Waiting for the hunting party outside the Duke of Gordon’s enormous Renfrewshire manse, Robert lowered his reins and reined his horse to a stop while Ciar did the same beside him. “I do not want to pretend that murderous thief isn’t at large and ask Miss Janet to go riding as if she were my only care. Why the blazes do you not take her, MacDougall?”
“Because she likes you.”
Robert’s heart skipped a beat, but he wouldn’t give it a second thought. “What about her pernicious brother?”
“He’s gone to Edinburgh—checking on a ship for Sleat.” Ciar thwacked his riding crop against his thigh. “Come, just take Miss Janet riding. She needs to exercise the mount she purchased at the auction.”
Robert ground his molars. It had nearly undone him to see her at the auction. He’d not soon forget how her father had snubbed his offer of hospitality. Hell, even if he still wanted to marry Janet, her father would never give his blessing. “I’m beginning to think you brought me to Glasgow for reasons other than the livestock sale.”
Ciar shrugged, admitting nothing. “You profited well, did you not?”
“I suppose, though not a great deal more than I would have in Inverlochy.” Robert wasn’t about to be swayed by whether he’d profited from the venture or not. “Tell me true, did she put you up to this?”
“Good Lord, if you think that, then you do not deserve her.”
A weight lifted from his shoulders. With his reprimand Ciar had allayed the doubt clawing at Robert’s gut, though he chose not to admit his relief to his friend. “Forgive me. I am irked that Cummins has gone into hiding and here we sit waiting for His Grace to take us on a hunting excursion. I’d rather be manhunting at the moment.”
“The magistrate has taken your statement. The bastard will be ferreted out. Now there’s naught to do but enjoy the morning—mayhap fell a deer.”
The duke rode out of the stable in his finery, and a footman handed him a musket. “Good morn, gentlemen. Are you ready for a wee ride?”
“Aye.” Robert took inventory of the party—Sleat, MacLean, MacDougall, Chisholm, and MacRae were all staunch Jacobites. Tapping his heels, he rode beside Ciar. “At least the duke keeps good company.”
“That he does.”
The Gordon setters ran ahead, yelping loudly enough to ensure every deer within fifty miles knew the hunting party was in pursuit. But Robert rode along, the cool breeze in his face bringing on a sense of calm—something he hadn’t realized how much he needed.
Once they were well away from town, the duke shot his deer and the men all dismounted and gathered around with their flasks in hand for a toast.
“Thank you all for coming,” said His Grace, or Geordie, as he was called by his closest allies. “The hunt was invigorating, aside from being the only way I can bring you together without suspicion.”
“Do you have news from the king?” asked Ciar.
“I do.” His Grace looked over his shoulders and stepped in as if the trees could hear him whisper. “The king will attend my ball a sennight hence. He will be in disguise.”
“Does he want to speak to us?”
“Are we to stage another rising at long last?”
“He asks his followers to wear Highland dress.”
“Aye, but—”
The duke held up his hand to silence the mounting questions from his guests. “Allow me to continue.” He pulled a handful of red-and-black tartan ribbons from his sporran. “Tie your hose with these and insert your sgian-dubh on the left. With these he will recognize you as his ally.”
“Will we have a chance to meet with him and plan the next rising?” asked Robert.
“Nay. You will greet him as an aristocrat from France. But make no bones about it, this visit stands as proof that he is committed to ascending to the throne. We in turn must do everything we can to subvert the Act of Succession. James is the true king, and once his sister is laid to rest, we cannot allow another imposter’s arse to corrupt the throne.”
“Aye, aye,” the men chanted together.
Robert took his ribbons, carefully rolled them, and put them in his sporran. It was a risk for James to visit Scotland, but it was reassuring as well. Perhaps in the future the sovereign would not need to appear incognito.
Ciar walked with him to their horses. “So, are you still planning to be in Glasgow for the ball?”
“If James Francis Edward Stuart is making an appearance, I wouldn’t miss it for all the gold in Scotland, even if he will be in disguise. Besides, I aim to be in bloody Glasgow until Winfred Cummins is led to the gallows.”
* * *
Again dressed in her riding habit, Janet thrust her fists on her hips while Auntie Dallis paced the floor. But this time the woman huffed as if on the verge of a spell. “Why is Grant, of all eligible bachelors in the kingdom, taking you riding?”
She absolutely must go riding with him, if only to prove that she would never collude with Lieutenant Cummins. At Moriston Hall they had parted too abruptly. Her father hadn’t even allowed a proper farewell—or a thank-you, for that matter. Janet threw up her hands. “His missive asked—”
“But where is Mr. MacDougall? You said you liked him—and he’s so amiable.”
“I do like Ciar, but it wasn’t he who offered to—”
“Good heavens, if your father hears about this, he’ll sail for town in a heartbeat, take you away…and all of Glasgow will think ill of me.”
Wound tighter than a spring, Janet inched toward the door. Blast Her Ladyship. All she is worried about is how she would look to society. Absurd! “Mr. Grant has been an acquaintance nearly as long as Mr. MacDougall. And I’ll have you know the Grant laird saved me from being incarcerated in Fort William.” She bit her lip. The details of her adventure had been kept under strict secrecy, and her father had been very clear that she was not to reveal anything about her time at Moriston Hall…or in the bothy.
Reaching the door, Janet made her escape.
Unfortunately, Auntie followed. “Heavens, I wish your brother were here. If you insist on going, I will ensure Mr. Ellis follows very closely. I will instruct him not to let you out of his sight.”
Curses. “Fine,” Janet said over her shoulder as she continued down the stairs.
When she rounded the landing, she nearly swooned. Robert Grant, the man she had dreamed about every night for the past nine months, stood with his back to her, watching out the window. Janet’s heartbeat raced. Powerful, imposing, Highlander to his core, His Lairdship was magnificent. He wore a blue-and-green kilt belted low around his hips, with a length of tartan pulled over and pinned at his shoulder. His tawny hair was clubbed back and tied with a red ribbon. The thick muscles in his calves bulged beneath his hose as he turned around and grinned.
Dimples. I adore those dimples.
His smile was only made more alluring by the prominent scar on his cheek—straight white teeth, bold chin, and eyes of polished steel—hawkish, intelligent eyes that missed nothing and expressed everything.
Somehow Janet arrived at the bottom of the stairs without once feeling her feet touch the ground. Rapture washed over her as she opened her arms, then quickly snapped them back. “Mr. Grant, how lovely to see you.” Her voice shot up awkwardly, as if she were an adolescent greeting for the first time a lad she’d worshiped from afar.
He stepped forward, every bit the confident laird. Grasping her hand, he bowed over it, moving slowly, languidly, reminding her of another time, days gone by existing only in her memory. His lips kissed her flesh, soft, gentle, breath as warm as a summer’s breeze. He straightened and met her gaze with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“I must apologize for my brevity at the livestock sale.” His eyes shifted aside.
“Not to worry. You were there to conduct business. I trust your auction was successful.”
“It was.” His lips twisted when he glanced to Auntie Dallis, but relaxed when those silvery eyes shifted back to Janet. “And you’re happy with your new gelding, are you?”
“Aye, I’m eager to put him through his paces.” She pointed to Robert’s scar, almost touching it. “Your knife wound has faded a great deal. It makes you look a bit dangerous.”
He chuckled. “I hope not too dangerous.”
A fire rose in her cheeks, and she looked to her hands. “Nay.”
“And your arm, miss? Is it still paining you?” His finger brushed the outside of her forearm as softly as the caress of a feather.
Janet drew in a stuttered breath. “I hardly ken it was broken. The physician said whoever set it kent what he was on about.” She called on her inner strength and met his gaze again. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I—”
“Mr. Ellis will chaperone,” said Auntie Dallis, with the man skulking behind her. “And you mustn’t forget your duty to the hospital, my dear. The soldiers will be disappointed if you are late.”
Robert offered his elbow. “Then we must make the best of what little time we have. That gelding of yours needs far more than an hour for his paces.”
* * *
The weather was windy with clouds overhead, but at least it wasn’t raining as Robert trotted beside Janet down the Salt Market Street. With the man gaunt enough to be the image of the Angel of Death ambling behind them on a garron nag, neither Robert nor Janet had said much aside from the exchange of pleasantries. Damnation, there was so much he wanted to share with the lass, yet so many things he didn’t dare.
He shouldn’t have sent her a missive this morn. He shouldn’t have invited her to go riding. But after hearing Ciar’s words of encouragement, Robert could think of nothing else but seeing Janet again. Even riding alongside her and saying nothing was better than brooding in the alehouse waiting for news of Cummins.
When they turned onto the path leading to Laigh Green, he looked ahead to check for passersby. Only a single coach ambled along the river, but the lea to the west was wide open and inviting. “Is your mount ready to stretch his legs?”
Janet glanced at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.” Leaning forward and striking her crop, she cued the gelding into a canter.
Robert dug in his heels and barreled past her at a gallop.
“You devil!” she shouted, gaining speed behind him.
He looked over his shoulder and chuckled. Just as he’d thought, Mr. Ellis fell farther and farther behind. Though lanky, he was a large man and oversize for the pony carrying him. Robert slowed enough for Janet to catch up. “When we reach the top of the hill, turn left and ride for the copse of trees. That ought to buy us a moment’s respite.”
Janet followed, giggling all the way, and when they pulled their horses to a stop, she fanned her face. “My, that was fun!”
Oh, how he’d missed her smile. “How is the gelding?”
The horse stood snorting in air and shaking his head. “I think he liked the run as well.”
“Let us continue into the wood. Ellis will be on our heels soon enough.” Only a moment ago, there had been so many things he wanted to say, and now Robert couldn’t think of a one, or how to start. Might as well begin where we left off. “How is your father?”
“Well, I suppose. We recently received word that I have a new brother.” She bowed her head with a heavy sigh. “Father sent me here to find—”
“Find a husband?” Robert ventured to guess. After all, she was three and twenty now.
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Have you had much success?”
“None.”
Robert’s stomach flipped over. If only he could reach across and pull her onto his lap, ask her to be his bride, kiss her, show her how much he’d missed her, and tell her she’d best not think of any man but him.
“How is Emma?” she asked.
“She misses you.” So do I.
“I miss her as well. I’ve oft written to her, though all the letters are still in my trunk.”
“Why not dispatch them?”
Janet’s cheeks flushed red. “Da forbade it.”
“I see.” Pursing his lips, Robert looked up through the trees and watched the clouds sail overhead. No use pursuing that line of conversation further.
“Were you able to arrange a recital for her to play her harp?”
“I did.”
“Och, I wish I could have been there.”
“You would have enjoyed it. She was marvelous.” During the entire performance, Robert had pined to have Janet beside him. “Ah…how have you enjoyed Glasgow?” he asked, changing the subject.
“It has been diverting. My aunt means well, but she’s a bit suffocating. The only reprieve I can manage from her meddling is the time I spend reading to the patients at the soldiers’ hospital.”
“Oh, aye. The hospital.” Robert gestured over his shoulder. “Does Satan incarnate accompany you there as well?”
“Unfortunately, he does—ever since the Jacobi…ah…I mean the white rose incident.”
“You mean the Stuart symbol?” he asked, being clear but not obvious in case anyone was lurking.
“Aye.”
“What happened?”
“Och, that is right, you couldn’t have kent what happened.” Janet drew the reins through her gloved fingertips. “I found one with the petals plucked in my coach, and then another on my seat at the organ recital.”
“Petals plucked?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That’s odd—menacing, even.”
“Kennan and Ciar think so—and Auntie Dallis had one of her spells when she found out.” Janet glanced back, inclining her head toward Ellis, who had crested the hill. “Hence my own personal guard.”
But this news of petals plucked from a white dog rose troubled Robert. “Where was your coach when you found the first rose?”
“At the hospital. And the driver said he didn’t see a soul.”
“’Tis odd. Have Ciar and Kennan checked into it?”
“Not exactly. They have no description, no witnesses. Even if we found the culprit, what are we to do? Arrest him for disfiguring roses?” She smiled, that same flash of mischief twinkling in her eye. “I do believe Mr. Ellis is about forty paces away from joining us. Shall we give him another wee run?”