As he did every Tuesday when he was in residence, Robert sat in the great hall and listened to supplications from clansmen and women. “Who’s next?” he asked his factor, Mr. Wallis, who kept the Grant books of accounts in order.
Wallis ran his pointer finger down his ledger. “Tavis and Shane have a wee dispute.”
“When do they not?” Robert flicked his wrist. “Bring them in.”
The two crofters sauntered forward with their bonnets in hand.
Robert sat forward in his velvet-upholstered chair. “What’s the issue this time, gentlemen?”
Shane gave his neighbor a snort, then spread his hands to his sides. “Tavis’s ram keeps jumping the fence. I scarcely have enough hay to feed my own sheep, let alone that rogue beast.”
“The ram again, is it?” Robert asked. “What say you, Tavis?”
“The wee beastie only has a hankering for the ewes on the other side. He’s doin’ more swivin’ than eatin’.”
Robert scratched his chin and looked to the other. “If that’s the case, I’d reckon you’re building your herd. Tavis’s ram is a fine specimen. Much stockier than that spindly beast you keep.”
Tavis grinned.
As expected, Shane’s frown grew deeper. “Och, all my ewes are already pregnant.”
“Is that so?” Tavis asked, crossing his arms.
“Aye.”
“Most are impregnated by my ram, mind you.”
“Tell you what.” Robert held up his palm to stop their bickering. “Tavis, I charge you with building a higher fence. And Shane, to show your appreciation for the service of your neighbor’s ram, you’ll grant him your largest lamb come fall.”
“My largest, sir?”
Robert looked the man in the eye. “Or allow Tavis to have his pick. Now off with you both. I’ve better things to do with my time than listen to frivolous squabbles.”
Neither man was smiling when they left, but Miss Janet’s grin was enough to warm the chill out of winter when she came inside. “I have some news.”
He beckoned her closer while shifting his gaze to his factor. “Is there anyone else waiting?”
Wallis checked his ledger. “Not unless someone has arrived whilst we’ve been in session.”
“Go check, please. I need a word with Miss Janet.” After Mr. Wallis left, Robert turned his attention to the lass, his fingers itching to grab her hand and pull her onto his lap. Fresh in his mind was the memory of the wee hours of last eve, her warm thighs either side of his face. “What is your news?”
She waggled her shoulders as if very proud of herself. “The tinkers do not ken the name of the person who paid them to poach your cattle, but they ken what he looks like.”
Robert’s jaw dropped. “They admitted to poaching my cattle?”
“They had a hand in it—and the thefts occurred over several weeks—whenever the shepherd was elsewhere. And the tinkers were paid poorly, if you ask me.”
“How much?
“One penny per head.”
“That is ridiculous, considering each man could swing from the gallows for reiving cattle.” He tapped his lips. “You said a person hired them. What does this vagrant look like?”
Janet’s shoulders danced again. “He’s plain, brown hair, stands about seventeen hands, and has a dark mark on the side of his right cheek…and he has beady eyes. Do you ken anyone of that description?”
“About half the men in Ross-shire.”
“I’ll wager the mark will help us. They said it was prominent.” She smiled. “And I cannot think of a single one of my father’s men thusly described.”
That still doesn’t mean Lochiel is innocent. “Didn’t they ask his name? Where is the man from? Where did he plan to sell my beasts? Was he dressed like a tinker or a gentleman?”
“They said the stranger wore Highland dress, but—” She tapped her lips.
“Yes?”
“He didn’t sound as if he hailed from these parts and definitely wasn’t a Gaelic speaker—they thought he might be a Lowlander.”
“The plot thickens. And all from a gift of a few blankets.”
“I reckon the hot cider made up their minds for the most part.”
Robert could resist no longer. He snatched Janet’s hand and pulled her onto his lap. Careful not to jostle her arm, he nuzzled her ear. “What else did you learn about my prisoners?”
Giggling, she leaned away. “They’re poor, broken men who are down on their luck, for the most part.”
He brushed an errant curl away from her face. “Men who turned to thievery. They cannot be trusted. How do you know any of what they told you is true?”
“The leader says he marched to Edinburgh with the Grant regiment in 1708 when the true king sailed to the Firth of Forth from France.” Janet examined Robert’s scar, drawing her finger down the length of it.
“He did.” He enjoyed having her eyes on him. “Leith is from Inverness, had a taste for drink and an aversion to hard work. It didn’t surprise me to see he’d taken up with that mob of tinkers.”
Her gaze shifted to his mouth. “Half of them are young lads from the crofts. They have no trade and no work.”
Robert moistened his lips. “If offered a day’s work for fair wages, I doubt they’d finish the job afore they tired—or pilfered something.”
“Mayhap you could give them a try.” She dipped her chin.
“And have my silver go missing?” He guided her face closer with the crook of his finger.
“Is silver more important than souls?” she asked, her voice soft and dreamy.
Swallowing, he yearned to kiss her. “Perhaps I can find them a task where temptation will not whet their appetites.”
“Now there’s a thought.” Finally their lips joined. Warm, delicious, stirring. Robert’s insides turned molten.
But no sooner had he coaxed her lips to join with his than Mr. Wallis appeared and cleared his throat.
Janet flew off Robert’s lap as if she’d been jabbed by a poker. “My heavens, you are brash, sir,” she said, as if acting out a part in a Shakespearean play.
Robert gave her a wolfish grin and played along. “Och, there’s no harm in a wee kiss.”
“So say you.” Clutching her splinted arm against her midriff, she shook her finger, though her eyes twinkled with playfulness. “Just remember that Emma expects you to be dressed in your finest tomorrow evening. She has something grand planned.”
“Bless my sister, and thank you for humoring her. Things are not easy for the lass.”
“No, they are not, though I commend her for her decorum. She sets an example for us all.”
* * *
Janet soon found Emma an ideal student when it came to knitting, and Janet tasked her with making scarves while she focused on mittens, holding one needle stationary in her left hand while working the other with her right. It was arduous, but in two days they’d made sufficient progress.
Stopping only to prepare for dinner, Janet checked her hair in the mirror, recognizing Mrs. Tweedie’s robust knock at the door. “I have something for you.”
“Enter.”
Janet clasped her hands, preparing for another chiding, but the woman smiled, a gown of blue taffeta draped across her arm. “I’ve cleaned and mended this. It would mean ever so much to Miss Emma if you would wear it.”
“My gown?” Janet crossed the floor as Mrs. Tweedie held it up. “Good heavens, it looks new, though I doubt that Emma will mind what I wear one way or the other.”
“She may not see, but Emma senses things you and I would never dream of.” Hmm. There seemed to be many facets to Mrs. Tweedie. And just when Janet was thinking the servants had begun acting aloof, the matron turned about with an unexpected kindness.
“I’m sure that’s true. Every day I grow more astonished by her. And if it will make her happy, I will certainly comply.” Janet released the bow on her kirtle. “We must hurry.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Tweedie set the gown over the chair and helped Janet slip her arm out of the sling. “How is your arm faring?”
“I think it is healing well, though it itches terribly.”
“I’m sure you will be happy when you no longer have to wear the splint.”
“I most certainly will be. I think Emma is making more progress knitting scarves than I am with mittens.”
After donning her third petticoat, Janet stepped into the gown. “So much has happened since the Samhain gathering it makes my head spin to think on it.”
“It must be difficult to be away from your kin for so long.”
“I do miss home, I suppose.” To be honest, Janet hadn’t thought much of Achnacarry in the past weeks. She’d traveled to Inverlochy with Kennan to escape her stepmother and to secretly observe the gentlemen for a possible suitor. Nonetheless, after Mrs. Tweedie had been so outspoken, Janet hadn’t been inclined to discuss anything of a personal nature. The fact that the woman had taken it upon herself to clean and repair the gown was a surprise—and the work hadn’t been done hastily.
Mrs. Tweedie threaded the bodice laces in the back. “This is such a fine color on you. It enhances your eyes.”
“How very nice of you to say.” Over her shoulder, Janet looked at the woman pointedly. “I beg your pardon, but yesterday I believed you would prefer to have me return to Achnacarry as soon as practicable. What has changed?”
“I want to see Miss Emma happy.” The woman pursed her lips as her gaze shifted away.
Janet tapped her lips with her pointer finger. It didn’t take a seer to realize Mrs. Tweedie was either fabricating her response altogether or hiding something. “Mr. Grant asked you to repair the gown, did he not?”
“Aye.”
“And he also asked you to help me dress, I imagine.”
Though she didn’t respond, by the scarlet infusing the woman’s cheeks, Janet had guessed right.
Janet inhaled deeply. “Well, I think Mr. Grant is a remarkable man, and when I do return to my kin, my father will certainly hear of it.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if the feud between our clans were no more? Heaven’s stars, we have enough to worry about with that imposter on the throne and her brother living in exile.”
“Yes, miss.” Now this was more like the Mrs. Tweedie she’d come to know. The woman hadn’t taken it upon herself to mend the gown. And for some reason she’d now decided it best to hold her tongue.
What if Robert tried to resolve the feud between their clans? What then? Would they have a chance at everlasting happiness? Might he ask her to marry him?
Janet’s insides swirled with bubbles of joy…until she thought about her father.
Would the great chieftain of Clan Cameron pay heed to a Grant laird and agree to start anew, or would he take up his sword?