Chapter 18

" T he Invercauld Arms is just up ahead, Master."

Simon slowed his exhausted horse to a trot and glanced back at the English dragoon who had addressed him. "Thank you, Captain Slater. I'm counting on our quarry being holed up here."

Simon would actually wager his soul that he was correct. In his quest to locate Jessie, he'd had the foresight to post lookouts on all the roads leading south from Lochrose and Grantown. Indeed, if he hadn't been so astute, he wouldn't have known that his cursed half-brother and Jessie had taken the longer route to the south-east along Caulfield's Road toward Pitlochry. With any luck, they may have stopped in Invercauld for the night. The dragoons from the Braemar Castle Garrison had been most interested to hear that they might have a wanted Jacobite right under their very noses.

Even if Robert and Jessie weren't at the inn and had decided to seek shelter in a barn or crofter's hut, the locals must have seen them pass through the village. With her blazing red hair, his Jezebel would have caught some man's eye.

"Perhaps we could change our horses here, sir," suggested MacTaggart as their sizable party—Baird, three other Black Watchmen, and four dragoons—all clattered into the inn yard. "It's probably the only place with decent mounts hereabouts."

Simon hated to admit it, but MacTaggart was right. The sun had set behind the Cairngorms several hours ago and all they had to light their way was a ponderous yellow moon. It would be foolish to travel any farther along the narrow, rutted Highland road on fatigued horses. Simon certainly wasn't going to break his neck on Robert's account.

The inn, although small, was still serving customers at this late hour. Leaving the business of stabling the horses and questioning the stable hands to most of the Watchmen, Simon headed for the taproom with Baird, MacTaggart, Captain Slater and his lobster backs. To Simon's annoyance he found the dimly lit room was nearly filled to overflowing with men who looked like off-duty soldiers, dusty travelers, local crofters, and drovers on their way to the Edinburgh markets. He'd be hard pressed to find a table without having to spend a coin or two.

He scanned the room and noted the only women present were two comely serving girls waiting on the tables.

There was no sign of Robert.

He informed the dragoon captain, who nodded and sent his men to question the taproom staff and the bar's patrons.

Simon turned to address MacTaggart over the noise of the rowdy throng. "I want you to go and question the innkeeper about who has sought accommodation for the night. Be quick about it."

MacTaggart's eyes narrowed, but nevertheless the insolent son of a bitch acquiesced. "Aye, sir."

Once the Watchman had departed, Simon pushed his way to the bar. At least he could partake of an ale or two whilst he waited for news. He spied a buxom, red-headed serving girl passing by with a tray of food. He smiled to himself. If his Jezebel wasn't here, he could always sample whatever the tavern wench had to offer.

Either way, he wouldn't leave here until he was satisfied.

Despite his exhaustion, it didn't take Robert long to realize that sleep would elude him as long as Jessie's soft curves pressed up against him and her warm breath sighed gently across his chest. His body was already taut with desire for her yet again.

With a frustrated sigh, he gently eased himself away from her, then quietly rose from the bed and dressed. A wee dram or two of whisky would probably relax him enough to sleep. Although there was still likely to be plenty of patrons in the taproom, he wasn't concerned. His strategy of hiding in plain sight had worked remarkably well over the years, and he had no reason to believe it would fail him now. A decade after Culloden, Invercauld was hardly a hot bed of illicit Jacobite activity. And as he'd told Jessie earlier, as Simon probably wouldn't think to search along this route, the local Redcoats wouldn't be on the lookout for the Jacobite rebel Robert Grant.

Aside from that, Robert doubted that Simon possessed the physical stamina to travel this far south in one day. He'd never been much of a horseman growing up at any rate.

Yes, Robert would bet his life that both he and Jessie were safe tonight.

As he eased on his coat, Robert noticed the slight crinkle of parchment in the inner breast pocket—his father's letter of appeal to the Lord Advocate. After checking it was securely in place, he glanced at Jessie, still soundly asleep. A soft smile curved his lips while he contemplated what it would feel like to be a free man: free to truly offer Jessie his hand in marriage. And how wonderful it would feel if she said yes.

The smile was still on Robert's face as he pushed his way toward the bar. The crowd had thinned a little and aside from a few off-duty soldiers, there was no sign of the Watch or anything or anyone else he'd consider untoward. Whisky in hand, he was about to turn around to find a dark corner in the taproom when someone grabbed his shoulder in a tight almost painful grip. A sharp click and something hard and metallic, possibly a pistol muzzle, jabbed into his lower back in the vicinity of his left kidney.

A low voice hissed in his ear. "Well, well, Robert. If it isn't the prodigal son himself."

Fuck. Simon. There was no mistaking his half-brother's venomous tone.

Robert froze, inwardly cursing himself for being too cock-sure and letting his guard down. Clearly he had seriously underestimated his opponent.

Carefully placing his whisky on the counter, he turned slowly, palms upraised in a gesture of surrender. Sure enough, a smirking Simon stood before him.

Robert noted with a small degree of satisfaction that his brother was only able to manage a somewhat crooked grin given that his left jaw was empurpled and swollen with a rather impressive bruise. "Simon," he said dryly. "Fancy meeting you here."

Simon sneered. "Judging by the look on your face, it appears as though you didn't expect me to turn up in Invercauld, did you, dearest brother?" he taunted as he pushed the pistol into Robert's stomach.

"No…" Robert quickly scanned the room and swore under his breath when he took in four dragoons standing at the ready near the doorway, and another three Black Watchmen hovering behind Simon. How had he not noticed them when he'd first entered the tap room? He'd been well and truly ambushed. There was no way he could take on that many men, even without a cocked pistol pressed into his abdomen.

Bloody, bloody hell . What a blind fool he'd been. The stakes were high and he'd made a grievous miscalculation about Simon's capacity for vengeance.

And Jessie is in danger . Fear, like nothing Robert had ever experienced before, ripped mercilessly at his gut. If Simon found Jessie upstairs, alone, asleep…

Simon's gloating face reclaimed his attention. "Don't even think about making a break for it. As you can see, there is no way that even a legendary Jacobite such as yourself can escape this time."

"I'm afraid this will all come to naught, Simon," Robert replied smoothly, repressing any hint of fear from his voice. "Father will be lodging an appeal for clemency with the Lord Advocate. Any hope you had of seeing me executed for treason is dead."

Simon's snort approximated a laugh. "Well, I have to admire your optimism, if nothing else." His expression suddenly turned sly. "Or perhaps there is something else of yours I admire. Something which is actually mine." He glanced meaningfully toward the ceiling.

Robert's stomach twisted with a potent combination of cold dread and blazing anger. "What do you mean?" he ground out, clenching his fists, envisioning the pleasing sight of pounding the lascivious smile from Simon's face.

Simon's gaze returned to Robert's, his eyes glittering with malicious intent. "I know which chamber she's in, and there's nothing you can do to stop me having her."

Jessie started awake, her heart pounding. Something had woken her.

For a moment she was disoriented. She sat up, awareness rushing back as she took in the four-poster bed, the washstand, the dying fire…and the fact she was alone again.

Why had Robert left and for how long had she been asleep? A rising wave of panic was exacerbated tenfold when there came a knocking at the door.

It couldna be Robert. He had a key.

The knocking halted and a gruff male voice called out. "Miss Munroe? Miss Munroe, ye must wake. My name is MacTaggart. I'm a captain with the Black Watch and I work for Lord Strathburn. I must speak with ye urgently."

Oh God, something has happened. Please let Robert be all right.

Heart crashing against her ribs, Jessie slipped from the bed and began to throw on her riding habit. As she frantically tried to button the undershirt with trembling fingers, the man's voice came again.

"Miss Munroe, I have with me one of the innkeeper's daughters, Mary, to show you I mean ye no harm. I ken ye are frightened but please, ye must believe that I have nothin' but honorable intentions. Please let us in."

A young woman then spoke. "'Tis true what he says miss. I'm Mary. I served ye earlier."

Ignoring her protesting ankle, Jessie crossed to the door as fast as she could. Even as a maelstrom of thoughts and questions whirled about her head, she was not ready to open the door yet.

She spoke through the heavy wood. "MacTaggart, ye say?" The man's name was vaguely familiar for some reason. Did this man really work for Lord Strathburn, or was he in the pay of Simon? Could she trust him? She dare not ask him directly about Robert lest she give away his presence. "What on earth is going on? Why exactly are ye here?"

MacTaggart's next words struck a cold hard blade of fear through Jessie's heart. "Miss Munroe, Mr. Simon Grant is downstairs and is at this verra moment apprehending Lord Lochrose. He has several dragoons and some of my men with him. I have grave fears for yer safety."

Jessie slumped against the door, a lump of ice-cold fear lodging in her throat. Simon was here. He had Robert. Oh, this must be a nightmare. Any moment she would wake up and find herself nestled with Robert in the bed beside her. But something MacTaggart said was telling… " Mister Grant?" she said. Of course, now Robert had returned to reclaim his place, Simon would no longer have any claim to any of Lord Strathburn's courtesy titles. Robert was the viscount and master again.

"Aye, Miss Munroe. I believe Lord Lochrose's brother will be paying ye a visit verra shortly. I assume ye've been abed…? If ye open the door, Mary will help ye get dressed."

Jessie swallowed. MacTaggart was right. If Simon came upon her in her current state of dishabille , the situation didn't bear thinking about.

With shaking hands, she unlocked the door to reveal a tall, heavily built man in a Black Watch plaid. A quivering Mary stood beside him.

The Watchman gave a small bow. "Thank ye, Miss Munroe. I will wait outside. I suggest Mary remain with ye for the rest of the night."

Jessie nodded. MacTaggart's face might be battle-scarred and ferocious looking, but he had kind brown eyes, eyes that shone with concern, not cruelty. She was inclined to take him at his word. "Thank ye for yer kindness, sir. I'm verra grateful. I will be sure to commend ye to the earl and to my father, Alisdair Munroe."

MacTaggart bowed his head. " Tapadh Leibh ." Thank you.

Before Jessie closed the door, she had one last question. Her throat was so tight, the words barely came out. "Wh-Where will they take Lord Lochrose?"

The Black Watchman met her eyes directly. "To the Braemar Castle Garrison, and tomorrow, they'll likely set out for Edinburgh where his lordship will be incarcerated in the Tolbooth Prison. I will do what I can to help him, but now there are dragoons involved, I'm verra afraid that it willna be enough to save him."

Which was what Jessie dreaded too.

After the dragoons carted Robert away, Simon impatiently scanned the taproom for MacTaggart. No doubt the man was still upstairs locating Jessie for him as he'd instructed. Robert, the fool, had denied Jessie was here at all. In fact, he'd insisted she'd taken the public coach from Grantown. But Simon knew it was a lie.

Jessie was here, he sensed it. It was only a matter of minutes before he would have the girl all to himself.

He downed Robert's discarded whisky in one gulp and headed for the inn's upstairs rooms. Gaining the head of the staircase, he spied MacTaggart standing before one of the doors. Excellent . The Watchman had found her. Simon's ballocks grew heavy and tight with anticipation. Finally, after all this time.

"That'll be all, MacTaggart. I'll take care of Miss Munroe from here." Simon held his hand out for the key to the room but instead all he received was a stony-faced glare from the burly Black Watchman. Impatience spiked. "MacTaggart. Give me the damn key."

The Watchman stared back, clearly unfazed. "I'm verra sorry, Mr. Grant. Miss Munroe has retired for the evenin'. Her attending maid informs me she willna be available to meet with ye until tomorrow mornin'."

"Damn you to hell, MacTaggart! What are you playing at?" roared Simon. "I don't care if my brother is back. You'll address me as Master! Now step aside and open the fucking door."

The door to the bedchamber suddenly cracked open a fraction and a timid mouse of a maid slipped out, clearly terrified. "Ah, M-M-Miss Munroe says she will receive ye, Mister…I mean, Master. As long as the door stays ajar and Captain MacTaggart stays close by."

"I'll have you stripped of your rank for this, MacTaggart," Simon uttered savagely under his breath as he pushed roughly passed the captain and the serving girl into the room beyond.

To his further annoyance, Jessie was fully dressed, seated in a fireside wingback chair behind a small table. She sat ramrod straight, chin upraised, eyeing him with defiance. Oh, how he would enjoy wiping that look from her face.

Simon raked her with a deliberately lewd gaze before casting a meaningful look at the rumpled four-poster bed. "Shame you're not still abed, Miss Munroe. But no matter. I'll soon have you back there."

She didn't respond, just raised her chin a little higher, her eyes glittering.

Anger flashed through Simon, hot and fierce. He threw himself into the armchair opposite Jessie, leaning back with his legs extended, his booted feet crossed at the ankle beneath the table. He rested his chin on his steepled fingertips and studied her through narrowed eyes. Her face was pale except for two flags of bright color across her high cheekbones. Good. Despite her outwardly holier-than-thou manner, he had rattled the little bitch.

But he wanted to cow her even more. When he spoke, he imbued his voice with soft silken menace. "I have a proposition for you, Miss Munroe. Spend the night with me and do my bidding…or I shall have you arrested by the dragoons and thrown into prison for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive and traitor."

I'll spend the night with ye when pigs fly.

Jessie bit back the retort and glared at Simon, anger smothering her fear. She'd had enough of this man's bullying and whilst she had the advantage of MacTaggart's support, she intended to show some backbone. Having Robert's dirk in her hand beneath the cover of her skirts also emboldened her. Thank heavens he'd left it behind on the washstand.

Simon picked at non-existent lint on his cuff, obviously affecting a nonchalance he didn't feel. His mouth was compressed into a grim line and a muscle ticked in his jaw. "I'm waiting for your answer, Miss Munroe," he said, his tone dark and dripping with disdain. "Unlike you, I don't have all night. What's it to be?"

Jessie gripped Robert's dirk tighter, grateful for the feel of the cold steel hilt in her sweat-slickened palm. Her voice, when it emerged, shook only a mite. "Ye'd best send for the dragoons then. I would much rather sleep on a cold stone floor with lice and rats as companions than spend one more moment with you."

She'd pushed him too far.

With a growl, Simon launched himself from the chair, knocking over the table between them. Looming over her, his hands on the arms of her own chair, his face hovered mere inches above hers. Even though Jessie recoiled on a gasp, another part of her was infuriated. Perhaps even emboldened. At these close quarters, she could plainly see the aftermath of Robert's punch along his jaw. It reminded her that Simon wasn't all-powerful.

Courage, Jessie . She firmed her grip on the dirk. She would use it against this vile, sorry excuse for a man if she had to. No matter the consequences.

"Now listen to me you little b—" began Simon.

"No, ye listen to me," returned Jessie, so furious she could spit. "I suggest ye move away from me at once, or I will summon MacTaggart to arrest ye for threatening assault." Her instincts told her that she would be able to count on the good captain for aid.

Simon instantly pushed himself away and glared, his rage barely contained. His hands were bunched into fists and his gray eyes flashed with ice-sharp anger. He reminded her of a wolf about to attack its prey.

Despite her trembling legs, Jessie stood and faced him, the dirk still in her hand. She had something else she needed to say, and she would do so at eye level. She would not cower before him. Never again. "I think ye should also ken that this verra morning, yer father handfasted Robert and I. As soon as Robert is pardoned by the Lord Advocate—and he will be—yer brother and I shall be wed. I'm sure Lord Strathburn would be none too pleased with you, if he was to hear that yer behavior toward me, as my future brother-in-law and his future daughter, was nothing less than exemplary. Dinna ye agree?"

"Well, haven't we done well for ourselves, my dear Jezebel?" Simon's voice was brimming with mock politeness. A narrow smile, like a grimace, twisted his thin lips. "I was right about you all along. You are nothing but a greedy, grasping harlot."

He stalked toward the door but paused and looked back over his shoulder. His parting shot chilled Jessie to the bone. "But what will become of you, Miss Munroe, when my brother's head is on the chopping block? I'll still be here…waiting. Remember that, won't you, my dear, as you fall asleep tonight, all alone."

"I'd bid ye good night, milord , but I ken ye willna have one." The dragoon's gruff laughter echoed about the stone walls of the completely bare cell in the Braemar Castle Garrison—Robert's "room" for the night.

Well, that's hardly surprising . Sighing heavily, Robert tipped his head back against the rough bricks behind him as the soldier slammed the heavy, wooden, iron-studded door shut. He already knew he wouldn't be able to sleep during what was left of the night.

It wasn't the biting coldness of the air around him, or the hard stone floor beneath him that destroyed any hope of rest, but the nauseating fear and acrid self-recrimination that clawed his insides to shreds. His surroundings brought to mind his long-ago confinement in Lochrose's wine cellar…only this time, there was no chance of drowning himself in whisky in a feeble attempt to deaden the dark, disturbing train of his thoughts.

His worst nightmare had come to life. He'd been captured, and tomorrow he'd be transported to the Edinburgh Tolbooth, God help him. And may God help those he cared about.

What plagued Robert the least was thoughts of his own mortality. He'd stared the specter of Death in the face countless times before. Indeed, since Culloden, and during his time as a mercenary and more recently as a Caribbean "corsair," Death had been an ever-present companion. No, he'd made peace with the idea of dying long ago.

What he couldn't bear was the overwhelming sense of failure swamping him. It crashed down upon him so heavily, it felt as though he could no longer draw breath. Or that his heart had been crushed to a lifeless, flat stone within his chest.

If he were found guilty of treason and executed, it would spell certain disaster for his family. Simon was nothing but a drunken, self-serving lecher, and Lady Strathburn was as rotten and avaricious as the famed Lady Macbeth herself. There was no doubt in his mind that the pair would ruin the estate. They would destroy his aging father and lay waste to the clan as surely as a contingent of dragoons on a rampage. The clansfolk would be cleared from their villages and crofts, the land sold. And Jessie…

God, Jessie!

Since he'd been hauled from the taproom by the dragoons out into the night, Robert had not seen hide nor hair of Simon, which probably meant his despicable brother had gone after Jessie, just as he'd threatened. Bile burned the back of Robert's throat and his gut clenched.

If Simon harmed a single hair on Jessie's head …

He struck his fists against the unyielding stone-flagged floor, perversely taking joy in the sharp pain ricocheting up through his protesting knuckles.

Jessie was strong, capable, smart. But would she be able to fend off Simon if caught unawares? Sweet Jesus, when Robert had left her, she'd been sleeping soundly in their bed…

I'm still as thoughtless and hot-headed as the upstart I was a decade ago. I've learned nothing. I let my balls get in the way of rational, strategic thinking and let complacency get the upper hand. If anything happens to Jessie, it's all my fault…

It was a useless enterprise attempting to stem the hot slide of tears down his face. Tears of guilt, shame and desperate anger. Of all the things Robert had done wrong, this was the one thing he would never be able to forgive himself for—failing his sweet, sweet Jessie.

He dashed his shirt sleeve across his eyes. The Redcoats had taken his jacket when they'd searched him for weapons. His father's letter, his only hope of salvation, was gone. He could only pray it had been given to Captain Slater. He seemed like a reasonable man, despite the fact he was a Sassenach. He would take note of the seal of the Earl of Strathburn and the intended recipient of the missive, the Lord Advocate himself. Perhaps the captain had taken heed of his father's elevated rank already... This tower room might be as icy as Hades and devoid of furniture, but at least Robert hadn't been chained up in some dank, filthy dungeon. On the surface, it appeared to be a concession of some kind.

But if Father's letter falls into Simon's hands…

Robert closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the familiar swirling of black despair in his chest. Hope . He must remember there was hope. God knew why, but his father still believed in him. And didn't he owe it to his father and the clan, and to Jessie, not to give up?

When pale, tremulous morning light began to filter in through the small, barred window above his head, and the rusty scrape of bolts being drawn back dragged him back to full alertness, Robert had already firmly engraved his resolutions into what was left of his heart.

I will not die. When I get out of this, I will be the son I should have been. The leader I want to be. I will honor my commitment to Jessie. And with God as my witness, I will make sure Simon never hurts her or anyone else again.