The Master Of Strathburn (19 page)

Robert gently pushed past her as she leaned against the stone wall, before carefully hanging the lantern on a small hook above her head. The wicked wench within her suddenly had the urge to throw her arms around his broad chest and draw in his masculine scent, to take pleasure in his strength one last time. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to distract Robert or seem any more of a burden. In the dim, flickering light she could just make out that he was tense too; his face was drawn, his mouth a tight line.

He placed his ear to the panel-like wooden door in front of them. ‘Fingers-crossed it’s all clear, Jessie,’ he whispered. Then he released the catch and pushed.

The door swung open onto a wide hallway that was heartbreakingly familiar. Robert paused on the threshold, his heart clenching in the oddest way. He was home.

He glanced up and down the corridor, thanking God it was completely deserted. He stepped out, Jessie following closely. She had done well to make it this far with him. Her resilience and determination astounded him. He glanced her way and she gave him a tremulous smile. Beneath her veneer of courage, she was obviously as nervous as he was.

It was utterly silent up here. The thick Turkish carpet muffled their footsteps as they quickly traversed the long hall, heading towards his father’s rooms. He noticed the stone walls between each door were still hung with fine tapestries and paintings of Highland landscapes. The other side of the corridor was interspersed at regular intervals with tall, arched, mullioned windows. The fog hadn’t yet dissipated; with a sharp pang of regret, Robert realised he couldn’t see the rose garden his own mother had installed so long ago when he was but a baby.

They passed Simon’s suite of rooms. Not a sound emanated from within. Robert prayed the cur was still abed, not just for his own sake but for Jessie’s as well.

At last.
Robert drew Jessie into the shelter of the window embrasure directly opposite the last set of panelled oak doors at the end of the hall. The Earl of Strathburn’s suite. He threw Jessie the devil-may-care smile she’d teased him about, as much to reassure himself as well as her. ‘Well, here we are.’

Jessie smiled back. ‘Yes.’

A pale ray of sunshine that had managed to penetrate the dense fog highlighted flecks of gold in her whisky eyes; Robert decided he could happily drown in those eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Scoundrel that he was, he suddenly couldn’t resist the sight of her full, oh-so tempting lips. And this might be his last chance to ever kiss them, if the following meeting didn’t go well.

‘Kiss me for luck?’ he whispered and before Jessie could reply, he dipped his head and kissed her once, gently. He needn’t have worried that she would not be acquiescent. She responded immediately, her lips parting slightly in complete acceptance of the stolen kiss. Surprise sparked and he was tempted to press her for more. But as much as he wanted to, this was not the time or place to linger in an embrace. Reluctantly, he mastered his desire and started to pull away.

Only to find that Jessie had fisted her hand into his lapel and was pulling him back down. She mashed her lips against his, in a brief but fiery kiss of her own. When she broke the contact, her eyes were glowing. ‘Good luck, Robert. You deserve to be happy.’

‘Thank you,
mo ghaoil
.’ Taking a steadying breath to marshal his courage, and with Jessie’s hand still in his, he stepped toward the door and tried the brass handle.

It had been ten years since he had last been here and fought so bitterly with his father. Ten long years since he had foolishly stormed out this very door and slammed it behind him. And for ten years he had waited for this moment—a moment that in dark moments of despair he’d feared would never come.

The door swung open silently. His heart in his mouth, he walked through, gently pulling Jessie with him.

They were in his father’s sitting room. A fire crackled in the grate and the dusky blue velvet curtains at the window were pulled back to allow the weak morning light to filter in. It took a moment for Robert’s eyes to adjust to the dimness as he scanned the room. On first glance it appeared empty of occupants. The furniture and fittings were exactly as he remembered them—fine walnut tables and several leather wing back chairs graced a deep burgundy and blue patterned Turkish rug before the fire. Bookshelves and a walnut desk flanked the wall opposite the fireplace. Between them was a closed door leading to his father’s dressing room. Beyond that was his father’s bedchamber.

Then Robert noticed a movement by one of the wing chairs and a strange whine. He froze.

‘Caesar. Yer father’s deerhound,’ whispered Jessie. ‘I’m sorry, I didna think …’

The huge hound loped to its feet and stood staring at Robert, its gaze intense. It sniffed the air.

Robert swallowed. ‘Caesar,’ he whispered.

The animal whined again, then began wagging its tail. It suddenly launched itself at Robert, its great front paws coming to rest upon his shoulders as it madly licked Robert’s face. Robert laughed, rubbing the hound’s back. ‘I don’t believe it. You remember me, Caesar.’

Jessie shook her head, clearly astounded. ‘He knows you?’

Robert nodded, attempting to push the exuberant dog down. The hound’s tail whipped back and forth wildly. ‘Father gave him to me when I was eighteen. He was my dog for two years, before I left. It’s incredible that he still recognises me.’

‘Caesar!’ A voice cracked with age came from behind Robert and his pulse leapt.

Father.
He couldn’t believe it. After all this time, there he was, but a few feet away. He stood in the doorway to his dressing room, leaning heavily on a walking stick, a dark scowl marring his brow. He looked between Robert and Jessie. ‘Miss Munroe, what on earth are you doing here in my quarters with this strange man?’ he demanded. ‘I thought you’d gone to Edinburgh. Please explain yourself.’

Ignoring the twisting in his gut, Robert stepped forward and sought his father’s gaze. ‘Father … it’s me … Robert.’

Lord Strathburn’s look of annoyance was replaced with one of anger. ‘What do you mean? How dare you come in here, claiming to be my son. Robert is dead.’ He took several steps toward Jessie. ‘Miss Munroe, what is the meaning of this?’

Jessie lowered the hood of her cloak and then crossed the room, taking his father’s shaking hand—an old man’s hand. His father seemed to have aged at least twenty years rather than ten. A great wave of sorrow welled up inside Robert for all that they had both suffered and lost. His vision blurred.

Jessie continued. ‘Lord Strathburn, ’tis true. This is yer son, Robert Grant. He’s returned home to Lochrose.’

His father stared at him a moment longer, studying his face then took another step closer. His rheumy blue eyes then drifted to Caesar, who was still licking his hand. Tail wagging, Caesar whined and looked at the earl.

Robert swallowed past the tight ache in his throat; it was a struggle to keep his voice calm and even. ‘Caesar remembers me, Father. After all this time … it’s amazing isn’t it?’

‘Robert?’ his father whispered. His face blanched. ‘Robert … it
is
you. Oh, my God. My son.’ He dropped his cane and stepped forward at the same time that Robert crossed the floor to embrace his father. As they grasped each other tightly, as Robert felt his father shuddering against his shoulder, he could scarcely believe it. His father hadn’t turned him away.
He called me son
.

‘Robert, my lad.’ His father’s voice was choked with raw emotion. He pushed Robert away to hold him at arm’s length, tears streaming down his face. ‘Let me see you. Speak. Tell me this is not just an old man’s dream. Tell me again it’s really you.’

Robert blinked away tears as well; his voice, when he managed to speak, was little more than a thick rasp. ‘Aye it’s me, Father, Robert. Not a ghost or hallucination. It’s me, in the flesh—ten years older and battle-scarred, but me, all the same.’

His father crushed him in a fierce hug again. ‘I can scarcely fathom it. You’ve been gone so long, I thought you must be dead. Why did you stay away so long, my son?’

Robert closed his eyes. The guilt and shame of what he had done still dwelt within him like a painful, cankerous wound. He gently pulled away from his father’s tight embrace and met his gaze. ‘I’m so sorry to have defied you. I was such a bloody, idealistic fool—the worst kind of fool. I should have listened to your counsel. But I was too arrogant. I thought I knew what was best for the clan. But I was wrong. And our men died because of what I did …’ His voice broke; he couldn’t go on.

His father, grabbed his shoulder, shook it gently. ‘Robert, you were young and hot-headed, yes, but you are not to blame for the mistakes of that fool Prince or the brutality of the English on the battlefield. Tell me you didn’t stay away all this time because of the foolish words I spoke in anger to you too.’

Robert wiped his eyes roughly with his sleeve. ‘It wasn’t just your ultimatum, Father, that kept me away. I couldn’t come home because I couldn’t face you—or the clan, not then at any rate.’ He raised his eyes to his father’s. ‘But I have been a coward for far too long. I have a debt of honour that needs to be repaid to all of the families that lost a son, a husband or a father. I don’t expect forgiveness, from you or from them, but I need to try to make amends … if you will let me.’

His father placed his hands on Robert’s shoulders and looked at him squarely. ‘Son, I forgive you. You must believe me. I thank God that you have been returned to me. Now, come sit with me and tell me more. We both have a decade’s worth of tales to tell.’

* * *

Lord Strathburn and Robert took seats before the fire. Caesar lay at Robert’s feet, his muzzle on his boots. Jessie continued to hover at the edge of the room, unsure of what to do. She surreptitiously wiped away the involuntary tears that had slipped down her cheeks as she had witnessed the heartbreaking scene between father and son. She felt like an intruder watching such a private moment.

She wanted to let Robert and his father have some time alone, but she couldn’t leave the room. The risk of discovery by Simon or Lady Strathburn, or even one of the other servants, was too great. And it would be inappropriate for her to retire to the earl’s dressing room or bedchamber. So she stayed near the double oak doors attempting to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

And it did indeed seem that Robert and the earl were oblivious to her presence for the moment.

At his father’s urging, Robert briefly recounted the sequence of events that had followed his escape from Lochrose ten years ago. He spoke quietly, his voice barely audible to Jessie from where she stood across the room. ‘I took you at your word, Father, when you told me I was never to return—for a very long while at least. MacTaggart got me to the coast where I managed to persuade the captain of a fishing boat off Nairn to take me as far as Skye. From there I made my way to Ireland and thence to France. You’ll be pleased to know my new identity as Robert Burnley held up even under the scrutiny of a Commander of an English frigate that intercepted the boat to Ireland. Your magistrate did a sterling job, Father; the Commander believed my papers to be legitimate. If it weren’t for you and MacTaggart—’

‘I still cannot believe that Simon had you chained up in the wine cellar to hand you over to the English.’ The earl’s face was an angry shade of red. ‘No matter that you defied me, I couldn’t let Simon betray you like that. It was abominable.’ His fist struck the arm of the wing back chair and Caesar lifted his head and whined.

Robert grasped his father’s hand. ‘Steady, Father. You must not stress yourself too much. I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to you, now that we have found each other again.’

Lord Strathburn patted Robert’s arm. ‘I’ll be all right, son. Mrs MacMillan has been taking good care of me with her special tea of comfrey and willow bark. I swear that woman has a touch of the wise woman in her.’ His high colour began to fade even as he spoke. ‘But pray, continue.’

Robert’s expression grew grim. ‘I’m not proud of how I spent the next few years. Suffice it to say, I didn’t much care what I put my hand to.’

‘Tell me, Robert. It’s over now. Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t matter.’

Robert studied his father’s earnest expression for a moment then sighed. ‘I effectively became a soldier for hire, a mercenary with the French Army. Fighting was the only thing I seemed fit for.’

Lord Strathburn reached out and squeezed Robert’s shoulder. There were tears in the old man’s eyes. ‘You wanted to die, didn’t you, my son?’

Robert’s voice was low and he dropped his gaze to his tightly fisted hands in his lap. ‘Yes. For a long time, life didn’t seem to be worth living any more.’

Jessie was shocked at Robert’s revelation. He had opened up his soul to reveal his deepest pain. Her heart wept for him.

The earl spoke again. ‘So what made you give it up?’

‘I wish I had a better, more noble reason but frankly, I just grew tired of it, Father—the pointless messy, bloody insanity of it all. And I don’t know why, but I seemed to have the devil’s own luck on the battlefield. Aside from the occasional superficial injury, nothing ever seemed to touch me.’

Lord Strathburn nodded. ‘Either that or you were a damn good soldier. MacTaggart always maintained you were a fine marksman and an even better swordsman. So what did you do next?’

Robert grinned shyly, surprising Jessie. He looked almost boyishly proud. ‘I went to the Caribbean. Jamaica to be exact. I have been the very English Mr Robert Burnley, plantation owner and merchant, for some years now. I even have my own merchant vessel,
The Phoenix
. She brought me home, Father. Her captain—Drummond is his name—currently has her anchored in Edinburgh.’

Lord Strathburn smiled warmly. ‘And home is exactly where you should be. I’ve missed you, my son, more than you could ever know.’

Robert’s expression grew grave again. ‘Father, one of the reasons I ventured home was that I had heard a rumour suggesting the estate has not been faring well of late. Is it true?’