The answer to Janet’s question came three days later.
Though first, when Robert met them in the entry hall for Sunday services, his stitches were missing, the pink scar prominent just behind his dimple. Janet couldn’t help but stare at it curiously during the sermon. “Why did you not ask me to remove them?”
He gave her a look. “’Twas no bother. Wheesht.”
Still, since Janet had been the one to sew him, she felt she should have been asked to remove the sutures. The service continued with nothing further said, and, afterward, Robert dutifully helped the ladies aboard his new, shiny pony cart. Though the bench looked as if two people might ride comfortably, Emma insisted there was ample room for three, and the Grant heirs bookended Janet, squeezing her in the middle.
She cradled her arm against her stomach while the cart rolled over the rocky path, making all three of them jounce to and fro like a boat sailing through heavy swells. It hurt, but the pain wasn’t unbearable. Emma chatted continuously while Robert manned the reins, his thigh firmly wedged against Janet’s. If she moved to the left, she shifted into Emma. Afraid a jolt might make her knock the lass off her perch, Janet opted to accept the close quarters and lean in to Robert. Sturdy as a stone wall, he seemed not to notice, driving the team of two garron ponies at a lazy walk—any faster and the little cart might lose its wheels on account of the holes and rocks while they rode beneath a canopy of brown trees, their spindly limbs dormant until spring.
“Do you visit the falls often?” Janet asked.
“Mostly in summer,” Emma responded. “But it is so nice to be out and about after enduring such inclement weather.”
“’Tis only November.” Robert looked to the clouds overhead. “There’s plenty of snow and rain yet to come afore springtime.”
“Och, ’tis always raining.” Janet took advantage of the cart’s sway and slipped her hand into the crook of Robert’s elbow—for balance, of course. “My da says if Scots waited until the sun shone, they’d have no fun at all.”
“Well spoken.” Emma beamed. Though she was bundled in her cloak and bonnet, the happiness in her expression was as if she kept a treasure of sunshine in her heart.
Janet smiled in response. “I do believe you have the most positive outlook of any soul I’ve ever met.”
“I agree,” said Robert.
“Why should I not? Things are ever so miserable if one broods about, always filled with melancholy.”
The roar of the water neared until the trees parted and they crossed a narrow bridge. Robert stopped the team and pointed. “The falls start at those rocks.”
“I love the sound,” said Emma.
Janet leaned forward. All around them, hills spotted with patches of snow sloped down to the river and its white swells. The banks were lined with trees thick with green moss. “This place must be magical in summer—I’d like to see it then.”
Robert slapped the reins. “I hope you can, though I venture you’ll be completely healed and reunited with your kin well before.”
A hollowness took up residence in Janet’s chest. Only a few weeks past, she had considered Robert Grant one of the vilest miscreants who stalked the Highlands. Just because she had an affinity to the man didn’t negate the timeworn feud between their clans.
Out of the corner of her eye, she observed him—tawny locks clubbed back, though a wave of hair skimmed his cheek right where his stitches had been. In truth, the scar added to his allure, that and the hint of stubble along his angled jaw. The fullness of his lips, a mouth she had kissed fervently more than once—a mouth she’d like to kiss again. Forbidden temptation.
With a sharp inhalation, she forced herself to look straight ahead and change her train of thought. What am I doing?
They arrived at a stone bower that might have served for a medieval watchtower had there been anything to guard aside from the rushing falls. “What is this place?”
“An old shelter built by our great-grandfather.” Robert secured the reins.
“’Tis a magical place where fairies make mischief.” Emma gave her a playful nudge.
The big laird hopped down from the cart and offered his hand. “I sent Jimmy ahead to light a fire in the brazier. The bower ought to be toasty warm for our luncheon.”
Janet placed her fingers in his palm. But when she looked to the ground, she hesitated. Goodness, it seemed a long hop down. Before she uttered a word, Robert’s big hands closed around her waist. Strong fingers gripped her securely, but not so tight as to leave a bruise. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his shoulder as he lifted. But he didn’t just set her on her feet. Oh no, he drew her against his hard chest, his heartbeat thrumming through the folds of his cloak. His lips parting. Janet watched his eyes turn from ice blue to midnight as he gradually lowered her until her toes touched the earth. Powerless, she remained captive to his spell, expecting and wanting him to dip his chin and kiss her.
“Excuse me,” Emma piped from behind. “I’m waiting, mind you.”
The magic broke when Robert shifted his gaze. “Forgive me, Sister.”
Janet bumbled aside while he helped Emma alight, lifting the lass and setting her on her feet, much as he’d done for Janet. Except it wasn’t the same. Robert didn’t take his time or gaze upon his sister’s face or hold her aloft.
He gestured to the bower. “Go on inside and warm your hands. I’ll fetch the basket.”
* * *
Robert’s mind cleared when Janet took Emma’s arm and led her into the bower. Good God, it was all he could do to keep his hands on the reins while the lass sat beside him, the supple curve of her thigh pressing against his. He thought he’d grown impervious to her scent, but she smelled as tempting as whisky laced with lavender. How the hell did she manage to discombobulate him every time she was in his presence? Had he gone completely senseless? Christ, he’d nearly kissed her when he helped her down. Thank God Emma was there, lest he completely lose control and ravish the forbidden Janet Cameron.
He toted the basket inside the old ruin and took it to the bench across the brazier from Janet. Sitting beside her was as dangerous as boarding a sinking ship. I never should have brought her to Moriston Hall. She was right, dammit. I should have set a course for Achnacarry and taken my chances.
“What’s in the basket?” Janet asked. Smoke lingered in the air, making her appear surreal.
“Ham, pickles, and bread,” Emma replied.
Robert pulled away the cloth and looked inside. “And a flagon of watered wine with wooden cups and plates.”
“That is practical. Allow me to help serve,” Janet said, joining him. She reached for the plates, her fingers sliding over the back of Robert’s hand. His breath caught. The softness of her touch made gooseflesh rise across his skin. Aye, he. The great Grant laird tingled at the caress of a wee maid—a woman he had no business lusting after. He reached out to pat her shoulder but stilled his hand in midair.
I would be a cad to encourage her affection.
He busied himself pouring the wine while watching the lass out of the corner of his eye. Even with one hand, she efficiently portioned the plates, first giving one to Emma, then offering him one. “I hope you are hungry. There’s enough food here to feed ten men.”
Robert couldn’t help but meet her gaze. Her cornflower-blue eyes were kind, and blonde curls framed her face beneath her tartan bonnet.
“My thanks,” he said hoarsely, taking the plate and giving her a goblet in return.
Once everyone was served, Janet ventured back to her place across the fire. Though the bower was only ten feet wide, she seemed too far away. A hollowness spread through Robert’s chest. He ached to touch her as she nibbled a bit of ham, the heat from the brazier making her face waver. In the future all his dreams would be filled with this vision of grace.
She smiled and looked down, blushing. “You said your great-grandfather built this place. What was its purpose?”
“He built it for his wife…ah…” Robert stopped himself before he blurted the story. God, he was daft.
“They once came here for the magic,” Emma broke in. “Great-Grandmamma said the water from the falls makes wives fertile and men…” She laughed and shook her head. Thankfully Emma didn’t say “hard,” but judging by the O forming on Janet’s lips, she understood the idea.
Uncomfortable silence filled the air.
Janet fanned her face. “So,” she said in a very high pitch, “That’s why ’tis magical.”
“Aye,” Emma agreed, “and to add testament to it, Great-Grandmamma birthed seven sons and four daughters.”
The poor lass’s jaw dropped, though she refused to look Robert’s way. Instead her cheeks grew scarlet while she turned to stare out the window.
He took a long swig of watered wine, wishing it were something stronger. “Now the bower is just used for clan gatherings. In summer we oft turn a pig on a spit whilst the wee ones wade in the pool down below.”
“Hmm.” Janet returned her attention to her plate. “That sounds lovely. Our gatherings at Achnacarry are usually on the banks of the River Arkaig.”
“Is there a waterfall?” asked Emma, growing oddly still.
“Not like Moriston Falls. The river is wide, though in places it moves swiftly with white water, especially when the floods come.”
“A rider’s coming,” said Emma.
Robert’s spine went rigid as he turned his ear, but he heard only the rush of the falls. Still, it wasn’t wise to ignore his sister’s warning. Emma could hear a whisper two rooms away. “I’ll see what it is about.” Standing, he picked up his musket and headed to a vantage point where he had a clear view of the bridge.
No sooner had he raised the butt of his rifle to his cheek than Jimmy rode out onto the bridge at a canter, leaning over his horse’s withers as if he was on a mission of grave import. Robert lowered his weapon and met the lad at the bend. “What’s afoot?”
“Lewis has returned with news. Word is there’s a band of thieves holed up in the caves of Creag Ard.”
Robert scratched his chin—Creag Ard was no more than thirty miles away. “Bloody hell, that’s practically near enough to spit.”
“Aye, and I’ll reckon the bastards poached our yearlings, altered their brands, and drove them thorough the glens. Sold them at Crieff market—clear the other side of the mountains from Inverlochy.”
“Blast. Why are we only finding these thieves out now?”
“You’ve found the cattle thieves?” Janet asked, dashing from the bower.
“It looks as if we may have. And there’s no time to waste. Quickly, pack the basket. Jimmy, go on ahead and tell the men we ride in an hour. I’ll be there shortly, and I’ll want a full account of these miscreants from Lewis straightaway.”