Chapter 4

W ith a groan, Simon finished throwing up into a chamber pot, then thrust the porcelain vessel at his valet, Baird. His head ached like hell. Damned cheap Portuguese red wine . Why couldn't his father afford to stock their cellars with something half decent from France?

The sudden racket coming from outside didn't help his already foul mood. Simon donned the silk banyan proffered by Baird then staggered to the bedroom window. Pushing back the heavy velvet curtains, he grimaced at the early morning brightness. Below, Alasdair Munroe was riding out of the gates of Lochrose with the earl's man of business and a small group of men-at-arms who would provide them with protection during their rent-collecting tour of the Clan Grant lands.

Despite the sickening pounding in his head, Simon smirked with satisfaction. Now he had plenty of time to do as he liked with Jessie. And there would be ample opportunities.

He'd been more than pleased to hear that Munroe had requested for his daughter to actually stay within the castle instead of remaining at the Gate House during his absence . For her safety . Simon's smile widened at the unintended irony.

Oh, his mother had been less than impressed by the arrangement, but at his insistence, she'd grudgingly acquiesced to install the girl in one of the east wing guest rooms instead of with the other staff in the servants' quarters. She knew it was useless to thwart his needs.

"For heaven's sake Simon, just don't get this one with child," had been her final words to him at dinner last night as his father had shuffled from the room on the arm of his valet.

Not that it would have mattered if his father had been there when dearest mama made her pronouncement. The doddering old fool usually didn't know what day it was, let alone what his son got up to.

A sudden flash of red at the corner of Simon's vision claimed his attention. Turning, he caught sight of Jessie riding out from the direction of the stables. Ah, the comely Miss Munroe was intending to take a morning ride.

Alone .

Simon watched as she ambled her mount across the wide stretch of lawn toward the trees and mist-veiled loch beyond. The lying hussy obviously didn't have the cold she'd purported to have yesterday, if she was up and about at this chilly hour.

Struck with sudden inspiration, Simon called over his shoulder to Baird to ready his riding clothes. Although it was early in the day, it was high time he made it abundantly clear to the chit what his expectations would be over the coming weeks. And that she should think twice about evading him.

Cupping his groin, Simon felt his already half-hard prick jerk in anticipation.

Not long now, my sweet Jezebel. Very soon, you'll be all mine…

The autumn morning was crisp and clear as Jessie set out for a long overdue, and much longed for, ride on Blaeberry. Lady Strathburn would not expect her presence until at least mid-morning, which meant she had at least an hour or two to herself.

Jessie had tried very hard to smile and chatter away as if she didn't have a care in the world as she'd bid her beloved father farewell in the stable yard. Now he was gone, her troubling thoughts returned full force to plague her. She prayed her ride would provide a welcome distraction. She really didn't want to think about Simon Grant at all this morning. There would be more than enough time to worry about Lochrose's resident reprobate later.

Blaeberry puffed white clouds into the frigid air and her hooves crunched the frost-rimed ground as Jessie gave the mare her head. In no time at all they reached the small stretch of woodland lining the shore of the loch. Entering the copse, Jessie slowed Blaeberry's pace to a sedate walk and let the mare pick her way through the ancient beech, chestnut, and oak trees. Wraithlike shreds of mist rising from the loch drifted around them as they drew closer to the water's edge. Aside from the quiet crunch of Blaeberry's hooves on the carpet of leaf litter and the occasional plaintive call of a bird, there was utter silence.

Once they reached the shore, Jessie slid from Blaeberry's back and found a smooth gray boulder to sit upon at the water's edge. She was determined to find some peace for at least a little while. Closing her eyes, she tried to empty her mind of everything except for what she could sense: the cool edge to the breeze lifting fine tendrils of her unbound hair off her face; birdsong and the sighing of the leaves in the woods behind her; and the intermittent jangle of Blaeberry's harness. She was so exhausted, her very bones ached. She'd tossed and turned, barely sleeping at all last night.

When Jessie again opened her eyes, the mist had fully risen and the loch's waters sparkled with dazzling light. The air was still frosty but huddled in her chestnut velvet riding habit and thick cloak of red wool, she felt warm enough. And contented. Blaeberry had wandered off a few yards to crop the lush grass on the bank. Somewhere in the woods behind them, a rook called.

When Blaeberry abruptly lifted her head and turned toward the trees, ears pricked, Jessie frowned and looked toward the shadowy copse as well. And then her heart seized. She heard it too.

The approach of another horse.

Robert reined his hired mount to a stop within a dense coppice of Scots pines on a low ridge overlooking Loch Kilburn…and the home he thought he'd never see again—Lochrose Castle.

From this vantage point, he had a good view of where the castle's grounds ran into the waters of the loch, mist-shrouded at this early hour. Behind the adjoining woods, the two turreted towers of the castle were silhouetted against the peaks of the Cairngorms and the dawn-hued sky.

A range of emotions washed over him, but one surfaced above them all: a poignant yearning as sharp and strong as the slice of a dirk blade pierced his chest.

He had a powerful sense of homecoming, of belonging to this place, yet the scene before him also seemed slightly alien, different to how he'd envisaged it in his memories. And dreams. An odd sense of unreality clung to him and he had the urge to pinch himself, to make sure he was really here.

Ten long years he'd been gone...

Perhaps everything seemed different because he was now changed. He was no longer a hot-headed, adventure-seeking youth of one-and-twenty who thought he knew everything and took his responsibilities for granted, but a man of one-and-thirty. He'd certainly learned the hard way that honor and duty to clan and family were far more important than chasing phantasms of glory on the battlefield for James Stuart, the pretender to a long-lost throne.

He needed to right past wrongs. Indeed, he fervently prayed with his entire soul that he would be given the chance to do so.

Swallowing past a hard lump in his throat, Robert focused on how he could gain access to Lochrose undetected. The reason for this early morning foray was essentially for reconnaissance. He needed to minimize the risk of being caught when he attempted to reconcile with his father. Arrest was a very real danger, even after a ten-year absence. Although raw impatience clawed at his insides, he knew that walking straight in through Lochrose's front door in broad daylight would be beyond foolish. Simon and his stepmother, Caroline, would not let him escape this time.

Not when a fortune and title were at stake.

Robert surmised that the best time to reach his father without rousing anyone's notice would be at the crack of dawn or during the dead of night, when others such as his damnable brother and stepmother would likely be abed. Which meant he'd probably missed his chance of acting today. The sun had risen too high already and the mist was almost completely burnt off. But he could still scout closer to the castle.

With a shiver, Robert urged his horse down the slope. Here in the heavy bone-chilling shade of the trees, his dark brown wool coat and buckskin breeks failed to ward off the bite in the air. Although the morning was fine, he'd forgotten how damn cold it was in the Highlands. Thank God he and his squire, Tobias, had been able to hole up in his father's obviously long-abandoned hunting lodge last night. Robert's mouth tilted into a wry grin. Living in the Caribbean for so long had made him soft indeed.

About half-way down the brae, a flash of red across the loch caught his eye.

Dragoons? Surely not…

Pulse leaping, Robert halted and narrowed his eyes against the bright diamonds of sunlight dancing on the water. No, there weren't any cursed English soldiers skulking about the loch. There, on the bank, sat a woman in a scarlet cloak. Her horse, saddled and harnessed for riding, grazed nearby.

Who was she? From this distance it was difficult to make out anything in particular about the woman beyond the fact that she had glorious, red-gold hair. The only other thing Robert could deduce was that as she was obviously out for a ride, she definitely couldn't be one of the castle's servants.

Was she a visitor, then? Perhaps a guest of his father or stepmother?

His interest piqued to razor sharpness, Robert slipped from his horse and tethered the reins to a low pine bough. Thanking the Lord for his hard-earned soldier's stealth, he slowly descended the last part of the slope before silently threading his way through the trees by the bank, toward the solitary woman. When he was but twenty yards away, he took cover behind the thick trunk of an ancient chestnut tree, the golden and brown foliage of the low hanging boughs providing him with sufficient cover.

The woman was now slightly angled toward him. Her head rested on her knees, as if she were dozing, her unbound hair cascading like a waterfall of living flame around her. He silently begged her to look up so he might see her face.

And then she did, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was one of the most stunning women he'd ever seen.

Even from this distance Robert could see that her face was classically beautiful with a small straight nose, determined chin, and lush mouth. Her high cheekbones were blushed pink from the cold of early morning. He was too far away to discern the shade of her eyes, but he imagined they were brown, a rich warm brown. But it was her tumble of magnificent hair that transfixed him the most. He was suddenly filled with an inexplicable urge to run his fingers through its rich abundance. To bury his face in the curls at her neck and inhale her sweet scent. To taste her satiny skin and those delectable lips...

The woman was smiling serenely, gazing out across the water. Her beauty was so arresting, Robert suddenly fancied her to be a mystical creature like a naiad of the loch, or a lady of the lake. Something within him stirred, a feeling stronger than mere arousal. It was a longing so acute he wondered if he were bewitched.

He burned to know who she was.

The unmistakable sound of another horse approaching shattered the silence. Damn .

The young woman and her horse had heard it too. Cursing silently again, Robert retreated a little farther behind the tree. The girl stood in one swift, graceful movement, and despite the fact that she wore a cloak, he could see that she was as slender as a willow bough. She turned away from him toward the trees.

Horse and rider emerged.

Simon .

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Robert's blood pulsed hard and hot and every muscle in his body tightened, battle- ready. Simon slid from his horse and prowled toward the woman who remained silent. Motionless. Had she been waiting for him?

The answer came quickly enough when Simon greeted her. "Well met, Jessie my dear."

Jessie . The goddess had a name.

Robert's jaw clenched to the point of pain. Jessie and his brother knew each other, and obviously well, given they were on a first name basis. It suddenly occurred to him that he was witnessing an early morning lovers' assignation. Bitter disappointment churned in his gut. What the hell was such a goddess of a woman doing with his despicable brother?

Yes, despicable. Nothing that Robert had learned about Simon of late—via Lady Ogilvy, or Tobias, his squire—had indicated that his brother had matured in the intervening years. That he was now a man of principle and character rather than a self-serving scoundrel. He was clearly still a libidinous blackguard who loved nothing more than to tup the poor maids at Lochrose and waste a small fortune at bawdy houses.

By all accounts, Simon was not the sort of man who'd court a lovely young woman and do the honorable thing and take her to wife.

It took every ounce of Robert's mercenary training to keep his careening emotions in check while he continued to watch.

Stay Robert. Don't be a fool. You might learn something useful.

An expression which could only be described as lustful distorted Simon's features as he grasped the lass, Jessie, about the arms and pulled her hard against him. He spoke and Jessie replied, but at this distance, Robert couldn't hear the exchange. Nor could he see Jessie's expression, as she continued to stand with her back toward him. Resentment roiled afresh when Simon caressed the woman's cheek then pressed his face against her hair and whispered something in her ear. There could be no doubting their relationship now.

Then, just as he'd imagined doing only moments ago, his half-brother speared one hand into the fiery mass of Jessie's hair and crushed her lithe body even closer to his. Their kiss was long and intense. Passionate.

A lover's kiss.

Disappointment settled like a cold, hard stone in Robert's belly. He'd seen enough. Jessie was not for him .

With a snort of disgust, he turned away and quietly retreated back up the hill.

"Well met, Jessie my dear."

Jessie stood frozen, terror gripping her insides as Simon, the Master of Strathburn, stalked toward her.

She couldn't believe this was happening, that he'd sought her out like this. Her father had only been gone an hour and already the brute was upon her. Dreadful awareness of how isolated and vulnerable she was out here by the loch crackled through her mind. How stupid of her to have put herself in this position.

Well, she could be gormless no more. She would have to brazen out this encounter if she had any hope of remaining unscathed. Jessie instinctively knew that attempting to run from Simon would only inflame the situation, so she fisted her hands and lifted her chin—though she couldn't quite swallow the hard lump of fear clogging her throat as Simon stopped before her.

His silver-gray eyes gleamed with fierce hunger as they raked over her. A predator about to attack the lamb. Despite her mental bravado, Jessie's heart crashed crazily against her ribs. Her mouth was so dry it felt as if it were filled with sand. Try as she might, she couldn't formulate words. God help her. For the moment she was struck dumb with horror.

Then Simon reached for her, grasping her forearms roughly. His fingers were like claws, bruising her even through her clothes. He bent toward her, his face so close she could smell his hot, fetid breath. "I think it's about time you do something more to earn your keep here at Lochrose, don't you?" His tone both cajoled and threatened.

Jessie was sure that if he hadn't been holding her so tightly, her knees would have buckled beneath her. "Whatever do you mean?" Damn it! Her breathless voice betrayed her fear. Although her question indicated otherwise, she knew exactly what he meant.

Simon's smile was knowing as he stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved fingers in a mock caress. "Ah, still playing coy, are we?" His expression suddenly changed, grew harder, wolfish. "Make sure you wear your prettiest night rail for me tonight, my sweet Jezebel. And if you please me, I might let your father retain his position." His gray eyes darkened and dropped to her lips. "Mmm, you are too delicious for your own good, Jessie Munroe." His mouth pressed against her ear as he whispered, "I could eat you all up right now."

One of his arms suddenly lashed around her waist, encircling her like a steel band, crushing her body against his. His other hand gripped her head and forced her to remain still as he violated her mouth, smothering her rising scream. He kissed her with such force, Jessie could only gasp with pain. His tongue plundered and his teeth ground so hard against her lips that she tasted her own blood.

When the brute finally raised his head, his cold eyes were filled with cruel triumph. "You will leave your door unlocked tonight or suffer the consequences. Do I make myself clear?"

Jessie nodded, still mute with terror. She instinctively knew that defying Simon Grant could be the catalyst for something much, much worse than the kiss she'd just been forced to endure.

However, Simon seemed satisfied with her response. He smiled his wolf's smile again. "Good. I'm pleased we now have this matter sorted out, my sweet Jezebel. I don't want to have to punish you for being disobedient." He trailed a gloved finger along her swollen bottom lip.

As if he cared . Jessie knew that a desire to inflict cruelty and fulfill his own indecent urges were the only motives behind Simon's actions.

As soon as he disappeared into the trees, Jessie ran to the water's edge and cast up the meager contents of her stomach. Her whole body shaking, she somehow dragged herself up and walked unsteadily toward Blaeberry. Her horse, clearly sensing something was amiss, nuzzled her gently.

"I…I would sooner die than let him come anywhere near me again," she whispered against the mare's neck as hot tears burned her eyelids. "Aye, I'll leave my door unlocked…but I willna be there."

When Jessie set foot in the kitchen an hour later, Mrs. MacMillan appeared to recognize that something was wrong with her straightaway.

The good woman dropped her rolling pin and enveloped Jessie in a warm floury hug. "Och, goodness gracious, lassie, sit down afore ye fall down. I'll fix ye some tea."

The motherly cook ushered Jessie to a wooden chair set at the large, well-scrubbed oak table in the center of the room, and quickly poured her a cup from Lady Strathburn's very own fine bone china teapot. Jessie began to stammer a protest but was duly ignored as Mrs. MacMillan added two lumps of sugar and cream to her tea. To her dismay, her hands trembled as she lifted the cup to take a sip.

Mrs. MacMillan frowned and shook her head, wild strands of her gray hair escaping the edges of her mobcap as she did so. She was clearly aghast at Jessie's state. "Ye're shakin' like the birks when there's a north-west wind a-blowin'. When ye're done with yer tea, ye must tell me what's happened. But I dinna think it will surprise me if it has somethin' to do with Master Simon."

Jessie nodded then dutifully drank the sweet, milky tea. Mrs. MacMillan set a freshly baked bap smothered in butter and blackberry jam in front of her, but Jessie couldn't bring herself to touch it. Her throat was tight and her belly still churned.

When she'd drained her cup, Mrs. MacMillan shooed away the two scullery maids who'd been stealing curious glances her way. "Now lass, ye must tell me exactly what that bastard has done," she said gravely, her shrewd gaze studying Jessie's face.

Jessie closed her eyes and swallowed back the tears which threatened to spill. She felt completely unlike herself—shaky, humiliated, and at the same time, angry as a wildcat caught in a rainstorm. Damn Simon Grant to hell for making me feel this way .

But she knew she must confide in someone. She wouldn't survive this situation unscathed unless she had help.

Taking a deep breath, she looked Mrs.MacMillan in the eye and proceeded to reveal the details of her recent encounter with Simon, as well as all her fears about tonight and the coming days. Try as she might, she couldn't keep the quiver from her voice.

Mrs. MacMillan's eyes flashed and her cheeks grew bright red with indignation as she listened. "Och, that sorry excuse for a man needs castratin' with my meat cleaver," she blustered when Jessie had finished. "I'd do it myself but for the fact that I'd end up swingin' for it."

Despite her distress, Jessie smiled a little at the thought of unmanning Simon. Though she was still astounded he had the audacity to believe he could behave in such an abominable way and get away with it. Mrs. MacMillan had warned her on her first day to be wary of him. But to go so far as to rape her under his parents' roof? How could he even consider such a thing?

"Do…do you think Lord and Lady Strathburn know of their son's…wicked tendencies?" she ventured.

Mrs. MacMillan's brows knitted together. "I would say that there would be little that escapes her ladyship's notice. She kens about her son's vices and does naught to stop him. As for the earl, I wouldna ken. He doesna have much to do with Simon, other than tryin' to limit his drinkin' and throwin' away the family's wealth. And he's ill, poor man."

Jessie was certain the earl would be appalled by his son's depraved behavior if he knew what was happening. It was a gamble, but she needed to consider entreating Lord Strathburn for aid as a course of action, if only to ensure Simon didn't have a hand in having her father dismissed. "What…what if I spoke to Lord Strathburn? Do ye think he might help?"

Mrs. MacMillan shrugged. "I dinna ken how he would react, to be honest. His lordship has always been a man of honor. But if ye kicked up a fuss and it was just yer word against Master Simon's…? Weel, I wonder if Lord Strathburn would think that havin' yer father and yerself here would be more trouble than it's worth, when all is said and done."

And that was exactly what Jessie feared. When it boiled down to it, she and her father had been at Lochrose for less than a month. Lord Strathburn may simply see her as a troublemaker. In the end, it was a chance she was unwilling to take if it meant her father would lose his position.

There was only one thing to do, as she'd known all along after Simon had threatened her at the loch.

I have to leave.

Mrs. MacMillan obviously knew that too. "Right m'lass, enough of this speculatin'," she said, her expression grim. "There's only one sure way to protect yerself. Ye must go, at once."

Jessie knew Mrs. MacMillan spoke sense, yet she was still torn between her sense of self-preservation and duty to her father. "I know I must, but how do I go about it without jeopardizing my father's post? That is still the question, isn't it? The master has threatened to have him dismissed if I do no'…" Her tongue stumbled, unable to complete the hideous thought.

"Dinna worry about yer father for the moment, lassie," the well-meaning cook said sternly. "Ye must only think of yer own safety now. Do ye no' have any other family or friends ye can turn to? Anyplace ye can go?"

Jessie considered her question. "When we lost Dunraven Hall, my da initially thought about sending me to Edinburgh to stay with my cousin, Maggie Henderson. She's married to a tea merchant and has three young children with another on the way. I am sure she wouldna mind if I came to stay, even for a wee while."

Mrs. MacMillan's face creased into a wry smile. "With that many bairns, I'm sure she wouldna mind if ye stayed a long while." Her expression changed, became serious again, and she reached out to squeeze Jessie's hand. "Now, here's what ye should do, lass. Ye must write yer father a note telling him that word has come from yer cousin, begging ye to come and stay at once to help with the wee ones and the bairn a-coming. I shall keep the note and give it to yer father when he gets back, so he willna fash himself about yer whereabouts."

"What shall I tell Lord and Lady Strathburn?" The earl's good opinion truly mattered to Jessie. She did not wish to come across as a flibbertigibbet and desert her position as his wife's companion without a credible reason.

"I will tell them the same story," replied Mrs. MacMillan, patting her arm. "The post arrived in Grantown earlier today, so they should believe ye about yer cousin sending word. Yer father canna be blamed for yer sudden departure if ye need to attend to a family crisis. The earl wouldna countenance that. And after all, yer father is a canny manager. Aye"—the cook nodded, her tone certain—"if ye go quietly and there isna a great to-do, I predict that all will turn out well. For both you and yer da."

Tears of relief and gratitude filled Jessie's eyes. "I…I canna thank ye enough."

Mrs. MacMillan pulled a handkerchief from her apron and offered it to Jessie. "'Tis nothing, m'lass. Nothing at all. Now, the only obstacle we have to overcome is how to get ye to Edinburgh."

Jessie frowned. "I dinna think it would be wise for me to ride all that way by myself. It's well over one hundred miles."

Mrs. MacMillan nodded. "The public coach from Inverness passes by the Strathspey Arms in Grantown, two days from now. At noon. It only goes by twice a month and it is verra slow, but respectable folk use it. Why, even Mrs. MacIntosh, the kirkman's wife, has traveled on it to visit her sister in Edinburgh. I would be happy to help ye with the money for the fare—a gift, or a loan if ye insist on payin' me back."

"No, that willna be necessary, dear Mrs. MacMillan." Jessie smiled. "Ye're too kind. I have a wee bit o' money set aside. Enough to cover a public coach fare at least. But the question is"—she sighed heavily—"what shall I do between now and when the coach leaves? I still need to avoid the master. If I stay here, or even at the inn at Grantown, I'm certain he will find me."

"Aye. He wouldna think twice about forcing himself on ye, even at an inn. Ye need to disappear." Mrs. MacMillan's brow dipped into a deep furrow as she thought a little longer. Then a mischievous smile creased her ruddy face. "I ken just the place, m'lass. Some place he willna look at all."