The Hunter Read online

  Instead of trying to remember every facet of a kiss that should never have happened, she should be focusing on her job. And instead of feeling excited at the prospect of spending time with him over the next few days on the journey north, she should be angry at him for insisting that she leave the Borders and interfering with her mission yet again.

  Winter might have brought a temporary lull in the fighting, but the war was not over. Her job was not yet finished. She had to be back by St. Drostan’s. Janet was confident that once she explained everything to Robert, and he could see that she was perfectly safe, she would return to her post in Roxburgh. The king needed her. This informant was too important to risk with someone else. Unlike Ewen, Robert listened to reason.

  But even so, she hated the idea of leaving like this. She might have refused to go if she hadn’t been fairly certain the hard-headed brute would toss her over his shoulder like some Viking barbarian and carry her away.

  When it came to doing his duty as a soldier, Janet suspected there was nothing that would get in his way. Yes, that was Ewen: the perfect soldier. He didn’t make trouble, did his job, followed orders, no questions asked—or tolerated, she thought angrily. Arguing with him was like trying to argue with a stone wall.

  What she didn’t understand was why she cared. She’d like to think it was because he was interfering with her duty, but she knew that wasn’t what was making her heart squeeze when he walked away as if she didn’t matter to him at all. As if the air had not just been crackling between them.

  And blast him for bringing up her sister! He didn’t understand anything.

  She didn’t know whether she was more annoyed with him or with herself. Him, she decided with certainty as she watched his back grow smaller. He didn’t turn around—not once. Not even to see if she was following.

  Her gaze narrowed, her frown deepening as she noticed something and marched over to where he stood with the horses.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  The slight tensing in his shoulders was barely noticeable, but it was there. “Nothing.”

  Without warning, he circled his hands around her waist, picked her up, and unceremoniously plopped her down on her horse. It happened so fast that had she blinked, she might have missed it. She felt a little bit like an iron pot taken straight from the oven.

  She gritted her teeth, refusing to be put off. She’d had enough of running into stone walls. She was going to find a way to break him down, one way or another.

  “You were favoring your left leg climbing up the rocks.” She’d noticed it as he picked his way up the rocks that surrounded the edge of the loch. Rather than moving with a natural stride, he paused in between each step to lead with his right foot.

  As if to prove her wrong, he mounted his horse from the opposite side than he usually did, slipping his left foot in the stirrup first. His movements were smooth and there was no indication that it had caused him pain, but she suspected that it had.

  He turned to face her. “As I said, it is nothing.”

  Annoyance turned to something else as the ramifications hit her. Her eyes widened with alarm. “You’re hurt!”

  He edged his horse away, as if he sensed she might reach for him. “I took an arrow in the leg a few weeks ago.”

  She felt as if all the color had been leached out of her in one squeeze. “You were injured in the war?”

  Of all the things she’d thought of during the past months, his lying in pain was not one of them. He loomed so large in her mind, seemed so big and indestructible, that she’d never considered …

  Stone walls didn’t get hurt!

  Oh God, what if …?

  Reading her expression, his softened. “A small injury, to be sure.”

  But she didn’t believe him. An arrow could leave a path of destruction far wider than its pointed head if it was deep. If the person who pulled it out didn’t have skill. If the wound didn’t heal. If it putrified. If he caught fever.

  She looked down at his leg. Was it her imagination or was that a large dark circle in the leather along the side of his thigh?

  Her gut checked. “Is it still bleeding?”

  “Nay.”

  He lied.

  Before she could question him further, he flicked the reins and started forward.

  Fear forgotten and furious once again, she rode up beside him. “Someone should look at it.”

  He didn’t bother turning to look at her, but his jaw clenched. “Someone has. I will have her look at it again when we return.”

  Her? “I can look at it, if you like.” Over the past few years of pretending to be a nun, she’d done quite a bit of nursing.

  He glanced over at her. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “But I’ve nursed—”

  “Helen isn’t a nurse. She’s one of the best healers I’ve ever seen. She could be a physician, if she wanted.”

  If it were true, it would be an extraordinary achievement. She’d never heard of a female physician. Janet felt a hard sting in her chest. The admiration in his voice when he spoke of the woman’s skill couldn’t be ignored—and neither could his lack of regard for hers. She’d thought he was a man like her father and brother who could not approve of a woman in a position other than wife and mother, but apparently she was wrong. It was just her of whom he didn’t approve.

  But there was something else about how he said the woman’s name. A familiarity. A fondness. “She must be very old to have become so accomplished.”

  He looked at her oddly, as befit the question. “Helen isn’t old. She’s younger than you.”

  This sting was more like a stab. Had she really found his bluntness and frank manner of speech charming? Did he think her so old? She was past the first blush of youth certainly, but she liked the way her face had matured. Was he seeing something she wasn’t? “How can you tell beneath all the warts and moles?”

  He looked at her as if she were daft, which was exactly how she felt. “You don’t have warts and moles.”

  “Not me,” she said, frustration rising inside her and threatening to spill over in a deluge of embarrassing tears. “The healer. Healers are always old and wrinkly, with lots of warts and moles.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. The sight was so rare and wonderful that for a moment it stole her breath. Her chest squeezed.

  Oh God.

  Oh no.

  He looked so different. So happy and carefree. Not rigid and uncompromising at all. He looked … He looked like a man who could steal her heart without even trying.

  Then he spoke and ruined it. “Helen is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. But I’ll make sure to tell her that.”

  He laughed some more, and Janet wished she could sink into her saddle and disappear.

  She felt like a fool, and worse, a jealous fool. The only good thing was that he didn’t seem to have any clue as to the reason for her silly questions.

  Janet fell into a rare silence as she tried to sort out her tangled emotions.

  Not only did he obviously respect this Helen for her skills, he also thought her beautiful. And in that moment, with her heart squeezing and tears stinging her eyes, Janet knew she wanted him to feel that way about her. For some reason, his respect was important to her.

  He couldn’t be so indifferent to her. The infuriating man had disturbed her thoughts for months! It hadn’t been just her, and she intended to prove it. But how?

  She had plenty of time to consider her options as they rode north for miles, not retracing their path along the road, but circling back through the hills and forests. It was dusk when he finally stopped in a dense patch of trees near a river, which she assumed was the Tweed, which they’d tried to cross on the way to Berwick before. She looked around for a bridge or ford to cross but didn’t see anything.

  He dismounted and then moved to help her do the same. “We’ll rest here until it’s dark.”

  “I thought we were going to meet the others?”<
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  One side of his mouth curved. “We are. They’re here.”

  He whistled, and an instant later three figures stepped out of the shadows like ghosts. Big, fearsome ghosts dressed from head to foot in black. Even their helms were blackened. They’d been only a few feet from her, but she hadn’t seen them. They seemed to blend into the night.

  She took a step back, unconsciously seeking his protection. His hand slid around her waist to steady her, as if it belonged there. She sank against him, letting the hard strength of his body surround her and envelop her in its heat.

  The fear dissipated, and she felt herself relax.

  Then she smiled. It wasn’t because she recognized MacLean. She was glad enough to see the warrior whom she’d last seen escorting Marguerite back to Melrose Abbey, but that wasn’t the cause of her happiness. Nay, the cause of her happiness was pressing hard against her backside.

  Whatever else he might want her to think, Ewen Lamont was not indifferent. And he’d just showed her how to prove it.

  Eleven

  Ewen had spent years of training, learning to listen to and follow his instincts, but in this case they’d let him down. It was instinct that made him reach for her when he realized she was scared, but having the bottom that he could remember every curve and contour of pressed against him was harkening other instincts. Very primitive and powerful instincts.

  He thought he’d tamed the wild beast inside him, but it was roaring again. Blood surged through him, hot and pounding, concentrating in one particularly painful area. Hell, he didn’t need a war hammer, he had one banging against his stomach.

  He hoped to hell she thought a weapon was exactly what she was feeling, but the wool of the farmer’s clothes didn’t hide his body’s reaction nearly as well as the leather of his armor.

  He let his hand slip from her waist and stepped away, snapping his frustration at his friends. “Bloody hell, take off the helms! You’re scaring her.”

  MacLean did so first, and then stepped farther out of the shadows into the dusky light. He gave her a short bow. “My lady.”

  Janet recovered quickly. The manners, grace, and elegance befitting the daughter of an earl emerged so effortlessly, Ewen wondered how he hadn’t recognized it right away. “Janet,” she corrected him. “Please. Although I fear we were not introduced properly before.”

  MacLean smiled, a rare feat for his dark facade. “Under the circumstances, it was understandable, Lady Janet.”

  Ewen didn’t miss the grateful smile she threw in MacLean’s direction for his understanding of her deception—or the “see that” one she threw in his.

  The other introductions were made, MacKay first and then Sutherland, and Ewen felt his temper heat with every well-mannered word. The ruthless, more-brigand-than-knight warriors he’d fought alongside for months sounded like bloody courtiers out of some bard’s tale.

  Gallantry skills, he recalled her jibe. What use did a Highland warrior have for those?

  None. But never had he felt the lack of them so acutely.

  Sutherland kept staring at her, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. For some reason, it made Ewen want to smash his fist through his teeth. The two women were completely different—couldn’t he see that?

  Janet seemed amused by her brother-in-law’s reaction. Or perhaps she was used to it. “Do we look so much alike?”

  “I apologize,” Sutherland said with a smile. “You do. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  He shot Ewen a look as if he should have warned him.

  “They’re twins,” Ewen reminded him. What the hell did he expect?

  “Actually, we didn’t look much alike the last time I saw my sister,” Janet said. Her expression clouded, as if the memory caused her pain.

  Sutherland shook his head. “Well, you do now.”

  The way his fellow Guardsman couldn’t seem to stop looking at her was beginning to irritate Ewen. “They don’t look that much alike. In the light you will see that Janet’s eyes are greener. Her hair is shorter and not quite as blond. Janet also has a freckle right above her lip that Mary doesn’t have. Mary’s face is rounder, and she’s not as slim as Janet.”

  Ewen realized he’d said too much when all four faces turned toward him—Janet’s with a frown and his three friends’ with varying levels of surprise and speculation. He didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body, but he felt the sudden urge to crawl under a rock and hide.

  Sutherland lifted a brow. “Is that so?” he drawled.

  Ewen knew what he was thinking, but he was wrong. “It’s my job to notice details,” he reminded them.

  None of the men believed him, but at least Janet didn’t appear to understand. She was looking at him, shaking her head. “You’d better not let my sister hear you say that. I don’t think she’d appreciate being called ‘round.’ ”

  He frowned, perplexed. What was wrong with round?

  Sutherland explained. “Women who’ve just had babies can be sensitive about their weight.”

  “She didn’t just have a baby. William is seven months old already.”

  There was a collective groan, the four of them giving him pitying looks, apparently having given up on explaining.

  “Get changed,” MacKay said. “As soon as it’s dark, I want to get as far from here as possible.” The big Highlander scanned the trees with the same kind of wariness that Ewen felt. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  So it wasn’t just him. He’d wondered whether it was being with Janet that was putting him on edge. It was, but it was something else as well.

  He nodded and turned to her. “You’ll need to change also. That white veil sticks out like a beacon.”

  “Actually,” Sutherland interrupted, “your sister thought you might be more comfortable and draw less attention in these,” he held out a bundle of clothing, “at least until we reach the Highlands.”

  She smiled as she took it. “That was very thoughtful of her, although I’m not surprised. Mary was always the one to think ahead.”

  Sutherland gave her an apologetic look that Ewen didn’t understand right away. “The clothing belongs to my squire.”

  What in Hades?

  Janet looked as shocked as he at the suggestion that she dress like a lad.

  “MacRuairi suggested it,” Sutherland said before he could object. “He said it helped when he brought his wife out of England.”

  Lachlan MacRuairi had slipped Bella MacDuff through the English defenses twice.

  “One of Christina’s kinsmen?” Janet asked.

  “Her brother,” Ewen responded.

  From her wide eyes, Ewen guessed that she’d met Viper before.

  “There is also a gown in there for later,” Sutherland said. “Mary said you would not like to arrive at court dressed like a lad.”

  Janet laughed. “My sister remembers me well.” Ewen suspected he was the only one who saw the trepidation mixed with the wistfulness that crossed her face. Why was she anxious about seeing her sister? With what she’d risked for Mary, he’d assumed they were close. But then he remembered her reaction to his barb. Was it guilt? Was that what was driving the lass?

  “Is there somewhere I can change?” she asked.

  “There’s an old fisherman’s bothy in the trees there beside the river,” MacLean said, pointing through the trees. “I will escort you.”

  The hell he would! Ewen trusted his partner with his life, but he didn’t trust him to have any more self-control than Ewen had had in the same situation. “I’ll do it,” he said in a voice that brokered no argument. “I have to retrieve my armor anyway.”

  He’d stashed his belongings in a wide gap between a couple of nearby rocks. It wasn’t large enough to serve as a cave, but it had been a perfect place to hide his valuable weapons and armor while he went to fetch her.

  He walked away before anyone could argue, and relaxed only when he heard her footsteps behind him. Though it hurt like the devil, Ewen did not break his stride, putting h
is full weight on his right leg. He hadn’t realized he’d been favoring the left until she’d pointed it out.

  The warmth of the blood on his thigh told him that the wound had opened again, but Helen would see to it when they returned. The last thing he wanted was Janet fussing over him—or, God forbid, touching him.

  He smiled, thinking of the odd conversation he’d had with Janet about MacKay’s wife. Old, with warts and moles? Where had the lass come up with that?

  He stopped when he reached the old fisherman’s bothy. It was a simple stone structure—the flat stones had been set together without lime mortar—that leaned a little to one side, but it appeared sturdy enough. Most of its original turf roof was gone. It wouldn’t protect her from the elements, but it would provide all the privacy she needed to change.

  “Do you need me to light a torch?”

  She gazed up to the sky and shook her head. “There is enough light left for me to change. I won’t be long.” She shivered. “It’s too cold to linger. It feels like it could snow.”

  He suspected she was right; the next few days wouldn’t be comfortable by any measure. But at least the cold would help control his other constant discomfort.

  He gave her a short bow of his head and started to move away, when she stopped him.

  “Wait!”

  He turned around slowly—reluctantly.

  She bit her lip, looking embarrassed. There was just enough light left to see the blush high on her pretty cheeks. “I-I,” she stammered. “I need someone to help me loosen my kirtle.”

  Ewen stilled, every muscle in his body tensing. He’d thought about undressing her too many times for the image not to leap immediately to the forefront of his mind, where it would not be dislodged. He pictured the gown sliding down her shoulders, revealing the pale, velvety skin inch by inch. He could see the high, silky roundness of her breasts, the slim back, and the smooth curve of her bottom.