The Master Of Strathburn by Amy Rose Bennett Read Free Book Online Page B

the next slope, steeper still. Tumbled boulders and outcroppings of rock appeared and the wind-bent Scots pines thinned out. The ground became less even and she needed to take care where she stepped. When she at last reached the narrow pass curling between towering pillars of grey rock, her breath was coming in short ragged pants and her thighs ached with the exertion of climbing. She stopped for a brief rest, regretting that she had packed her satchel so hurriedly she’d forgotten a water flask. But if she had followed Mrs MacMillan’s directions accurately and was on the right track—and she fervently hoped that she was—she would soon reach a burn.
    The pass turned out to be more of a challenge than Jessie had initially anticipated. The path’s uneven surface made it treacherous going and on one occasion she needed to scramble between fallen, jagged-edged rocks. She was relieved that she had not ridden Blaeberry along this obviously long neglected route. Mrs MacMillan had been right; she had warned Jessie that it would be a difficult ride, even for horses used to the rugged terrain. Walking meant it would take Jessie much longer to reach the lodge and Grantown, but if it meant Blaeberry remained safe, it was worth it.
    When Jessie at last emerged from the pass and skidded down a small gravel scree to the mountain burn below, she was both relieved and exhausted. The combination of poor sleep from the night before, little sustenance and extreme physical exertion had left her weak and shaking. She dropped to her knees by the rocky stream and with trembling, scraped hands, splashed icy water onto her face before drinking her fill.
    Her thirst quenched, she sat back on her heels and looked down the twisting, wind-blasted glen. The idea of walking for perhaps another hour across rough moorland to reach the hunting lodge at the far end seemed beyond her at this point. She knew she needed to eat and rest for a while before she continued on. A little farther down the slope beside the burn was a small cluster of rowan and larch trees; the copse’s foliage was a bright, welcoming blaze compared to the bleak grey rocks and expanses of bruise-coloured heather and coppery deer grass. It would be the perfect place to take shelter.
    Jessie rose unsteadily and on still shaky legs, picked her way along the edge of the burn toward the trees. She was only a few yards away when misfortune struck—she stumbled over a rock hidden in the grass and her right ankle twisted beneath her. She cried out as a tearing, agonising pain assailed her. Damnation, this was the last thing she needed.
    Somehow, even though her vision was blurred by tears, Jessie managed to limp the rest of the way to the copse, her ankle protesting with every ungainly step. When she reached the trees, she collapsed on the edge of the burn, then gingerly removed her leather boot and woollen stocking to assess the damage. To her dismay, she could see her ankle was already beginning to swell. Hell. It was well and truly sprained. Gritting her teeth, she thrust her ankle into the frigid water and prayed the cold would ease the swelling.
    With clumsy, trembling fingers, she opened her leather satchel and removed a little of the food she’d packed for the next few days—a nugget of sharp crumbly cheese and a hunk of dark rye bread. Although she didn’t feel like it, she forced herself to eat. She was so tired and disheartened. What else could possibly go wrong?
    Simon might find me. No, she wouldn’t think about what would happen if he did. With any luck, he probably wouldn’t even notice she was missing until later on this afternoon or even perhaps this evening. She trusted Mrs MacMillan’s assertion that Simon loathed hunting and that he hadn’t set foot up here since the age of fourteen.
    For now she was safe. She had to be.
    When Jessie could no longer stand the bone-chilling iciness of the burn, she removed her ankle and inspected the swelling. Damn, damn, damn . As