Chapter 8

E ven before Jessie opened her eyes, she was conscious of the fact that her clothes were soaking wet and she was colder than she'd ever been in her entire life. Not only were her teeth chattering, but her body was wracked with uncontrollable shivers. To make matters worse, her injured arm and ankle both throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Someone had placed a woolen blanket over her—it scratched beneath her chin—and her cheek lay against something relatively soft. A cushion or pillow, perhaps?

Forcing open her eyelids, Jessie confirmed that she was inside some sort of dimly lit dwelling. Lord Strathburn's hunting lodge, she presumed. And she wasn't alone…

Wariness prickled along Jessie's spine as her gaze found Robert Burnley. Rob.

He was but a handful of feet away, kneeling before a small fireplace. Poker in hand, he prodded the firewood to encourage the flames to take purchase. In the flickering light, it was clear he was also dripping wet.

Biting her lip to stop herself from whimpering, Jessie used her good arm to push herself up to a sitting position on the small settee where she'd been lying. A wave of dizziness assailed her and everything tipped crazily for a moment before righting itself. The stone-walled chamber—a bedroom—was low-ceilinged and sparsely furnished. Apart from the settee, there was a simply carved four-poster bed opposite the now blazing fireplace. A large wooden chest stood at its foot.

Jessie's gaze skittered away from the bed and settled warily on Rob. What is he going to do with me? She really wished she had that poker in her grasp. Just in case…

"How are you feeling, Jessie?"

She started, her attention darting to Rob's face. His blue eyes were even darker in the uncertain light of the fire, his gaze intent— speculative —as he studied her in turn.

Jessie swallowed and found her voice. "A wee b-bit c-cold and sore," she said as she gathered the blanket about her. Despite her half-frozen state, her cheeks grew hot as Rob continued his quiet scrutiny.

"And I think that is a wee bit of an understatement, my lass," he said with a wry smile. "You must be chilled to the bone and in a considerable amount of pain. But I'll take good care of you. There's nothing to fear."

Strangely, Jessie was inclined to believe Rob's last pronouncement. She detected no menace, only compassion in the man's gaze as it briefly lingered on her face before raking over the rest of her in an assessing sweep. What a sight she must present, shaking, and dripping, and bloodied. As weak and defenseless as a lamb.

Rob, on the other hand, seemed anything but defenseless. Even though he was as completely sodden as herself, he looked so blatantly masculine and powerful—indeed, so physically attractive—Jessie's heart hammered against her ribs. He'd removed his plaid and coat and was now simply clad in buckskin breeches and a shirt. The wet, almost transparent linen clung to the broad expanse of his well-muscled chest, impossibly wide shoulders, and sizable biceps. She recalled the feel of their steely strength when he'd carried her, how it had felt to be pressed against his hard, warm body with his arm around her on the ride here. She blushed again at the memory.

Stop staring like yer daft, Jessie Munroe. Say something. "Aye, I b-b-believe you, sir," she forced out between her chattering teeth.

"You mean, Rob," he said, his wide mouth tilting into an appealing grin, his even teeth a flash of white against the stubble darkening his tanned jaw.

"R-Rob," she conceded, attempting to smile back. The man's charm was infectious. And dangerous. She attempted to pull the blanket more firmly around herself to still her shaking, but winced as a hot knife of pain sliced through her arm.

Rob noticed her discomfort immediately. He frowned with what appeared to be genuine concern. His next words however, sparked alarm. "Jessie, you're going to have to get out of your wet things and let me take a closer look at your injuries."

Jessie shook her head emphatically. Like hell. "N-N-No. If I sit b-by the fire I'll b-be all right."

"No, you won't," he said firmly. "You've been through quite an ordeal—not to mention you've been exposed to the elements—and I have no idea how much blood you've lost from the wound in your arm. I think my bullet only grazed you, but I need to be sure. You need to get dry and warm and bandaged up properly."

He said this with such quiet determination that Jessie knew he spoke sense. But she was not going to undress in front of him, a complete stranger. A dangerously attractive man .

Rob seemed to guess the reason for her reluctance. "Well. I'll leave you here to change. Unless you'd like some help…?"

Certainly no' . We're in a bedchamber for heaven's sake! Jessie shook her head and sat up a little straighter. "N-N-No, thank you. I think I'll be able to manage."

Rob's eyes narrowed slightly in apparent disbelief, but he inclined his head. "As you wish," he said, standing up and heading for the door. "Your satchel is on the small table beside you, and there's a linen towel, dry shirt, and plaid at the foot of the bed. I'll just be in the next room, so call if you need anything else."

No' bloody likely. As soon as the door clicked shut, relief washed over Jessie. She knew she should do as Rob had suggested. And seeing all the items he'd laid out for her, she couldn't help but be touched by how thoughtful he was. She decided then and there that she would accept that he was just trying to help. Not every man was like Simon.

She slowly pushed herself to her feet. Although she still felt slightly unsteady and could barely put any weight on her ankle, Jessie didn't think she would topple over or fall into a faint. Dropping the already damp blanket along with her sodden cloak onto the wooden floor, she limped to the bed to begin the painful process of undressing without assistance.

One thing at a time, Jessie . She sat on the wooden chest and dried her face, neck, and hair as best she could with the coarse linen towel. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her ribbon, and her curls were a snarled, dripping mess. Bending down, she tried to remove her remaining boot, but even that simple act left her dizzy and gasping in pain. Her frustration ratcheted even higher when she discovered the ribbon garters securing the tops of her stockings just above her knees were hopelessly knotted. Her half-frozen, trembling fingers could not prize them undone, no matter how hard she tried.

The task of removing the rest of her soaking wet clothes suddenly seemed beyond her. Untying her gown's laces would be impossible to manage one-handed. Jessie raised a shaking hand to the back of her bodice, but as she suspected, her efforts were ineffectual. Tears of frustration pricked behind her eyelids.

A light knock made her jump like a startled rabbit. "Just checking if you're all right," Rob called through the door.

"Ye…ye m-may come in." Jessie hastily dashed away her tears as he entered.

He frowned when his gaze settled on her, though whether it was because of her inaction or the fact she'd been crying, she couldn't have said. He'd evidently had no trouble changing out of his wet things into a loose, white linen shirt, fresh buckskin breeches, and black leather top boots. His dark hair, still noticeably damp, hung loose to his shoulders.

"I c-canna seem to manage, after all." She gestured at her bandaged arm by way of explanation for not having undressed.

Without a word, Rob crossed the room and knelt before her. His eyes held hers for one long moment, and Jessie couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Even though his expression was unreadable, his tone was gentle when he spoke. "Let's take a look at your ankle first, lass. I don't think it's broken, but let's see what damage has been done."

Jessie nodded. She closed her eyes, and her whole face burned with embarrassment as Rob carefully lifted her skirts and began to unfasten the ribbon ties of her stockings. Gripping the edge of the wooden chest, she swallowed past a tight throat. She couldn't believe she was letting this complete stranger touch her in such an intimate fashion.

But the most incredible thing of all was that her body was reacting in a completely different way to how it usually did when Simon Grant took liberties. While she felt oddly unsettled, she was not repulsed by Rob's hands on her bare skin. Her flesh tingled wherever his long, capable fingers grazed her. And warmth—something like desire—began to bloom low in her belly.

Of all the strange and unexpected events that had occurred today, the fact that she wasn't filled with the overwhelming impulse to shrink away from Mr. Rob Burnley was perhaps the most bizarre of all.

God's teeth, how am I supposed to help Jessie undress with any semblance of composure?

Robert's blood began to pound hard and fast through his veins as he bent to the task of lifting Jessie's skirts and exposing her legs. When he'd first entered the room and been struck with the full realization of what he must do, he'd been determined to steel himself against his body's primal urges. He'd sternly reminded himself that this woman was quite possibly Simon's paramour and he could not trust her. He must not fall beneath her spell.

Yet despite his resolution, he was swiftly becoming hopelessly aroused…and unaccountably nervous. His hands were shaking. Even the pace of his breathing had accelerated.

For Christ's sake, control yourself, Robert Grant . He was reacting like a green, unskilled youth, not a man of one-and-thirty years who'd undressed and bedded his fair share of women.

Inhaling a bracing breath, he tried to concentrate on simply undoing Jessie's garters and rolling down her wet woolen stockings one by one. He would not dwell on the fact that her legs were impossibly long, pale, and slender. Or that wherever his fingers brushed, a trail of light goosebumps was left in their wake.

Carefully lifting her naked right foot, Robert placed it on his buckskin clad thigh then probed the swollen tissues of her ankle with gentle fingers. The brave lass answered his questions as he moved the joint this way, then that, tolerating his examination with nary a complaint. Not even a whimper.

While the base male in Robert would like nothing more than to kiss Jessie's delicate arch and run his tongue along the silken skin behind her knee, he crushed the errant thoughts and instead placed her foot gently on the floor.

"Good news," he said gruffly without looking at her whisky-hued eyes. "No broken bones, as far as I can tell. It's just a sprain. I'll strap your ankle after I attend to your arm."

He swallowed hard and stood up. Thank heavens his long linen shirt hung loose, hiding his unruly cock straining against the front of his breeches. He did not want Jessie to be alarmed. "Do ye think you can stand so I can help with your gown?"

"Aye. The fastenings are at the back of my bodice." She rose slowly then turned, presenting her slender back to him.

Robert suddenly wondered if Simon had ever undressed her in this very room. His eyes darted to the four-poster bed in front of Jessie. Had they lain together right here, too?

The same frustrated anger he'd experienced that morning at the loch lanced through him, hot and sharp. What could this gorgeous lass possibly see in his half-brother?

Somehow tamping down his illogical ire, Robert unclenched his fists, blew out a breath, then willed himself to get on with the job at hand. The sooner she was undressed, the sooner she could be clothed in warm, dry clothes, and he'd never have to touch her in such an intimate way again.

So he could gain better access to the ties at the back of Jessie's gown, Robert carefully brushed the heavy curtain of her damp curls over one of her shoulders, releasing a tantalizing scent of fresh rainwater and something else that was floral and wholly feminine.

Bloody hell . His cock grew even harder. At this rate, he'd spend in his breeches before he'd even removed her gown.

Gritting his teeth, Robert steadfastly ignored the pale-as-cream skin at the nape of Jessie's neck and the elegant line of her spine which was gradually exposed as he loosened the laces. As gently as he could, he eased the ripped bodice over her injured arm. Even so, she flinched and sucked in a sharp breath as the sodden wool slid over the bloody bandage. The remaining sleeve slipped off easily and then her gown fell to the floor. Her petticoats quickly followed.

Jessie now stood before him in only her wet shift and stays. God help him—he'd never been so physically affected by a woman in all his life. Too scared to make another move in case it was the wrong one, he ran a hand through his damp hair, waiting for some further direction from the lass.

Even though her back was still toward him, Robert could tell she was fumbling with another set of ties.

When Jessie spoke, her words would surely bring about his undoing. "I'm afraid the laces o' my stays are at the front, and they're knotted too tightly. My…my fingers do no' seem to be working verra well." Her whole body was trembling, and her voice was little more than a husky whisper.

And then Robert's breath snagged inside his chest as Jessie turned to face him.

Christ, she's beautiful .

He was stunned. Enthralled.

Her luscious figure and wild red hair were bathed in golden firelight. And her lovely face… Her eyes were cast downward, her cheeks flushed, and her full lips slightly parted. Above the damp, almost transparent linen of her shift, the plump mounds of her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing. Rogue that he was, he burned to know the color of her nipples.

Thanking the Lord she couldn't hear his rampantly lustful thoughts, Robert raised his hands and proceeded to untie the stay's stubborn laces. When his knuckles accidentally brushed the soft, full underside of Jessie's breasts, he almost groaned. As soon as the task was accomplished, he turned abruptly away from her and strode over to the fireplace on the other side of the room.

The logs weren't the only things in this bedchamber that were aflame. Robert gripped the rough stone mantelpiece as though he were about to rip it apart. He was going to need a dram of whisky, or to go out into the freezing rain—or perhaps both—before he would be able to attend to Jessie's arm.

Behind him, he heard the soft plop of wet garments on the floor then the rustle of dry fabric as Jessie pulled on the clothes he'd provided—a linen shirt like his own and a Clan Grant hunting plaid. He was relieved his family's plaids hadn't been confiscated by the dragoons hereabouts. Since the Rebellion, the wearing of tartan cloth had been banned except for members of the Black Watch. Still safely folded in the chest at the end of the bed between disintegrating bunches of dried lavender, it looked like the clothing hadn't been disturbed for years.

Perhaps ten years.

When Robert turned around, he was surprised at how much it pleased him to see Jessie in his clan's colors. They suited her well. But then, she'd look gorgeous in a sackcloth and ashes.

He forced himself to meet her wary gaze. She was obviously waiting for his next move. Smiling in an attempt to affect a calm he in no way felt, he said gruffly, "Right, Jessie. Let's get this arm seen to."

Jessie nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. She didn't think she'd ever endured anything so disquieting before. The stranger who'd accidentally shot her had just undressed her. Instead of being horrified, she'd all but welcomed his touch.

Good Lord. What did that say about her? When had she become such a wanton?

Indeed, she couldn't meet Rob's eyes when he swung her up into his arms and carried her through into the next room.

Could one die from mortification?

The hunting lodge seemed to consist of two main areas: the bedchamber they'd just quit, and the room they were presently in—a relatively spacious kitchen-cum-dining-room. It was furnished with a large oak dining setting, a matching dresser, and several armchairs and a low table were arranged before the fireplace. Through an open doorway on the far side of the room, Jessie also spied a smaller chamber which appeared to contain little more than a single pallet bed. Saddlebags were piled near another door that she presumed led outside. Tobias, now also dry, stood by the fire, lighting candles upon the mantelpiece with a taper.

The young man sent her an uncertain smile as Rob conveyed her over to the sitting area and placed her gently in the armchair closest to the hearth. It was only then that Jessie noticed the curious array of items covering the low wooden table: several large bowls, one filled with water; a towel beside several torn strips of linen; a small leather pouch and a silver clan brooch; and finally, a pair of glass tumblers and a bottle of whisky.

Jessie bit her lip as trepidation nipped. She suddenly felt nervous. Very nervous.

Rob, his expression now grave, sat on a padded footstool to her left. He clubbed his hair back with a leather tie, all business. "All right, lass. Let's roll up that sleeve."

Before she could even say aye or nay, he pushed the loose fabric up to her shoulder and pinned it out of the way with the silver brooch. It was disturbing to see how much blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage. Jessie bit her lip harder and tried not to whimper as Rob unwound the linen. Every movement increased the throbbing.

When the bandage was off, she stole a glance at Rob's face. His brow had knitted into a deep frown. "How bad is it?" she whispered. She swore that she could feel fresh warm blood oozing down her arm.

"Deeper than I thought, but I've seen worse." Rob looked straight into her eyes. "Jessie, you're going to have to be brave for a wee bit longer."

Her stomach flipped like a landed salmon. "Wh-What do you mean?"

Rob squeezed her hand, the heat of his touch nothing now compared to the panic rising within her. "This may sound odd, but I've learned from experience that wounds should be thoroughly cleaned to avoid any purulence developing. For some reason that I cannot explain, the uisge beatha " — he nodded at the bottle of whisky—"seems to do the trick. Once that's done, I'll…I'll have to put in a few stitches. Five or six at most."

Jessie closed her eyes and nodded. She did not like the sound of this at all.

"I want you to drink this first." Rob was offering her a tumbler with a sizable dram of the whisky in it. She took a tentative sip. It tasted of peat and honey as it burned a warm trail down her tight throat.

"All of it, lass. It will help."

Jessie obediently tossed it back. The whisky was potent stuff and made her cough a little. On an empty stomach, it was already going straight to her head. Not only that, but an odd warmth seemed to be penetrating her limbs, making her feel as limp and relaxed as a rag doll…until Rob glanced at Tobias who'd been hovering nearby and said, "Can you hold her lower arms, lad?" Rob's eyes returned to hers. "I won't lie to you, Jessie. This bit is going to hurt."

Jessie's heart crashed against her ribs and her throat constricted as Tobias reached from behind and firmly held her forearms against the arms of the chair. With horrified fascination, she watched as Rob poured out another measure of whisky into a clean tumbler. He dipped a pad of folded linen into it. Then, with a steady hand, he pressed the whisky-soaked pad against her open wound.

Jessie couldn't contain her scream. Excruciating fire ripped through her and she bucked against Tobias's hold. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps and nausea swelled within her. "I'm goin' to be sick."

Rob was ready for her. He calmly and swiftly placed an empty bowl in her lap and held back her hair as she brought up the meager contents of her stomach. When she was done, he wiped her face gently with the clean towel and offered her a tumbler of water to rinse out her mouth.

"All right, the worst part's almost over, lass," he said, compassion lighting his eyes. "Tobias will hold you still again while I put in the stitches."

Jessie nodded, too weak to speak. She was trembling from head to toe. Would this nightmare ever be over?

Rob opened the small leather pouch and threaded a needle with fine cotton. These he also doused in whisky before he proceeded to stitch the laceration. It hurt like the very devil and brought stinging tears to Jessie's eyes, but Rob had been correct when he'd said that the worst part was almost over. He was efficient and in no time at all, the stitches were in. To finish, he applied another bandage of fresh linen, then let down her sleeve.

When he was done, Robert sat back and wiped a hand down his face. For all his outward calm, his fingers were now slightly shaking too.

He offered her a weak smile. "We're nearly finished."

Jessie swallowed hard. "What do ye mean, nearly? "

Rob moved even closer to her and gently pushed her drying hair away from her left temple. "I wanted to check the graze from the splinter." With a fresh damp cloth, he carefully wiped away traces of dried blood which the rain obviously hadn't washed away.

His face was very close. Too close. Jessie's gaze dropped from his dark blue eyes to his wide sensual mouth, just inches from her own. What would it be like to be kissed by those lips?

Although heat flooded her cheeks at the errant thought, she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away. What in heaven's name was wrong with her? Shock and the whisky had clearly addled her brain.

Tobias cleared his throat. "Och…weel, I'll just clean up a few things, shall I, milord? I mean, Rob. And then I'll ready supper."

Rob shook his head a little as if he were waking up and a wee bit dazed. He drew back slightly then nodded curtly at Tobias who was already beating a hasty retreat outside with the discarded bowl and used tumblers. A gust of freezing wind blew in from the night, and the candle flames and fire guttered before the door slammed shut. The strange mood was broken.

Rob turned back to Jessie, all business again. "Well, let's bind this troublesome ankle before supper, shall we? I don't know about you, but I'm famished."

Jessie couldn't have said why, but the mischievous imp inside her that was forever getting her into trouble, decided to show itself. She affected a sigh then curved her mouth into a rueful smile. "Such a shame we're no' having venison."

Rob, clearly startled, raised his eyebrows then threw his head back and laughed. "I couldn't agree with you more, Jessie Munroe," he said, amusement and perhaps even admiration dancing in his eyes. "I couldn't agree more."