The Hunter Read online

  When the last ebb had faded from his loins, he collapsed, spent and exhausted, on the bed beside her, reveling in the sensations and strange feelings running through him. He still felt like he was flying. He felt light-headed, his mind a little soft and fuzzy. Almost as if he’d had more of that whisky than he’d realized. Jesus! He’d never realized it could be like … that.

  Incredible. Amazing. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before. They’d been … connected. Not just joined, but connected. He’d never felt closer to anyone in his life as he had at the moment he was inside her, looking deep into her eyes. When they’d found release together, it wasn’t just his body that was sated but his soul. And the euphoria hadn’t ended with release. He felt—the feeling was so foreign to him, it took him a moment to put a name to it—happy. As if he could lie here with her forever.

  She was so damned sweet. So giving. And she loved him? How had he gotten so lucky?

  He was about to reach over and tuck her under his arm, when she spoke. “If this is what marriage has to offer, I think I shall be quite content.”

  She might have doused him with a bucket of cold water, the shock of her words was the same. The fuzziness disappeared. The euphoria and happiness turned to an icy chill as the reality of what he’d done hit him quick and hard.

  Fuck.

  The oath was well placed. That was exactly what he’d done—both literally and figuratively. Not just her, but himself as well.

  Instead of tucking her against him, he stared at the wooden roof of the barn in stunned disbelief as the ramifications battered down on him relentlessly.

  God’s blood, what the hell had he done?

  In taking her innocence, he’d violated the trust of both his king and his liege lord, and put his future, as well as that of his clan, at risk. One finger of land? Hell, he wouldn’t have a fist of dirt to his name when Bruce found out. The half-finished castle—a monument to his father’s rashness—would be a blight on the landscape forever. But none of that would matter, because Ewen would be dead. The king was going to kill him.

  Ewen had been trying to keep his head down, do his job, distance himself from his “wild” father and rebellious cousin, and not bring attention to himself. Well, Bruce was sure as hell going to notice this. He was almost glad Sir James was dead, so he wouldn’t have to see this.

  Meant to be. Rightness. Fate. Destiny. Had he really used such fanciful excuses for justifying the inexcusable and losing sight of his honor? For forgetting what mattered? What about duty, loyalty, and discipline? Those were what he was supposed to think about. He wanted to blame it on the whisky, but he knew it wasn’t that. He’d been scared of losing her and he’d reacted without thought. He’d let emotion control him. Damn it, he didn’t get emotional. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

  He was as bad as his damned father! His whole life he’d been fighting to make sure he didn’t end up like Wild Fynlay, and in a matter of minutes, he’d undone it all.

  The Lamonts in Cowal would be no more. Up to you. God, he felt ill.

  At first Janet didn’t realize anything was wrong. Still tingling and weak with pleasure, still feeling as if she were soaring through the clouds, she was so caught up in the wonder of what had just happened that she assumed Ewen was feeling the same way.

  She wasn’t even worried when he didn’t respond to her jest. He was probably just as overwhelmed as she was.

  It was only when he sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the pallet (giving her a nice view of his broad, well-muscled back), tugged up his breeches, and put his head in his hands that she realized something was wrong.

  She realized just how wrong when he muttered a vile oath that she’d never heard from him before.

  Her chest squeezed, but she tried not to overreact. So what if this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured the moment? It didn’t matter that he hadn’t pulled her into his arms, stroked her hair, and told her how wonderful it was. How much he loved her. Really it didn’t.

  The squeeze tightened to a pang. She wasn’t an eighteen-year-old virgin. She was a mature woman. She didn’t need such reassurances, even though they would have been nice. She pushed back the hot wave of emotion that rose to her eyes.

  Ignoring the silly, girlish disappointment swelling in her chest, she tried to think rationally. His reaction was understandable. Of course, it was. She knew Ewen, and no doubt he would see taking her virginity as some kind of violation of his man’s code.

  She might think it was ridiculous, but he didn’t.

  Sitting up behind him, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed under her palm. Another splinter of hurt tried to make its way through the happiness she’d wrapped around herself like a plaid, but she wouldn’t let it.

  “Please don’t be upset. Truly, there is nothing to worry about. We’ve done nothing wrong.” She smiled. “Or nothing that cannot soon be corrected. I will go to Robert as soon as we arrive and explain—well, perhaps not everything.” Robert could be just as knightly about these kinds of things as Ewen. “But he will understand. He will be happy to see me finally wed, and marrying me will help your clan—you’ll see.”

  Nothing could have prevented the stab of hurt when he jerked away from her touch. “You don’t understand a damned thing—the king is going to be furious!”

  Janet blinked back at him in shock, stunned by the force of his vehemence. She didn’t think of herself as possessing tender feelings, but he’d managed to find some with his typically blunt and razor-sharp words. “Perhaps it is not an ideal match, but I’m sure Robert can be persuaded—”

  He grabbed her by the arm and forced her to face him. “Damn it, Janet! Not everything can be handled with a deft tongue and a few pretty smiles. When the hell are you going to learn that? You have no idea what I’ve done.”

  She stopped telling herself to dismiss his reaction. Whatever it was that was causing him to act like this was serious.

  He dropped his hand and put his head back in his hands.

  Suddenly chilled, she gathered the plaid left by Margaret from the bottom of the pallet, wrapped it around her shoulders, and shifted into position beside him. “Then why don’t you tell me,” she said softly.

  She thought he was going to ignore her request. But after a few minutes of grappling, he seemed to reach some kind of decision. “The king has already arranged a betrothal for you.”

  She sucked in her breath, staring at him in absolute horror and disbelief. She couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe. Her mind was busy racing in thousands of directions. It was the last thing she’d expected. Robert had never given any indication that he planned …

  Betrayal ripped through her, tearing that plaid of happiness into tiny little shreds. But it wasn’t just from Robert. She stared at Ewen, looking for the man she thought she knew. Who she thought knew her.

  He lied to me.

  “Who?” she asked numbly.

  “Walter Stewart.” The blow took every last bit of air from her chest. Of course! Ewen had let his name slip once. Now she understood the significance. She wanted to laugh, but feared she would cry. Walter Stewart was barely old enough to have earned his spurs. “My liege lord, and the son of the man I owe everything to,” he added.

  She might have tried to understand his guilt, the depths of the dishonor he must be feeling for his disloyalty and broken trust, but she was too wrapped up in her own pain and broken trust. She stared at his face, searching for something to hold on to. Something to change the inevitable conclusion staring down at her.

  She looked away, turning her gaze to her bare toes. At some point she must have kicked off her boots. A sharp pang sliced through her heart. Was it only minutes ago that she thought he was the one for her? “You did not tell me.”

  It wasn’t a question. She didn’t care about his reasons why, but he told her anyway. “The king suspected you would not be as … uh, amenable to returning if you knew.”

  The shock was