Chapter 16

S imon froze in the doorway of his room, blood rushing straight from his head to his groin in a red-hot torrent of furious lust.

He couldn't believe it. After the merry dance Jessie had led him for two whole days and nights, here she was, right under his very nose. His quarry, emerging from his father's sitting room as bold as you please, skirts swaying around her ripe, completely fuckable arse.

He couldn't wait to bend her over and swive her senseless.

"Jessie!"

She turned, her full mouth a wide "O" of surprise. He grinned. Imagine what it will feel like when you force her to use her mouth on your ?—

But wait… Who the hell was she with?

Before Simon had time to even think on it a second longer, her companion—a tall, wide-shouldered, dark-haired man—turned and fixed him with a cool, hard stare.

Shit . Simon's world slipped sideways. He clutched at the doorjamb as his heart crashed inside his chest. Fucking no. No, no, no.

Robert. He must be dreaming. It couldn't be Robert. Robert was supposed to be dead. What the devil?

Even more incredible, the whore—his very own Jezebel—was holding hands with the bastard. Despite the denial roaring through Simon, a small part of his brain knew he wasn't seeing his half-brother's ghost.

Somehow, he scraped his voice together, the vitriol swirling inside him roughening his voice. "Robert!'

As Simon took a shaky step toward the pair, he saw without a shadow of a doubt that it was Robert—only this man was broader and harder in body than the youthful Robert of ten years ago.

Before he could draw another breath, the more mature version of Robert released Jessie's hand and closed the remaining distance between them as swiftly and silently as a predatory lion. Even the way the cocky bastard walked hadn't changed. It made Simon want to puke.

"Simon, I suggest you let us be on our way," drawled Robert with all the arrogant nonchalance that Simon remembered. "No need to make a fuss."

Robert's smooth, confident tone immediately fueled Simon's ire to blazing proportions. He snorted and clipped his hated brother's shoulder with the heel of his palm. As if I would ever let you go. Never again.

"Fuck you, Robert," Simon growled. "You've come crawling back to lick Father's boots, have you? Well, I won't let you. You're nothing but a foul traitor. A disgrace. You're not wanted here." He shot a look over Robert's shoulder, straight at Jessie. "And where the hell have you been all this time, you bitch?—"

Robert's punch was so swift, Simon didn't even see it coming.

He staggered back into the window embrasure and slid down the wall. Eyes shut, struggling to suck in air, his body was paralyzed by an all-consuming combination of shear incredulity, blazing anger, and thought-robbing pain. He clutched at the heavy velvet curtains so hard he almost rent the thick fabric from the curtain-rod. With his other shaking hand, he gingerly probed the left side of his jaw where Robert had landed his bone-shaking blow.

Before Simon even opened his eyes, he knew Robert and Jessie were gone.

Shit, shit, shit . Head still swimming, he pushed himself up and collapsed onto the window seat and spat out a mouthful of blood along with a piece of cracked tooth. He shook his buzzing head, attempting to clear his vision, then scanned the now vacant hallway. Try as he might to convince himself he'd only seen his brother's ghost, the reality of his throbbing face belied that idea.

Robert had definitely returned.

His half-brother most certainly wasn't dead as his mother had foolishly convinced him over the years. Simon had always suspected his father had engineered Robert's inexplicable escape from the wine cellar ten years ago, but he'd never been able to prove anything.

Not that it mattered now. No, the only thing that mattered was that Robert was indeed back, and Father had never followed through with his threat to have his eldest son officially disinherited through an Act of Parliament because he was a traitor. Or have him legally declared dead. Right at this present moment, Simon would've been more than happy to make sure his brother was dead in truth.

To protect his own interests, Simon would have to take action. Now.

Holding onto the sagging curtains, he pulled himself to his feet and swallowed back a scudding wave of nausea.

Another confounding thought suddenly occurred to him: where exactly had Jessie been hiding for the last two days, and how in the devil's name had she become acquainted with Robert?

The image of them holding hands sprang into his mind's eye again.

With a roar that shook the very glass of the window, Simon ripped the curtain away. Shaking with rage, he turned towards his father's rooms. Robert might have risen from the dead, but he'd make damn sure he stopped his brother from staking his claim on the title, Master of Strathburn, and ultimately his inheritance of the earldom… And Jessie Munroe.

"Father!" Storming into the earl's chambers, Simon could tell immediately that he was expected. His father stood before the fire and even though he leaned on his walking stick, there was a steely look in the old man's eyes. His gaze was cool, disdainful. His father had always despised him. Simon had never been enough and never would be.

Not like fucking Robert.

Simon sucked in a ragged breath, a sliver of agony searing his abused jaw. Somehow he managed to resist the urge to punch his father in the face and jabbed a finger toward him instead. "You can't let him come back. I won't let you."

Caesar gave a low growl. If Simon were holding a pistol, he'd have shot the bloody dog— Robert's dog—on the spot.

His father didn't even flinch. "Leave it be, Simon. He's back. He will be pardoned. The new Lord Advocate is a personal friend of mine."

Simon clenched his fists. "You know the law is on my side," he gritted out, jaw throbbing with every sound uttered. "Robert's a God damned trait?—"

His father snorted and drew back his shoulders. "You don't care about the law. All you care about is making sure you inherit the fortune that funds your mother's and your own dissolute way of life."

True. But the money—everything— should be his. Simon had to make his father see that. "But Robert disobeyed you." Oh God, he sounded like he was whining. "He doesn't deserve a second chance."

"Once! He disobeyed me only once!" their father roared, his face turning a dark shade of puce. As he poked his walking stick at Simon's chest, Caesar leapt up and lunged toward Simon, teeth bared and snarling. "What do you think you've been doing every single day for the last ten years, if not more? You don't care about me. You don't care about the estate or the clan. Like a spoiled child, you only care about yourself."

Fuck this . Simon stormed over to the door. Ironic that a display of temper seemed to be the only thing he had in common with this foolish old man. As he turned the handle, painful, long-buried memories of Robert burned through Simon's mind like acid: images of his older brother outriding him, thrashing him at fencing, outsmarting him during lessons with their tutor. He swallowed past the hard, bitter lump in his throat and glanced back at his father.

A strange red, blurry haze of hatred and anguish blurred his vision. "Mother's right. I'm never good enough, am I? I never will be. It's not fair. I've always been second best to you."

"You take and take, Simon. You never give. It's you who doesn't deserve a thing. Time after time I've given you the opportunity to prove yourself. But you choose to squander everything. If I let you have free rein, you'd ruin us."

"Yet it was Robert who charged off, led countless others to their deaths, and risked bringing ruin upon us all." Simon wrenched open the door. "I won't let him get away this time and there's not a God damned thing you can do about it."

He charged out of the room as if Caesar or the hounds of hell themselves were at his very heels. Robert and Jessie had a fifteen-minute head start on him at most. He'd take MacTaggart and his Black Watchmen. Gather a group of Redcoats from somewhere.

He'd see Robert dead if it was the last thing he did.

The fog was starting to clear when Robert and Jessie finally emerged from the Gate House. It was mid-morning and a meek sun appeared intermittently between swathes of scudding gray clouds. After their encounter with Simon, they had all but run down the secret stairs to the wine cellar and back through the passage to the factor's residence.

Robert's eyes scanned the leaf-littered ground between the house and the copse of trees where he'd left his horse. There was no sign of the Watch, thank God. He had no idea how much time they had, now Simon had seen them both.

Simon. Robert's jaw clenched as he recalled the lewd sneer on his brother's face when the brute had laid eyes on Jessie. Though reluctant to use force, as soon as the cur had insulted her, Robert hadn't been able to hold back. He judged there had been enough force behind the punch to incapacitate his brother for at least a little while. With any luck, they would have gained enough time to get clean away before Simon set out after them. Better still, Robert hoped their father would stay Simon from pursuing them at all…but he couldn't count on it.

He glanced at Jessie—his betrothed—as she stood beside him in the doorway, clutching at the door frame, catching her breath. He could hardly fathom that she was promised to him. A tempest of conflicting thoughts battered at his brain, but there was no time to sort them out now. Their priority was to get away safely.

He grasped Jessie's hand and caught her worried gaze. "Are you ready to make a run for the trees?"

She offered him a grim smile. "Would a fast hobble suffice?"

Robert squeezed her hand and nodded. "That will do."

As planned, MacGowan, his father's valet, was waiting for them behind the copse with Jessie's mare, saddled and ready to go.

"Blaeberry," Jessie breathed, her face lighting up with joy. The horse snickered in return and rubbed its nose against her.

"You'll be right to ride on your own?" Robert asked. "We have a long, hard ride ahead if we've any hope of evading Simon and making it to Edinburgh in good time." Since their handfasting, it had been decided that it would be foolhardy for Jessie to catch the public coach. Lord Strathburn had agreed there was a good chance Simon would have already sent out local Watchmen to monitor the coaching inn and the comings and goings along the road to Grantown. Riding was the best option. And the fastest.

Jessie's eyes shone. "I will be fine," she reassured Robert. She patted her horse's flank. "And I willna slow ye down at all. Blaeberry will keep up, so dinna worry about that."

Robert thanked MacGowan for his assistance.

"Anytime, milord," replied the gray-haired valet bowing. "And if ye dinna mind me saying so, it's verra good to see ye back, hale and hearty. If there's anythin' else I can do…"

Robert grinned. "Perhaps you could see to it that my brother's horse needs re-shoeing right about now. And if the other horses just happen to be out to pasture, perhaps in one of the far paddocks, that would also be most helpful."

MacGowan nodded and returned Robert's grin. "Of course, milord. I wish ye and Miss Munroe swift and safe travel to Edinburgh."

They rode hard the rest of the morning, only stopping to rest and water the horses briefly when Robert judged they were safely away from Clan Grant land and were not likely to encounter any men from the local Black Watch or dragoon regiments.

On resumption of their fast and furious flight, Robert began to reflect on the unanticipated turn of events that had thrown them together. They were handfasted—promised to each other—but the timing could not have been worse. Guilt gripped his heart. How could he, if he had any sort of conscience, promise to marry a woman when he could very well be arrested and thrown into prison, or worse, executed?

One thing was clear in his mind: he would do what was right and honorable. Even though he and Jessie were handfasted, he would not take her to bed, no matter how much he desired her—not until he had been pardoned and they were lawfully wed before a minister. If things should go awry, he wanted Jessie to be able to walk away unscathed. He would not compromise her any further than he already had.

I just have to avoid temptation tonight.

And that was going to be difficult. He wanted Jessie badly, more than any woman he'd ever encountered. Even now as he watched her slim hips rise up and down in the saddle as they cantered across a lonely stretch of moorland, he could feel the tension building in his loins. Never before had he been overwhelmed by such a fever of longing. Indeed, he'd felt this way since the very first moment he'd laid eyes on her.

There had to be a rational explanation for his need, and the most likely reason was that he'd simply been without a lover for too long. It had been at least six months since he'd last sought pleasure with a mistress. Physical release long denied could do strange things to a man. Besides, he and Jessie had shared nothing but intense experiences over the past few days, full of pain and danger and for the want of a better word, adventure. Perhaps that was why he'd developed such strong feelings for the lass.

He really couldn't be falling in love with her. Not after a handful of days… Surely his heart was too battle-scarred, his spirit too broken for any sort of sentimental emotion like that. Or was that just a convenient lie he'd latched onto to avoid forming any sort of romantic attachment to anyone for the past decade?

If Robert were truly honest with himself, he'd own that he was attracted to Jessie beyond her breathtaking beauty. In their short time together, he'd learned that not only was she quick thinking and intelligent, but bold of spirit and steadfastly loyal to those she cared for.

Most important of all, despite their shaky start, she was someone he could trust.

As Jessie glanced his way and flashed him a shy smile, Robert couldn't help but wonder if the potent mixture of emotions swirling in his chest—passion, admiration, a compelling need to protect Jessie—were indeed the first stirrings of love. He'd never actually been "in love" before, so had nothing to compare his present feelings to. Never in all his years of exile had he ever let his guard down around a woman. In fact, all his relationships had been short-lived, emotionless affairs because in his mind, the taking of a wife had always been inextricably linked with the impossibility of his return to Lochrose.

All going well with the Lord Advocate, he may have at long last gained both: Jessie Munroe, a woman he could wed and grow to love; and the freedom to reclaim all he'd lost…his birthright and home.

It wasn't until mid-afternoon, when they stopped to rest again, that Jessie noticed how sore and swollen her ankle had become. As Robert helped her to dismount from Blaeberry, she cried out sharply and gripped his wide shoulders, barely able to put any weight on her foot.

Robert swore beneath his breath. "Jessie lass, you should've told me that your ankle pained you so," he admonished.

Before she could protest, he swung her into his arms and carried her over to the shallow, peaty burn that gurgled and splashed its way past a knot of twisted birks and pines. He gently lowered her onto a tussock of frost-burned grass, then dropped to his knees on the ground beside her.

"Right, let me see, lass," he said gently, one of his strong hands heading toward the hem of her gown.

Pulse pounding, Jessie held her skirts firmly around her ankles. "I will be all right," she said, not sure if she would be able to withstand Robert's hands on her naked skin in broad daylight when they were all alone. Not without making a complete fool of herself.

Her heart was already racing, her stomach fluttering—and she was only just thinking about it. Heaven knew how she would react when he actually did touch her. Although they were now engaged, the knowledge that Robert would soon have the right to explore her body intimately when he became her husband in truth made her feel strangely hot and achy and needy all over.

"You're not going all shy on me, are you?" Robert asked with a half-smile. "Remember, it's nothing I haven't seen before. And, after all, we are handfasted now. Your injury needs examining."

Damn his canny ability to read me like an open book . But Jessie knew Robert spoke sense. With a sigh of resignation, she reached under her skirts, eased off her boot and then carefully rolled down her stocking. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she tried to ignore the pain as much as the tingling sensation Robert's touch aroused as he gently probed the bruised and swollen flesh.

"This is my fault, Jessie," he said ruefully, after he'd completed his inspection. "I should never have taken you to Lochrose this morning. You've been on your feet far too much."

Jessie frowned, surprised at his self-recriminating tone. "But I made ye take me," she countered. "Besides, ‘twas part of the deal we struck."

Robert regarded her with such compassion, it warmed her all the way to her very toes. "As soon as I saw your reaction to the mess Simon had made in the Gate House, I knew something was wrong. It was clear you were terrified. I couldn't refuse your plea to accompany me to the castle. But I'm also truly sorry, for the trouble that I've caused you. I never meant to drag you into the mess of my life." His mouth tipped into a wry smile. "I'd wager that being engaged to a traitorous fugitive was probably never in your plans for the future, was it?"

"No, no' really," she admitted, face heating. Robert's display of tenderness was playing havoc with her pulse, making her blush. "But then, I'm sure you were no' planning on being handfasted to someone like me either." On an impulse, she reached out and caught Robert's hand, curling her fingers around his. "Ye shouldna blame yerself for things that ye are no' responsible for, Robert Grant. And my life was verra much a complicated mess as well, even before I met you. The way I see it"—her eyes met Robert's directly—"if it weren't for you, I wouldna be safely away from Lochrose right now."

Robert slid his large hand over hers then brought her fingers to his lips. "You are too generous , mo ghaoil ." His tone was as gentle as his caress.

Jessie shivered and for a moment she fancied that he was going to kiss her, but he rocked back on his heels and began to focus on the task of binding her ankle.

Disappointment tugged at her heart. Truth to tell, she yearned to be kissed by Robert again—and to kiss him back. But she didn't know how to tell him. Or show him. Although she possessed some basic knowledge about what occurred between a man and a woman in the marriage bed—cousin Maggie had explained such things to her once in practical terms—Jessie had no idea how to initiate even the most innocent of seductions.

She guessed that perhaps Robert's newly gained knowledge about Simon's forced attentions tempered his actions. Part of her—the wanton part that thrilled to Robert's touch and his kisses—wished he wouldn't be so solicitous of her feelings.

But would he be so solicitous tonight?

After they'd set off again along the rough military road heading south across the moors, Jessie's thoughts kept returning to the unforeseen complication their handfasting represented—and what the future, for both of them, might look like. She still couldn't quite believe this was really happening. Everything had transpired far too quickly. Her mind was awhirl, a veritable maelstrom of complicated thoughts and extraordinary feelings…the foremost being shock at the thought of being engaged to a man whom she barely knew.

She fell to the task of carefully trying to catalogue what she did know about Robert, this beautiful man who made her tremble inside and blush so easily. She considered his behavior since they'd crossed paths. Right from the very beginning, he'd shown her nothing but consideration. Well, except for shooting her, but that, after all, had been an accident. Even when he'd believed she was handfasted to his brother, he'd tended to her injuries and done his utmost to keep her from harm. Though she strongly suspected he desired her, he did not seem intent on seducing her. At least, not for the moment.

But would he want to make love to her now they were handfasted?

Although handfasting was viewed by many Highlanders as a marriage of sorts—and was legally binding if the couple physically consummated the union—in her mind, it wasn't the same as being wed before a minister of the kirk. A kiss was one thing, but anything else… Tonight she must be strong and not betray her beliefs, no matter how much her treacherous body ached for Robert. Or how impressive the rakish wiles he might employ to seduce her might be.

Jessie slid a glance Robert's way. He was riding beside her, his long, lean, muscular body moving in perfect unison with his cantering horse, the wind whipping his dark hair off his too-handsome face. Although he lacked a plaid, he was a Highland warrior in every other sense.

My warrior.

Perhaps…

If Robert wasn't granted clemency, this might be one of his last days of freedom. Her blood suddenly ran colder than an icy Highland burn at the thought. She couldn't bear to think of him captured and locked away in Edinburgh's Tolbooth, or the notoriously harsh prison at Fort George, near Inverness. Or even the Tower of London where noble traitors were sometimes sent. Worse still was the thought that he could be executed. It was not outside the realms of possibility for the crime of treason.

Jessie shuddered at the thought. It would be such a waste of a good man's life. A man she could easily fall in love with.

When Robert turned his head toward her and flashed her a grin, her heart danced wildly within her chest.

Perhaps she'd started to fall in love with him a wee bit already…