The Hunter Read online

  As the distance closed between them, the merchant moved his cart over to the side of the path to let the soldiers pass. Janet followed the couple, taking advantage of the opportunity to angle her own mount behind theirs, where she hoped she wouldn’t be as visible.

  The pounding of her heart in her ears grew louder as the powerful warhorses neared. The ground started to shake, she hoped hiding her own shaking.

  The merchant raised his hand in greeting as the first horse rode by.

  The pounding in her heart stilled. Keep going, she prayed. Don’t stop.

  One … two … three … passed by. Her heart started again. It was going to be all right. But then the pounding stopped—not her heart, the hooves.

  “Halt,” a hard English voice said. “You there. What is your name? What business do you have on the road?”

  No reason to panic, she told herself. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Walter Hende, my lord. I am a merchant on my way to Roxburgh, where my wife and I hope to open a shop.”

  “What kind of shop?”

  The merchant motioned to his cart. “A drapery, my lord. I’ve the finest woolen cloth in Edinburgh. Take a look if you like.”

  Janet ventured a peek at the soldier. Her heart dropped. He wasn’t a soldier he was a knight, although she did not recognize the arms of six martlets separated by a thick gold bend. He was an imposing-looking man, and not just because of his heavy armor and mail. He was big—tall and broad-shouldered—with a hard, square jaw and dark, hooded eyes just visible beneath the steel helm.

  He motioned to a younger man by his side, whom she assumed must be his squire. The lad jumped down and approached the cart. Lifting back the oiled leather cover, he nodded. “Aye, Sir Thomas. It’s filled with cloth.”

  It was then that disaster struck. The squire glanced in her direction. Because of where he had come to stand by the cart, he had a clear vantage of her face.

  He gasped. “Lady Mary! What are you doing here?”

  The blood slid from her face. Oh God, this couldn’t be happening. The boy thought she was her sister.

  “You know this woman, John?” Sir Thomas said.

  The lad frowned, staring at her. He must have seen something that made him question his first impression. “It’s me, Lady Mary. John Redmayne. I was friends with your son at court. You remember—we met at Bamburgh Castle last year. I came with Lord Clifford.”

  Sir Robert Clifford was one of Edward’s chief commanders in the battle against the Scots. Fear curdled like sour milk in her stomach.

  After a moment, Janet finally found her voice. “I’m afraid you have mistaken me with someone else.”

  The boy’s frown went askew.

  “Step forward where I can see you,” the knight ordered. “If you are not the woman my squire believes, then who are you?”

  “Kate, my lord,” she said softly, using the name she’d given the merchant.

  The knight’s eyes narrowed. “Pull back your hood.”

  She did as he bid, she hoped without showing as much reluctance as she felt. The moment the plaid fell back, a collective silence fell over the knight and his men. They stared at her in shock and unmistakable masculine admiration.

  Except for the squire. He smiled broadly. “It is her. Lady Mary, the Countess of Atholl.”

  The lad had obviously not heard of her sister’s defection and second marriage. But the knight had. The way his dark eyes gleamed as his mouth curved in a slow smile chilled her to the bone. “And what is the rebel Lady Mary doing in Melrose?”

  Janet forced a shy smile to her face. “I’m afraid the boy is mistaken, my lord.” She batted her lashes up at him with what she hoped was just the right amount of innocence. But something told her this man wasn’t going to be easy to fool. “I am—”

  “Our daughter, my lord.”

  Janet startled and hoped she didn’t look as surprised as she felt, when the merchant came up beside her and claimed her by the arm.

  Ewen fought the lulling force of darkness, which sought to drag him under. You can’t sleep. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy. Someone had put a weight on them.

  Try. You have something to do. He didn’t know what it was that he had to do, but he knew it was important. Very important. The most important thing in the world.

  Get up. You have to go after her.

  Oh God, Janet!

  He flailed blindly in the darkness, trying to sit up. But something wrestled him down. Powerful, steely hands clamped his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the bed.

  He cried out, writhing in pain and frustration as he tried to fight his way free. But the steely hands seemed to multiply like some kind of hideous spider.

  Have to get up. Danger. She needs me. Oh, God, Janet … sorry.

  “… Tie him down.” A soft voice penetrated the edges of his consciousness. A woman’s voice. An angel’s voice. “… Getting worse … Take leg.”

  “No!” He lashed out, fighting with everything he had until the pain overwhelmed him and the darkness dragged him under.

  Ewen was dreaming again, running through the darkness looking for something—for someone.

  Have to find her …

  He startled and opened his eyes, quickly closing them again as the light stabbed them like a dagger.

  He groaned, turning, surprised to feel his arms moving freely at his side.

  “He’s awake,” a familiar voice said.

  Oh God, Janet!

  He opened his eyes again, blinking up into the face that had haunted his dreams.

  He reached up and cradled her cheek in his hand. “You’re here,” he said, his voice gravelly and weak. She was safe. Janet was safe. “God, I’m sorry.”

  She smiled, and he felt the first inkling that something wasn’t right—a fuzzy prickle nudging the frayed edges of his consciousness.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  Another face appeared beside hers, also familiar but scowling. Despite the way the man was looking at him, Ewen knew that he should be relieved to see him for some reason.

  “I know you almost died,” the man said. “But you are going to find yourself close to death again if you don’t get your damned hands off my wife.”

  Sutherland, Ewen realized. He’s alive.

  He dropped his hand from the woman’s face. Mary’s face, not Janet’s.

  Mary gave her husband a sharp scowl. “He’s been unconscious for nearly four days—do you think you could put aside your primitive male possessiveness for just a few minutes?”

  Four days?

  Sutherland shrugged unrepentantly. “Not if he’s going to look at you like that. Hell, I thought he was going to drag you down on top of him. I was just saving him from a thrashing when he recovers.”

  Ewen wasn’t too groggy to scoff. “That’ll be a cold day in hell, Ice.”

  Mary harrumphed. “Obviously, he thought I was my sister.”

  “Where is she?” Ewen said, instantly alert. “Where is Janet?”

  Sutherland sobered. “We were hoping you would tell us that.”

  “You mean she isn’t here?” He looked around, suddenly realizing that he didn’t know where the hell he was.

  Mary seemed to understand his confusion. “Dunstaffnage.”

  Bruce’s headquarters in Argyll, won from the rebel John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, a couple of years ago.

  “We found you not long after you collapsed at the Wallaces,” Sutherland said. “I’m sorry for leaving you and the lass alone out there, but it could not be helped. When the English attacked for the second time, I didn’t want to take the chance and lead them to you. I caught up with MacKay and MacLean, who had found Douglas. We would have been here sooner, but Douglas had a few problems we needed to take care of.” Ewen assumed they were English problems. Sutherland’s expression turned grim. “You were bad. We didn’t think you were going to make it. Saint and Hawk got you to Angel just in time.”

  Angel