Janet stood in the center of the rose bedchamber while Mrs. Tweedie worked on the hem of one of Emma’s kirtles. “It will only take a moment to tack this up. At least it will set you to rights until the seamstress returns.”
Janet swiped a hand across her forehead. “Och, I do not ken why everyone is making such a fuss.”
“I don’t think it is a fuss,” said Emma from her perch on the chair. “You need a change of clothes and loose sleeves for your arm.”
Since the healer had replaced the splint, Janet felt more comfortable, though she couldn’t discount the benefits of the tincture and the feather mattress. She’d slept better last eve than she had since her fall. This morn Robert had started the ado by summoning the dressmaker after the morning meal. The woman had taken measurements and left, saying she would return with new clothes a sennight hence. Next Emma had volunteered one of her kirtles for the interim. The problem was that Robert’s sister was a good six inches taller than Janet.
“I thank you.” Janet glanced at the heap of blue taffeta discarded in the corner. “I’m afraid my gown is ruined.” It had suffered tears and snags during her tumble from the cliff, not to mention the dirt and grime from spending three days in the bothy. Her shift’s condition was equally deplorable. Fortunately, Emma had found a spare that had been her mother’s. It smelled of camphor, but Janet wasn’t about to complain, because the length was perfect. And it felt wonderful to have fresh linen against her skin.
Emma stood and held out her hand, smiling expectantly. Guessing the lass wanted her to respond, Janet grasped the lass’s fingertips. “Is all well?”
“Aye.” Emma slowly moved her free hand to the sling and touched it lightly. “Does your injury pain you overmuch?”
“I’ll not say ’tisn’t uncomfortable, but I am certain the worst is past.”
“You mustn’t jostle it,” said Mrs. Tweedie with a mouth full of pins.
“True,” Janet agreed. “Any wee bump hurts so badly my head spins.”
Emma moved her hand to Janet’s shoulder. “May I see you?”
“Don’t mind her.” Mrs. Tweedie scooted around to the back. “She sees with her fingertips.”
That’s why she acts awfully familiar. Janet nodded—though, realizing the gel wouldn’t be able to observe the gesture, she also replied, “Certainly.”
Emma placed her cool palms on Janet’s cheeks. “I ken our clans have feuded, but I hope you and I can be friends.”
“I’d like that very much.” Janet closed her eyes while curious fingertips skimmed across her lids.
“’Tis forever lonely at Moriston Hall.” The fingers continued upward.
“Do you attend clan gatherings?”
“Aye, clan only, otherwise I must be kept hidden.”
Janet knit her brows. “Why?”
“Robert says ’tis for my own good—as did our father afore he passed.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“But it is the way of it. People outside of kin are afraid of the blind—they think us demons.”
Janet knew how superstition pervaded the Highlands, and Emma was right. Being out in the public eye could be traumatizing. Nonetheless, the poor lass deserved happiness, just as did any living soul.
“Your hair is soft,” said Emma, still smiling, even though Janet was trying to blink back tears. How awful it must be to grow up without sight, let alone be kept hidden.
Janet sniffed. “’Tis an unruly bird’s-nest most of the time.”
Laughter accompanied the fingers as they swooped over Janet’s coiffure, breaking every rule about maintaining a respectable distance. “I think you’re telling tall tales.”
“Oh no,” Janet said emphatically. “My lady’s maid complains about the knots often enough. Though Robert…” Goodness, her face grew hot while she drew her hand over her mouth.
“Robert?” asked Emma and Mrs. Tweedie in chorus.
Why didn’t I think before I blurted his name? Janet certainly couldn’t mention a word about the bath—or being naked and soaking wet, for that matter. “W-well, I’m left-handed, and when we were trapped in the bothy, my hair was in a tangle…f-from the fall, and Mr. Grant used my comb to work through the knots. Believe it or not, he was a fair bit gentler than Lena, my maid.”
“I believe it. Robert has a great capacity for tenderness—at least with people he deems worthy.” Seeing with her hands, Emma made her way back to the chair and sat. “Hmm. I reckon my brother is fond of you.”
“Heaven’s stars.” Janet gripped her midriff to quell the sudden fluttering. “I think His Lairdship acted out of chivalry and will be much relieved when I am no longer a thorn in his side.”
“Hogwash,” blurted Mrs. Tweedie, being quite free with her opinion. She lumbered to her feet. “I’ve known that lad since the day he was born, and I’ll tell you right now, he’s enamored with you.”
“Oh no, I—”
“I think so as well.” Emma bobbed her head. “He’s never brought a lady to Moriston Hall.”
“He hasn’t. And he shouldn’t have brought you here, either, you being Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel’s daughter.” Mrs. Tweedie fanned her face. “Lord kens what will happen now.”
“Nothing. Mr. Grant will take me home as soon the roads clear, and that will be that.” She highly doubted an entire sennight would pass before Robert ignored Mary Catherine’s orders and decided to take her home. Janet moved to the looking glass and pretended to examine her hem while her heart raced. His Lairdship couldn’t possibly harbor feelings for her…just as she should not have any feelings for him. She brushed her fingers across her lips. Too clear in her memory was the passionate kiss they’d shared. A forbidden, secret, and irresponsible act neither one of them could afford to repeat.
The problem was that she’d enjoyed it, wanted more, craved more every time she thought of him—his ruggedness, the scar forming on his cheek, the vivid intensity of his gaze. Lord knew she was in uncharted and dangerous waters. Worse, nothing good could come of an affair between them. She could not entertain the idea of a union with a Grant, even though he was a laird in possession of a great many acres of land and a fine manse. Her father would sooner lock her in her bedchamber for the rest of her days than consent to such a marriage—if Robert were so inclined, of course.
I’m daft and thinking like a brainless finch. Robert Grant has no more interest in me than he would in an alehouse tart. He said himself he was no stranger to women’s garments. I mustn’t forget that he is a rake and no better than his reputation.
“Och, you’re full of doom and gloom, Mrs. Tweedie.” Emma tapped her chin. “If Robert is smitten, then everything will work out for the best.”
The housekeeper busied herself by putting away her shears, silk, and pins. “Aye, if you’re living in a fairy tale.”
“Whyever can they not?” asked Emma.
“Please, enough of this talk.” Janet faced them. “My arm will heal quickly. I shall return home to my kin, and you’ll most likely never see me again.”
“But I thought you said we’d be friends.” Emma folded her arms and frowned.
“We will be. You are welcome to visit me at Achnacarry anytime. I will make sure of it.”
“That would be well and good, but I ken you’re bonny—and affable. You’ll be escorted down the wedding aisle soon,” Emma ventured, growing meddlesome while Mrs. Tweedie looked on with an inquisitive stare. “Are you already promised?”
The door swung open.
“Ah—Rob—er—Mr. Grant,” Janet said in far too high a pitch.
He stepped in and bowed. “Ladies.”
She returned his bow with a hasty curtsy. “As you see, Mrs. Tweedie has kindly hemmed one of Emma’s kirtles for me.”
“It looks fine.” His eyes flickered no farther than her bodice while he moved nearer. “The courier is here to take my missive to your father. Before he sets out, I thought you might like to write to him as well.”
Janet glanced to her sling. “I would most definitely, but I’m afraid I am unable to hold a quill.”
“Thought of that—if you dictate, I’ll write on your behalf.”
“See, Mrs. Tweedie,” said Emma. “Everything will be set to rights. I feel it in my bones.”
Robert’s smile fell. “What’s this? Are the pair of you conspiring?”
“Never.” For a sightless lass, Emma had quite an expressive face. She was scheming all right. Though Mrs. Tweedie looked far less amused.
His Lairdship beckoned Janet with his fingers. “Come. I have parchment and quill waiting in the library.” Offering his elbow, the Highlander escorted Janet away. Thank heavens. Things had grown far too intrusive in the rose bedchamber. If Robert hadn’t come when he did, Mrs. Tweedie might have started mustering the Grant defenses, and Emma seemed apt to send for the local minster to administer hasty wedding vows.
“I hope my sister hasn’t been too overbearing,” he said.
“Not at all. She’s charming.”
“And a bit impractical. Woefully, I have had no choice but to keep her sheltered from society because of her…blindness.” He whispered the word as if it pained him to think of his sister as imperfect—a demon, as many would believe. “She doesn’t understand many things.”
“Oh no, I venture to guess you underestimate Emma. She’s perceptive as well as bonny.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He opened the library door and ushered her inside. The room was lined with shelves and great leather-bound volumes. It smelled of old parchment and the candle wax encrusting the chandelier above. On the floor, a woolen Persian rug with filigrees of red, ivory, and black muffled their footsteps.
He moved to a writing table, but Janet chose not to follow. “Have you considered when you will start searching for a husband for her?” She could do a bit of scheming of her own.
Robert’s eyebrows drew together, darkening the rugged angles of his face. “Heavens no. The lass is only seventeen.”
Janet tiptoed nearer. “But she will be ready to wed afore you know it, and her suitor will need to be a patient and affectionate man.”
He eyed her. “Since when did you grow into such an expert? Besides, if my math is correct, you are five years her senior. It surprises me that a woman as bonny as you hasn’t suitors lined up for miles.”
Janet tensed, unable to form words for a moment, while her own circumstances filled her with foreboding. Truly, since she’d fallen, she had put her lack of prospects out of her mind. Now, not only did Emma remind her of the fact that she was unpromised, with no suitors, Robert saw fit to wave it in front of her face. Worse, once Janet returned home, there was every chance her stepmother would have at least one gentleman waiting to take her away to wedded misery. Shaking her head, she gulped, steeled her nerves, and searched for the right words. “But we are not discussing my prospects. We are discussing Emma’s. A-and her situation is unusual—though not untenable.”
“You may be right, but I’m not about to set out to find a suitor today.”
“Of course not.” Janet stepped beside the desk. “Has she always been sightless?”
“She has. Born prematurely. Truth be told, it is a miracle she survived, though our mother did not.”
“So sad.”
“Emma copes quite well, if you ask me. And she’s no trouble, mind you.” He picked up a chair and moved it next to the one already behind the writing table. “Will you sit?”
Janet slid into the chair while studying Robert in a new light. How many people outside his clan even knew he had a sister, let alone a disadvantaged one? It didn’t seem as though he tried to hide the fact. That he loved her was not in question. Emma was happy and healthy and thriving.
Perhaps I shouldn’t meddle.
Robert dipped the quill in the inkwell. “How would you like to begin?”
“‘Dearest Father.’”
He wrote the salutation in a bold hand while Janet looked on, tapping the corner of her lip. “What have you written to him already?”
“That you were abducted by Winfred Cummins and his dragoons and I intervened to prevent you from incarceration in Fort William. We fled up the slopes of Ben Nevis, your horse foundered whilst crossing Finnach Ridge in the midst of a blizzard. Then I went on to say that once I dug you out, we had no choice but to seek shelter in a bothy where I splinted your arm, and you are now under the care of my sister and the local healer.”
“You explained everything, I see.” Janet drummed her fingers, thankful it was clear he had completely forgotten about the bone-melting, divine kiss that never should have been. The mention of the bothy was dreadful enough. “Perhaps I should make it clear that you are writing on my behalf.”
He nodded. “Just say it as you would in a letter. That would be best.”
“Very well.” She drew in a deep breath. “‘Due to the fact my broken arm prevents me from taking up the quill, Mr. Grant is graciously writing my dictation verbatim. I am happy to report that Mary Catherine, the healer, believes my arm was set nicely, and she expects me to fully recover as long as I remain in a splint and do not injure it again. Because of the likelihood of a fall, given our inclement weather, she recommends I remain in Glenmoriston until the roads are clear and my arm is healed.” Again Janet drummed her fingers and watched until his eagle feather stilled.
Robert glanced up.
“New paragraph.” She flicked her hand at the parchment. “‘I am quite concerned about Kennan. Lieutenant Cummins and his dragoons beat him mercilessly and I would be greatly reassured to receive news of him. As for me, I assure you that Mr. Grant and his sister have treated me like kin, and I want for nothing. I do, however, miss home and look forward to the day when I will again see my beloved Achnacarry…I remain your faithful and loving daughter, Janet.’”
He dipped the quill into the ink and continued writing. “Would you like to try to sign with your right hand?”
“My left, please.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’d like to try.”
“Very well.” Once he’d finished, he slid the parchment over, then inked, blotted, and gave her the quill.
Raising her arm hurt far too much, so she stood and supported her left wrist with her right hand and managed to sign while gnashing her teeth. It took thrice as long to scrawl her name as it normally did.
After she finished, Robert sanded the letter and held it up as he stood. “With a signature as steady as this, you’ll be writing entire missives in no time.”
“I hope so.” Janet leaned forward and replaced the quill in the holder, albeit with her right hand. Content with herself, she stepped back, her heel catching on her hem. “Ack!” she squealed, flinging her only good arm out, reaching for anything to break her fall. But topple she did. Time slowed as she closed her eyes and clutched her sling tight to her body, praying not to suffer another break.
Just as she was certain her backside was about to collide with the Persian rug, Robert scooped an arm behind her back. His face hovered above hers while he drew her upright with his muscular arm as if she were no heavier than a bairn. As her feet touched the floor, that same arm held her securely while he moved a hand to her shoulder, gently steadying her.
Flustered, Janet craned her neck and stared at his face. Eyes like ice pierced her heart. They were shadowy, yet crystalline and focused. Emotion flashed through those eyes: concern, urgency, a touch of humor, and something else—something more powerful. Before Janet could examine him more closely, his gaze flickered to her lips.
“Ah…my hem—” Only two words slipped out before he crushed his mouth to hers, growling soft and low in his throat. A shock of searing heat surged through her as she plunged her fingers into his hair, pulling the thick locks from the ribbon.
The world spun with bone-melting anticipation while he lifted her onto the table. He said not a word, those sharp eyes entrancing her as he carefully drew her sling and arm away from her midriff and rested it on his hip. She grew breathless as he stepped between her knees. Lord in heaven, she’d never experienced such passion in her life. His arms slid around her. His lips slowly lowered. “I need another kiss, lass.”
With a thrilling rush of desire, she parted her lips and savored his taste while he tempted her with hot, deep glides of his tongue. His hips rubbed back and forth between her legs—stoking a forbidden desire—passion more potent than anything she had ever experienced. The world around them swam into oblivion, and she held on, never wanting his kisses to stop. Craving more, needing more, moving in tandem with the daring and primitive tempo Robert commanded with the rocking of his hips.