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?”