“Are you in here?”
Janet jolted awake as the door to the parlor opened and Emma moved inside. “Robert?” she called.
The big Highlander shifted Janet off his chest and stretched. “Aye,” he replied, sounding as if he had gravel in his voice.
“Oh, thank heavens you’re here. ’Tis time to break our fast, and I cannot find Miss Janet anywhere.”
“Ah…” Robert’s gaze shot to the woman in his arms.
Cringing, she straightened her shift, slid the arisaid over her shoulders, and held a finger to her lips to keep him silent. If he took his sister to the dining hall, she just might elude a scandal.
Emma sniffed. “Oh, there you are, Miss Janet. Did you ken there’s a whole band of outlaws in the gaol? Cook is ranting about having a mob of underserving mouths to feed.”
Curses. “I did. A-as a matter of fact, I was just discussing the prisoners with Mr. Grant. Emma, do you ken where I can find old blankets—mayhap some castoff cloaks and hats?”
“It seems the lass wants to shower the tinkers with kindness,” said His Lairdship.
“I’ll wager Mrs. Tweedie can help us there,” Emma agreed, nodding.
Robert rolled his eyes. “Afore we go off making the miscreants all cozy, let us retire to the dining hall to break our fast.”
Janet glanced down at her state of undress, including her bare toes. “Goodness, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my shoes—silly me.”
“No shoes?” asked Emma. “Then you’d best sit close to the hearth.”
Janet wasn’t about to be seen in the dining hall wearing little else but her shift. The servants would be agog with gossip—if they weren’t already. “You pair go on. I won’t be but a moment.”
Robert stood, offered his hand, and pulled Janet dangerously close. “We’ll wait in the hall. Haste ye, for I do not care for cold porridge.”
Janet gave him a pointed look, wedging her fists between them. “V-very well.” she said, twisting away and shaking her finger to tell him to behave. They were no longer alone. Moreover, the servants would be milling about, and if he persisted, a scandal was sure to erupt—assuming it hadn’t already.
She met Mrs. Tweedie on the landing as she dashed up the stairs—speaking of servants. Regrettably, the matron had proved the nosiest of the lot. “My heavens, it is awfully drafty to be so scantily clad.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Not stopping, Janet dashed for the rose bedchamber and closed the door. She clapped a hand to her chest to steady her breathing. What on earth was I thinking? And why did Robert let me fall asleep in the parlor? I’ll wager every servant in the house kens what we were up to by now. Blast it.
Janet nearly leaped out of her skin when a knock came at the door. “Do you need help with your laces, miss?”
Why must she be an invalid at a time like this? “I do,” Janet sighed, opening the door and stepping aside for the housekeeper to enter.
Mrs. Tweedie passed with a knowing glint in her eye and picked up a pair of stays. “You seem out of sorts this morn.”
“I couldn’t sleep…,” Janet explained, her mind racing as she turned her back, letting the woman tie the laces.
“I take it neither you nor the laird slept overmuch.” The nosy shrew was fishing, and Janet wasn’t about to fall into her trap.
Janet stood straight while Mrs. Tweedie slipped a kirtle over her head. “Mr. Grant has a great deal on his mind.”
“I’ll say he does,” the woman agreed.
Pursing her lips, Janet refused to say another word.
Mrs. Tweedie stepped around to fasten the front laces of the gown. “Your arm will be healed in no time, and then the laird will take you back to your kin.”
“He will.”
“In the interim, I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you a word of warning.”
“Oh?” Why will you not let it lie?
“I ken I am but a housekeeper, but I have been a servant in this house most of my life, and I have only the best intentions—for you and for His Lairdship.” She drew an enormous breath through her nostrils. “I have seen the way the pair of you look at each other, and nothing good can come of it. Remember that you are a Cameron. I’ve kent of your da my whole life, and even if Robert lost his mind and fell in love, your father will not approve of such a union. Watch yourself, for you do not want any illegitimate bairns to come nine months hence.”
“Mrs. Tweedie, you misspeak. I would never—”
“Do not go off believing you can pull the wool over my eyes. I am far older, and from my viewpoint you need the wisdom of a mother. In her absence it is my duty to speak firmly with you. The walls of this house have ears and eyes, and I kent you slept in the parlor in Robert’s arms—with hardly a thread hanging from your bones, mind you.”
“I—” Janet coughed out a groan. No, she couldn’t deny what she’d done. But she wasn’t about to apologize to the housekeeper for it. “Nothing untoward happened.”
“Thank the fairies.” Mrs. Tweedie patted the bow she’d tied. “And you’d best ensure you don your shoes, else Miss Emma will ken something’s amiss.”
“I will. And you had best mind your duties.” She wasn’t about to let the woman think she could completely run roughshod over her.
“I always do.” Before Janet could issue any further reprimand, Mrs. Tweedie headed for the door. “And I’ll collect those blankets you’re looking for.”
“Thank you.” The door closed while Janet slipped her feet into her shoes. Blast her meddling. How could I have been so careless? And why did it feel so utterly marvelous?
Once she arrived in the dining hall, Robert and Emma were deep in conversation, bowls of untouched porridge in front of them. Janet slid into her chair and picked up her spoon. “Forgive me. Mrs. Tweedie wanted a word.”
Robert’s eyebrows arched. “Did she?”
“Aye, she’s gathering blankets for the prisoners.” She took a bite. “Emma, do you knit or crochet?”
“Nay, I’ve never tried it.”
“Well, to knit, one needs two hands.”
“I have those.”
“Then I shall teach you. Together we ought to be able to turn out a half-dozen scarves and hats in no time.”
“You’re serious?” asked Robert.
“I am—that is, if you want to find out who the real thieves are. What have your prisoners eaten this morn?”
“Cook gave them porridge.”
“And hot cider?” Janet asked, her hands still trembling from her altercation above stairs.
“Cider?” Robert looked up, aghast.
“Emma, we shall take them some when we give them the blankets.”
“No, you will not,” Robert objected. “You will not approach the gaol without a Grant man accompanying you. Those varlets are ruthless tinkers.”
“I would have thought no less.” Janet reached over and almost patted his arm, as she might do to one of her brothers at home, but if the walls had eyes and ears, she’d best start checking her every move. She snatched her spoon instead. “My, the porridge tastes exceptionally delicious this morn.”