The Master Of Strathburn (6 page)

Tears of relief and gratitude filled Jessie’s eyes. ‘I canna thank you 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 tha’ way by myself. It is well over one hundred miles.’

Mrs MacMillan nodded. ‘The public coach from Inverness passes by the Strathspey Inn in Grantown-on-Spey, two days from now. At noon. It only goes by once a month an’ it is verra slow. But respectable folk use it. Why, even Mrs MacIntosh, the kirkman’s wife, has travelled to Edinburgh on it, to visit her sister. And I would be happy to help ye with the money for the fare.’

Jessie smiled. ‘No, that willna be necessary, dear Mrs MacMillan. You are too kind. I have a wee bit o’ money set aside. But the question is,’ she sighed heavily, ‘what shall I do between now an’ when the coach leaves? I still need to avoid Mr Grant. If I stay here, or even at the inn in Kilburn or Grantown, I am certain he will find me.’

‘Aye. And he wouldna think twice aboot forcing himself on ye, even at an inn. You 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.’

Jessie paused beneath a Scots pine 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 doxy. She’d much rather scale mountains and traverse lonely upland moors any day.

Glancing upwards 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 hunting lodge. Two nights—tonight and tomorrow—were all that Jessie had to brave alone before she made her way to Grantown-on-Spey on the other side of the range.

A solitary cloud passed across the midday sun and a chill breeze pulled at the loose curls that had already escaped Jessie’s braid. It was time to press on. The weather still held relatively fair, but up here, the elements could change in the space of a moment. Jessie knew that the sooner she reached the shelter of the hunting lodge, the better. As she only had her wren-brown woollen gown and travelling cloak to wear, 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, steeper still. Tumbled boulders and outcroppings of rock appeared and the wind-bent Scots pines thinned out. The ground became less even and she needed to take care where she stepped. When she at last reached the narrow pass curling between towering pillars of grey 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 had packed her satchel so hurriedly she’d forgotten a water flask. But if she had followed Mrs MacMillan’s directions accurately and was on the right track—and she fervently hoped that 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 between fallen, jagged-edged rocks. She was relieved that she had not ridden Blaeberry along this obviously long neglected route. Mrs MacMillan had been right; she had 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. 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 knew 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 grey rocks and expanses of bruise-coloured 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, agonising 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, her 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 woollen 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 ankle into the frigid water and prayed the cold would ease the swelling.

With clumsy, trembling fingers, she 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, he probably wouldn’t even notice she was missing until later on this afternoon or even perhaps this evening. She trusted Mrs MacMillan’s assertion that Simon loathed hunting and that he hadn’t set foot up here since the age of fourteen.

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
. As far as she could see, 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 chance that she’d be able to get her boot on, so she shoved it into her satchel. For the moment, getting to the hunting lodge also 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 little while …

* * *

Jessie awoke with a start, her heart beating a wild tattoo. For a moment she had no idea where she was other than she seemed to be face down in a pile of autumn leaves. 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 still seemed to throb 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 light had faded. She must have been asleep for hours. Looking beyond the copse she noticed ponderous grey clouds had gathered over the mountains and a clinging, damp mist was beginning to form 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 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 her and a searing pain shot through her upper arm. Jessie screamed. And then her world turned black.

* * *

Robert’s heart froze, his blood turning to ice when he heard the scream—the terrified scream of a woman. The roe deer he had been stalking for his evening meal had 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 lad’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 tha’, 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 young woman he had 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?
Icy 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 when 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 had sustained was a fairly shallow graze to her left upper arm. The sleeve of her brown gown was torn and stained with blood. He 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. He also noticed that her right boot was missing.
Curious.

‘She’ll be all right, lad, it’s just a graze.’ He addressed Tobias over his shoulder. The lad 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 ran a hand through his hair. ‘I have no idea.’

Tobias moved closer and dropped to his knees beside Robert. ‘Isna … isna that the lass ye told me aboot, the one tha’ was wi’ yer brother? What are we going to do with her?’

‘Yes, I believe it’s the same woman,’ replied Robert, shooting Tobias a glance. ‘And to answer your second question, again I have no idea.’

Just at that moment, Jessie began to stir. She moaned and her eyelids fluttered.

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—and more beautiful than he’d even imagined this morning. She gasped and struggled to sit up, to push away from him. She was obviously terrified. But she was 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.

* * *

Blood.

There was blood on her hand and an excruciating pain, like burning, in her left arm. Jessie stared at the bright red smear across her palm and fingers with incomprehension for a moment before rising panic constricted her throat and stole her breath.
What on earth?

Her gaze darted to the strange man bending over her.
Not Simon, thank God
. Deep blue eyes stared straight into hers, but try as she might, she couldn’t make out what the man was saying. She felt muddled, light-headed, like her head was full of stuffing.
This must be what it’s like to be in shock…

Another man with a mess of red hair suddenly appeared in her line of vision. He passed a flask to the blue-eyed man. ‘Here ye are, milord.’

Jessie swallowed. Tried to drag in enough air to speak. ‘Wha’ happened?’ Her voice, when it emerged, sounded hoarse, foreign to her own ears.

The blue-eyed man spoke again and this time she understood. ‘You’ve been the unfortunate victim of a hunting accident,’ he said gently with only the barest trace of a Scottish burr. ‘Your left arm is injured, but not too badly.’

At his words, memory flooded back. There’d been a deer. And a loud crack. A gunshot. Jessie attempted to sit up again and gasped as a hot bolt of pain seared through her arm making the simple action almost impossible. The movement also reminded her that her ankle was sprained, although at this particular moment, the throb of that injury was far less.