Chapter 5

J essie paused beneath a ragged pine tree on a sharp ridge and wiped a trickle of perspiration from her brow. She'd been walking and climbing for over an hour, and aside from needing to catch her breath, she wanted to get her bearings before continuing on. The loch and the castle lay in the wide glen far below her. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought it was a scene from a fairy tale, rather than the setting for the nightmare Simon had planned.

But she wouldn't stay at Lochrose to become Simon's unwilling plaything. She'd much rather scale mountains and traverse lonely upland moors any day.

Glancing upward along the ridgeline, Jessie could just make out the path leading to the isolated glen that was her ultimate destination. She prayed Mrs. MacMillan was correct in surmising that Simon wouldn't think to search for her at Lord Strathburn's old hunting lodge. Two nights—tonight and tomorrow—were all that Jessie had to brave alone before she made her way to Grantown on the other side of the range.

A solitary cloud passed across the midday sun and a chill breeze pulled at the loose curls which had already escaped Jessie's braid. It was time to press on. The weather was still holding relatively fair, but up here, the elements could change in the space of a moment. Jessie knew the sooner she reached the shelter of the hunting lodge, the better. With only her wren-brown woolen gown and scarlet traveling cloak to wear between here and Edinburgh, she really didn't want them to get ruined if she could help it.

Gathering her resolve, Jessie hitched her leather satchel higher on her shoulder before carefully negotiating the ridgeline and scaling the next slope, which was steeper still. Tumbled boulders and outcroppings of rock appeared and the wind-bent pines thinned out. The ground became less even and she had to take care where she stepped.

When Jessie at last reached the narrow pass curling between towering pillars of gray rock, her breath was coming in short, ragged pants, and her thighs ached with the exertion of climbing. She stopped for a brief rest, regretting that she'd packed her satchel so hurriedly; she'd forgotten to bring a water flask. But if she'd followed Mrs. MacMillan's directions accurately and was on the right track—and she fervently hoped she was—she would soon reach a burn.

The pass turned out to be more of a challenge than Jessie had initially anticipated. The path's uneven surface made it treacherous going, and on one occasion, she needed to scramble on her hands and knees between fallen, jagged-edged rocks. She was relieved that she hadn't ridden Blaeberry along this obviously long neglected route. Mrs. MacMillan had been right; she'd warned Jessie that it would be a difficult ride, even for horses used to the rugged terrain. Walking meant it would take Jessie much longer to reach the lodge and Grantown, but if it meant Blaeberry remained safe, it was worth it.

When Jessie at last emerged from the pass and skidded down a small gravel scree to the mountain burn below, she was both relieved and exhausted. The combination of poor sleep from the night before, little sustenance, and extreme physical exertion had left her weak and shaking. The terror which had filled her early that morning and the nagging fear that Simon might follow her—despite Mrs. MacMillan's assurances he wouldn't—probably weren't helping either. She dropped to her knees by the rocky stream and with trembling, scraped hands, splashed icy water onto her face before drinking her fill.

Her thirst quenched, she sat back on her heels and looked down the twisting, wind-blasted glen. The idea of walking for perhaps another hour across rough moorland to reach the hunting lodge at the far end seemed beyond her at this point. She needed to eat and rest for a while before she continued on. A little farther down the slope beside the burn was a small cluster of rowan and larch trees. The copse's foliage was a bright, welcoming blaze compared to the bleak gray rocks and expanses of bruise-colored heather and coppery deer grass. It would be the perfect place to take shelter.

Jessie rose unsteadily and on still shaky legs, picked her way along the edge of the burn toward the trees. She was only a few yards away when misfortune struck—she stumbled over a rock hidden in the grass and her right ankle twisted beneath her. She cried out as a tearing, agonizing pain assailed her.

Damnation. This was the last thing she needed.

Somehow, even though her vision was blurred by tears, Jessie managed to limp the rest of the way to the copse, ankle protesting with every ungainly step. When she reached the trees, she collapsed on the edge of the burn then gingerly removed her leather boot and woolen stocking to assess the damage. To her dismay, she could see her ankle was already beginning to swell. Hell. It was well and truly sprained. Gritting her teeth, she thrust her foot into the frigid water and prayed the cold would ease the swelling.

With clumsy fingers, Jessie opened her leather satchel and removed a little of the food she'd packed for the next few days—a nugget of sharp crumbly cheese and a hunk of dark rye bread. Although she didn't feel like it, she forced herself to eat. She was so tired and disheartened. What else could possibly go wrong?

Simon might find me.

No, she wouldn't think about what would happen if he did. With any luck, the blackguard probably wouldn't even notice she was missing until later on this afternoon, or even perhaps this evening. She must trust Mrs. MacMillan's assertion that Simon loathed hunting and hadn't set foot up here in these isolated upland moors for years.

For now she was safe. She had to be.

When Jessie could no longer stand the bone-chilling iciness of the burn, she removed her ankle and inspected the swelling. Damn, damn, damn . The cold water hadn't helped at all.

Trying but failing to stifle whimpers of pain, she pulled on her stocking, every little tug sheer agony. There was no way on earth that she'd be able to get her boot on, so she shoved it into her satchel. Getting to the hunting lodge suddenly seemed like an impossible feat. She bit her lip and willed herself not to cry. 'Tis a sprain, Jessie. Nothing is broken. You will live.

She hobbled into the copse and carefully lowered herself onto a cushion of leaves, before leaning back against the black trunk of an ancient rowan. The wind had picked up and torn scraps of cloud scudded over the snow-capped peaks to the north-west. At least it didn't look like it was going to rain. Jessie gathered her scarlet cloak around her and closed her eyes. She would rest for just a wee while…

Jessie awoke with a start, face down in a pile of autumn leaves, her heart beating a wild tattoo. For one panic-filled moment, she had no idea where she was…then it all came back to her with heart-sinking clarity. Her flight from Lochrose and the long journey ahead that she must now manage with a badly sprained ankle. Indeed, it throbbed at the slightest movement. Sucking in a deep breath, she braced herself for the inevitable stab of pain and slowly sat up, her body stiff with cold.

She judged it to be late afternoon by the degree to which the autumn light had faded. She must have been asleep for hours. Looking beyond the copse, she noticed ponderous gray clouds had gathered over the mountains and a clinging, damp mist was beginning to gather in the glen. She should get up and keep moving before rain fell, but the thought of it was almost too much. The leaves above her and the moorland grasses shivered in a sudden gust of icy wind.

Jessie stiffened. Something had moved in the corner of her vision. She turned her head slightly to the left. On the other side of the rowan tree, partly shielded by a clump of bogmyrtle was a small, female roe deer. The doe was staring directly at her, its huge brown eyes wide with fear. A shred of mist drifted between them.

And then there was a deafening crack. Splinters of bark exploded around Jessie and a searing pain shot through her upper arm. As her own scream filled her ears, her world turned black.

Robert's heart froze, his blood turning to ice as he heard the scream—the terrified scream of a woman.

A woman?

The roe deer he'd been stalking for his evening meal bolted away at the same moment that the raw sound had split the silence. Through the drifting ribbons of mist, he could see no other signs of activity in or around the small cluster of trees. No horses or other voices.

What the hell had happened?

Beside him, in the shelter of the long grass lay his squire, Tobias, equally as stunned. The young man's face had blanched to the same shade of white as the snow-dusted Cairngorms behind them and his mouth had frozen to a round ‘O'. "Who was that, milord?" he whispered.

"Christ knows." Robert slung the still smoking musket over his shoulder and in the next instant he was on his feet, half running, half leaping through the spent heather toward the copse where the deer had been. He splashed across the shallow burn into the trees and stopped dead.

There at his feet lay the gorgeous young woman he'd seen with his brother this morning, her scarlet cloak covering her body like a blood-red shroud.

Jessie .

Her eyes were closed and her face was deathly pale but for a trickle of blood at her left temple. Oh God in heaven, what have I done? Fear gripped Robert's gut anew. He prayed his flame-haired goddess wasn't dead.

He dropped to his knees in the leaves and felt her neck. Relief surged as he detected her pulse, still beating strongly beneath his fingers.

With swift efficiency he then untangled the cloak to check the lass's body for injury. He quickly ascertained that the gunshot wound she'd sustained was a graze along her left upper arm. The sleeve of her brown gown was torn and stained with blood. With unexpectedly trembling fingers, Robert gently probed the wound but there was no bullet. Thank God .

Looking up, he could see it had lodged in the rowan tree behind her. The blood at her temple came from a splinter of rowan bark that had superficially pierced the delicate flesh close to her hairline. Strangely, her right boot was also missing. Curious.

"She'll be all right, lad. It's just a graze." He addressed Tobias over his shoulder. His squire had entered the copse whilst Robert had been conducting his examination. "We'll need some water from the burn."

Tobias's voice shook. "I… She… Who…? What the hell is she doing here?"

Robert scraped a hand through his hair. "I have no idea."

His squire moved closer and dropped to his knees beside Robert. "Isna…isna that the lass ye told me about, the one that was with yer brother? What are we going to do with her?"

"Aye, I believe it's the same woman," replied Robert, shooting his servant a glance. "And to answer your second question, again I have no idea."

Just at that moment, Jessie began to stir. She moaned, eyelids fluttering.

Robert leaned closer and took one of her hands between his. She was so cold . "Open your eyes now, lass. There's been an accident but everything's going to be all right." He hoped his voice held the right amount of reassurance. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the poor girl to death.

Jessie's eyes flew open. He immediately noticed that they were honey brown, like the deep amber of whisky—more beautiful than he'd even imagined this morning. She gasped and struggled to sit up, to push away from him. She was clearly terrified but hampered in her efforts by her injury. She cried out in pain and clutched at her upper arm.

When she pulled her hand away, it was covered in blood.