The Hunter Read online

  He clenched his fists. God’s blood, it was his bloody fantasies coming true!

  Which was exactly why he couldn’t do it. “I’m not a damned handmaiden.”

  She lifted one delicate brow. “If you don’t think you can manage, I will ask one of the others.” She bit her lip, apparently considering. “It’s hard to figure out which one would have more experience with ladies’ gowns.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “They are all rather handsome, don’t you think?”

  He didn’t think anything of the sort. The muscle in his jaw jumped. His veins bulged as fire surged through his blood. If anyone was going to touch her, it would be him. All three of his brethren were married—two of them contentedly—but damned if he would throw that kind of temptation in their path. The lass had a body that could make a man weak. Hell, he was doing them a favor. He was bloody paragon of selflessness.

  He stormed over to her, trying to get a rein on the sudden blast of anger. “I’ll do it.”

  She looked up at him with that innocent expression on her face. “If you think you can manage?”

  His eyes narrowed. Even through the veil of anger, he realized the lass was trying to provoke him. He met her challenging gaze with his own. “If you’ll remember, it’s nothing I haven’t done hundreds of times before.”

  The purse of her mouth told him his strike had been well placed. He wasn’t the only one angry now. “I remember.”

  She didn’t bother waiting for him to open the door and walked inside. He followed her in.

  A cold, musty smell filled the air. It was really only the shell of a building, with little in the way of personal belongings left inside. But he found a table with one of its legs broken off, brushed most of the dirt and dust from the top, and propped it up for her to have something to put the pile of clothing on.

  Despite the dank bleakness of their surroundings, Ewen was painfully aware of the intimacy of the situation. They were alone in a small, dark building, no more than ten feet square, alone in the dark. He could hear the softness of her breath and smell the faint scent of bluebells.

  He needed to get out of here. “What do you need me to do?” he snapped.

  She payed no mind to his obvious impatience. “I would think that after so many times you would know.”

  The lass was provoking him all right, but why? He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave her was warning enough.

  Ignoring him, she began to pull the pins from her veil and wimple. His heart began to pound as he half-anticipated, half-dreaded the moment that was coming. He didn’t think he was breathing when she finally finished. Pulling the last piece of cloth from her hair, she shook her head and made a sound of such pleasure, it sent a surge of heat rushing to his cock that no amount of loyalty and duty could hold back.

  “Heavens, that feels good!” She sighed.

  It felt more like hell. His entire body was shaking as he fought the urge to sink his hands through the wild, mane of golden curls that bounded down her back in a silken veil. The scent of bluebells intensified, and he wanted to bend his head and sink his nose into the silky warmth.

  He didn’t realize he’d made a sound until she turned to him. “Is something wrong?”

  Other than that he wanted her so badly, he didn’t trust himself move? “You can’t wear your hair like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s the wrong color.”

  Her eyes widened, and he realized his sharply spoken words had wounded her. “Is there something wrong with blond?”

  It wasn’t blond, it was honey brown with flecks of silver, copper, and gold. It was a crown fit for a queen. It was beautiful.

  But he could hardly tell her that. “It will reflect the moonlight just as much as your veil.”

  She brightened. “I think I noticed a cap in there. I can tuck it up inside.”

  She removed her mantle next. He stood stone still, staring at the wall, telling himself not to be affected. It didn’t work. She let the black wool drop to the floor in a puddle at her feet and he flinched.

  This was too close to his fantasies. Was she trying to torture him? Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

  Despite the guileless expression, he suspected that she did. What the hell game was she playing?

  The scapular came next. Belted at the waist, all she had to do was untie the rope cord and lift the rectangular piece of white natural wool over her head.

  Finally, when every muscle in his body was tensed with restraint, with the effort it took not to reach out and touch her, she turned around with her back facing him.

  Glancing up at him from over her shoulder—far more seductively than any innocent maiden should—she said, “If you could just loosen the top laces, I will be able to do the rest on my own.”

  He didn’t know if he could do it. He wanted to touch her so desperately, he didn’t know if he could stop at just the ties.

  His mouth tightened. He clenched his jaw. Duty. Loyalty. Discipline. It’s up to you. His clan was depending on him.

  Ewen tried to picture Walter Stewart’s face, but all he could see was hers. The big greenish-blue eyes, the tiny nose and chin, the gracefully carved features, the warm, sensual mouth …

  His hands shook as he lifted them to her back. He was an elite warrior, damn it. He could do this. He’d survived against the worst odds and the most perilous circumstances. Just focus. Concentrate on the laces.

  He had done this before. Maybe not hundreds of times as he’d claimed, but enough that his fingers shouldn’t feel so big and clumsy. But they wouldn’t seem to move right. Even in the snowy mountaintops of the Cuillins during training, they’d never felt so frozen.

  He stared at the laces, his hands coming to a sudden stop. Her hair was covering the place where they started. He could just move it to the side …

  Not a chance.

  “Your hair is in the way,” he managed tightly.

  “Oh, sorry.” She tipped her head, scooping the wild mass to tumble to the side, revealing the top of the gown and the milky-white nape of her neck. The invitation was unmistakable. It would be so easy to lower his mouth and press his lips to the soft, warm skin …

  Focus, damn it!

  He pulled one of the ends of the bow at the top and slid his finger behind the laces to loosen them. Methodically, he worked his way down her back, trying not to think about what he was doing. But never had he been more conscious of what he was doing in his life.

  It was ridiculous. There was nothing particularly erotic about unlacing a gown. The linen shift she wore underneath the form-fitting natural wool kirtle prevented him from seeing bare skin, but he was more aroused by these loosened laces than he’d ever been by a naked woman. Except for her, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to think about her naked right now.

  Wrong.

  He stepped back, trying to clear the image from his mind. Did he have to remember every detail of her breasts? Of her slim back and stomach? Of the heart-shaped curve of her bottom? “That should suffice,” he said, his voice gruff with longing.

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “One of the nuns at the priory couldn’t have done a better job.”

  For some reason, he didn’t like being compared to one of the nuns. His gaze bit into hers. “All that practice, remember?”

  Janet remembered, all right. Which was what made his determined resistance all the more frustrating. She knew he was feeling the same way that she was: hot, restless, and breathless with anticipation, as if every one of her senses had been heightened to its peak. Awareness reverberated between them like the crackle of lightning.

  She wasn’t alone in her desire. She could feel it—had felt it hard against her.

  Janet had never gone out of her way to entice a man, but something about him provoked her to naughtiness. As had the three years of hiding her femininity. Part of her wondered whether she was still desirable. She thought her little request to help her with the gown would be enough to shatter his resistance