The Hunter Read online

  “I would appreciate it if you would let me explain to the bishop about what happened in the forest.”

  The shrewd quirk of his brow told her how easily he’d guessed her thoughts. “I’m sure you would.”

  She gritted her teeth. Whatever had changed between them, he still managed to rile her temper easily enough. “Perhaps you will tell him everything, then?”

  His blue-gray eyes hardened to slate. “I think you’ve already used that bargaining marker, Sister.”

  Janet felt her cheeks grow hot, knowing he was right. “I don’t know why you must be so difficult about everything. It’s not as if I’m not going to tell him.”

  “Aye, but it’s how you’ll tell him that concerns me. I suspect you could make Armageddon sound like a day at the fair.”

  Janet pursed her mouth. “You give me too much credit. I assure you, the bishop will understand the danger.”

  “Aye, but do you?” His gaze held hers. “Promise me that you’ll leave the fighting to the men and stay out of it, and I’ll let you explain to the good bishop any way you want.”

  With some effort, Janet bit back her angry retort. But inwardly, she fumed. Whatever confusing emotions she’d been feeling earlier disappeared. Leave the fighting to the men. Ewen Lamont saw women as nothing more than helpless, silly creatures who needed a big, strong man to protect them. Although he certainly qualified, she wanted nothing to do with a man who thought like that. Physical attraction—no matter how powerful—wasn’t enough. She should thank him for reminding her.

  “You’d better decide quickly,” he said. “The bishop is coming.”

  She didn’t hear anything. But she frowned a few moments later when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

  “Very well, I agree,” she said, not feeling the least bit guilty about the lie. Although technically, it wasn’t a lie. She would let the men do the fighting, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t continue doing exactly what she’d been doing.

  His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe her, but she was saved from further enquiry by the arrival of the bishop.

  Lamberton gave her a smile of greeting, but it fell from his face when he saw Ewen. Janet didn’t need to have much insight to see that the bishop didn’t like him. “You were expected back earlier,” he said to Ewen. “Your friends have been looking for you.”

  Janet sensed Ewen’s immediate alertness. It was as if every muscle in his body flared to life. She tried not to remember all those muscles, or how good they felt—

  She stopped before she could finish the thought. Heaven help her, he’d turned her into a wanton!

  “When?” he asked.

  “Immediately.” Lamberton handed him a missive, which Ewen quickly unfolded and read.

  Her frown deepened. In addition to fluency in multiple languages, it seemed her ordinary soldier could also read.

  But she would not get the chance to question him. He turned to her with a curt bow of his head. “My lady.”

  My God, this was it. He was leaving. She would probably never see him again. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

  Then why did it feel as if someone was pulling the strings of her heart in opposite directions?

  “Monsieur,” she managed in a whisper, returning his nod.

  He hesitated as if he wanted to say something, but like her, struggled for the right words. He found the wrong ones. “Remember your promise.”

  When the door closed behind him with a slam, Janet told herself it was good riddance. A stubborn, patronizing, women-are-the-weaker-vessel kind of man wasn’t for her. She’d had enough of that attitude from her father and brothers to last a lifetime. The past few years had proved what she’d already known: she was better off alone.

  Ewen didn’t believe her for an instant. Although he had no intention of telling Lamberton what had happened, he intended to give Bruce a good earful of his opinion on letting nuns be involved as couriers.

  But it would have to wait. The missive he’d received was from Hawk. Apparently, Sutherland was in trouble, and they needed to extract him and his wife from England as soon as possible. Ewen raced to the coast north of Berwick Castle and caught up with his fellow Guardsmen as they rode to Huntlywood, where Mary of Mar, Sutherland’s wife, was residing, in hopes of executing a rescue.

  As it turned out, Sutherland didn’t need them. Their new “recruit” had proved himself worthy of his place in the Highland Guard by rigging a bridge with black powder to ensure his wife’s safety, and then by defeating a score of Englishmen to ensure his own.

  But the journey back to Dunstaffnage Castle on Hawk’s birlinn had been twenty-four hours of sheer hell. Sutherland’s wife had gone into labor a short time before she’d arrived at the ship, and the sounds of her pained cries were not something Ewen would forget anytime soon.

  Bloody hell, there was a reason men were not allowed anywhere near the birthing chamber. Hearing a lass in pain and not being able to do anything about it went against every primitive bone in the male body. Apparently he had a lot of them.

  Sutherland, who’d been known for his hot temper, surprised them all by being the calmest man on board. Were the woman giving birth his wife, Ewen might have jumped overboard.

  When an image of Sister Genna’s face sprang to mind, he pushed it away. Ewen knew he would have to marry sometime, but this was the first time he’d ever thought of “his wife.” He didn’t miss the irony in a nun being the source of his inspiration.

  Fortunately, Sutherland’s heir had waited to make his appearance until they were safely arrived at Dunstaffnage and Angel—Sutherland’s sister Helen, who was the Highland Guard’s healer—could attend the birthing. By all accounts, both mother and child were doing well, but even two days later Sutherland—or Ice, as he’d been dubbed after that hellish journey—had the stunned look of a man who’d been through a long, savage battle and somehow walked out alive.

  It wasn’t just the flurry of excitement over a new child that Sutherland had brought to the castle, however; he’d also managed to uncover some important information about Edward’s battle plans when the truce expired at the end of the month. Once again war with England loomed on the horizon, and every member of the Highland Guard was eager to get back to the work of solidifying Bruce’s kingship and defeating the English—this time for good.

  But Ewen hadn’t forgotten about Sister Genna (hell if he knew why), or his intention to speak with Bruce about the increasing dangers faced by his female “couriers of the cloth.” Usually, Ewen did his best to stay in the background, but for this he would make an exception.

  A few days after their arrival, he entered the Great Hall, which was already burgeoning with activity as the midday meal was well underway, and approached the dais, intending on requesting a private meeting with the king in his solar.

  He was making his way around the crowded trestle tables on the east side of the Hall, dodging serving lasses with platters stacked high with food, when he glanced toward the head table and noticed a woman seated next to the king.

  He stilled, a strange buzz radiating down his spine and spreading over his skin. Her head was bent toward the king, but there was something about the deep, golden blond of her hair that reminded him of another. It was the way the light caught the different-colored strands, from silvery blond, to golden brown, to rich copper. He’d never seen the like—until he’d met Sister Genna.

  A quick glance at the man on her other side identified the woman as Mary of Mar, Sutherland’s new bride, who was making her first appearance after the birth of the child. It was also the first time he’d had a good look at her in the light, Ewen realized. God knew he’d stayed as far away from her as possible on the birlinn.

  His heart was beating strangely as he walked closer, almost as if he sensed something momentous was about to happen.

  He was about ten feet away when she looked up, and he stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d run into a stone wall.

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