrace. Reluctantly, he mastered his desire and started to pull away…only to find that Jessie had fisted her hand into his lapel and was pulling him back down. She crushed her lips against his in a brief but fiery kiss of her own. When she broke the contact, her eyes were glowing. "Good luck, Robert. Ye deserve to be happy."

"Thank you, mo ghaoil ." Inhaling a steadying breath to marshal his courage, and with Jessie's hand still in his, he stepped toward the door and tried the brass handle.

It had been ten years since Robert had last been here and fought so bitterly with his father. Ten long years since he'd foolishly stormed out this very door and slammed it behind him. For ten years he'd waited for this moment—a moment that in dark periods of despair he'd feared would never come.

The door swung open silently. Heart in his mouth, Robert crossed the threshold, gently pulling Jessie with him.

They were in his father's sitting room. A cheerful fire crackled in the grate and the dusky blue velvet curtains at the window were pulled back to allow the weak morning light to filter in. It took a moment for Robert's eyes to adjust to the dimness as he scanned the room. On first glance, it appeared empty of occupants. The furniture and fittings were exactly as he remembered them—fine walnut tables and several leather wingback chairs graced a deep burgundy and blue patterned Turkish rug before the fire. Bookshelves and a walnut desk flanked the wall opposite the fireplace. Between them was a closed door leading to his father's dressing room. Beyond that was his father's bedchamber. It was like stepping back in time.

Then Robert noticed a movement by one of the wingchairs and a strange whine.

He froze. His heart slammed against his ribs.

"Caesar. Yer father's deerhound," whispered Jessie. "I'm sorry, I didna think…"

The huge hound loped to its feet and stood staring at Robert, its gaze intense. It sniffed the air.

Robert swallowed. "Caesar," he whispered.

The animal whined again and began wagging its tail. Then all at once, the great shaggy hound launched itself at Robert, its great front paws coming to rest upon his shoulders as it madly licked his face.

Robert laughed, rubbing the hound's back. "I don't believe it. You remember me, Caesar."

Jessie shook her head, clearly astounded. "He knows you."

Robert nodded, attempting to push the exuberant dog down. The hound's tail whipped back and forth wildly. "Father gave him to me when I was but nineteen. He was my dog for two years, before I left. It's incredible that he still recognizes me."

"Caesar!" A voice crackled with age sounded behind Robert and his pulse leapt.

Father. Robert couldn't quite believe it. After all this time, there he was, but a few feet away.

The Earl of Strathburn stood in the doorway of his dressing room, leaning heavily on a walking stick, a dark scowl marring his brow. He looked between Robert and Jessie. "Miss Munroe, what on earth are you doing here in my quarters with this strange man?" he demanded. "I thought you'd gone to Edinburgh. Please explain yourself. At once."

Ignoring the twisting in his gut, Robert stepped forward and sought his father's gaze. The lines of his father's face were familiar, and yet so changed. He'd changed too. "Father…it's me… Robert."

Lord Strathburn's look of annoyance was replaced with one of anger. "What do you mean? How dare you come in here, claiming to be my son. Robert is dead." He took several faltering steps toward Jessie. "Miss Munroe, what is the meaning of this?"

Jessie lowered the hood of her cloak and then crossed the room, taking his father's shaking hand—an old man's hand. His father seemed to have aged at least twenty years rather than ten. A great wave of sorrow welled up inside Robert, for all that they'd both suffered and lost. His vision blurred.

Jessie was murmuring in a low, gentle voice. "Lord Strathburn, ‘tis true. This is yer son, Robert Grant. He's returned home to Lochrose."

His father stared at him a moment longer, studying his face, then took another step closer. His rheumy blue eyes drifted to Caesar, who was still licking Robert's hand. Tail wagging, Caesar whined and looked at the earl.

Robert swallowed past the tight ache in his throat. It was a struggle to keep his voice calm and even as he said, "Caesar remembers me, Father. After all this time…it's amazing, isn't it?"

"Robert?" his father whispered. His face blanched like he'd seen a ghost. "Robert…it is you. Oh, my God. My son." He dropped his cane and stepped forward at the same time that Robert crossed the floor to embrace his father.

As they grasped each other tightly, as Robert felt his father shuddering against his shoulder, he could scarcely believe it. His father hadn't turned him away.

He called me son.

"Robert, my lad. My boy." His father's voice was choked with raw emotion. He pushed Robert away to hold him at arm's length, staring fervently into his eyes, tears streaming down his face. "Let me see you. Speak. Tell me this is not just an old man's dream. Tell me again it's really you."

Robert blinked away his own tears. His voice, when he managed to speak, was little more than a thick rasp. "Aye it's me, Father. Robert. Not a ghost or hallucination. It's me, in the flesh—ten years older and battle-scarred—but me, all the same."

His father crushed him in a fierce hug again. "I can scarcely fathom it. You've been gone so long, I thought you must be dead. Why did you stay away so long, my son?"

Robert closed his eyes. The guilt and shame of what he'd done still dwelt within him, a painful, cankerous wound. He gently pulled away from his father's tight embrace and met his gaze. "I'm so sorry to have defied you. I was such a bloody, idealistic fool—the worst kind of fool. I should have listened to your counsel but I was too arrogant. I thought I knew what was best for the clan. But I was wrong. And our men died because of what I did—" His voice broke. He couldn't go on.

His father, grabbed his shoulder, shook it gently. "Robert, you were young and hot-headed, yes, but you are not to blame for the mistakes of that fool Prince you followed into battle, or the brutality of the English on Drumossie Moor that day. Tell me…tell me you didn't stay away all this time because of some foolish words I spoke in anger to you."

Robert wiped his eyes roughly with his sleeve. Damnation, he'd promised himself he wasn't going to cry. "It wasn't just your ultimatum, Father, that kept me away. I couldn't come home because I couldn't face you—or the clan—not then at any rate." He raised his gaze to his father's. "But I've been a coward for far too long. I have a debt of honor that needs to be repaid to all of the families that lost a son, a husband, or a father. I don't expect forgiveness, from you or from them, but I need to try to make amends…if you will let me."

His father placed his hands on Robert's shoulders and looked at him squarely. "Son, I forgive you. You must believe me. I thank God that you have been returned to me. Now, come sit with me and tell me more. We both have a decade's worth of tales to tell."