The Hunter Read online

  “And?” Robert asked.

  “And if he still wishes to marry me, give us your permission.”

  “You would not have me order it?”

  Janet shook her head. “I’d no more have him forced into a marriage not of his choosing than I would be forced into one myself.”

  The king frowned, not having missed her bold reproach. “He took your innocence. I will not reward him for that.”

  “You don’t know me at all if you think he took anything that I did not willingly give him.”

  “He took advantage of your innocence,” Robert said uncomfortably; obviously, he didn’t find the subject of such intimate matters with a woman who was like a sister to him a pleasant one.

  “I am not a girl, Robert. I am a woman of seven and twenty who has been waiting her entire life for this—for him. I love him.”

  “Love is not a reason for marriage. He doesn’t have land to speak of, or titles, or a fortune.”

  “Then you can give him more,” Janet said. “If what I have done is not deserving of a reward, then what about what he has done?” She let him consider that for a moment. “As for love, what of your marriages, Robert? Surely a subject can look no higher than her king for guidance?”

  Robert’s expression gave no hint that her words had penetrated, but she knew they had. It was well known that Robert had married both his wives for love.

  A moment later he shook his head, giving her that exasperated look she recalled from the time she’d spent living with him and Isabella. “You should have been a lawman, Janet. Too bad you were not born a man—I could use you in my privy council.”

  Janet grinned, recalling Ewen’s similar words when she’d first met him. She also remembered something else. Lamont, lawman. “Perhaps I shall be, Sire.”

  Her brows drew together pensively. The kernel of another idea had just taken root when they were interrupted by a hard rap on the door. A moment later, the fierce West Highland chief who rarely left Robert’s side, stepped into the room.

  Imposing. Formidable. Intimidating. Authoritative. Scary. None of them came close to describing Tor MacLeod. The leader of the Highland Guard seemed more a peer than a subject, even in the presence of someone as majestic as Robert the Bruce.

  “I assume if you are interrupting, it is something important?” Robert asked.

  “Aye,” Tor said. “There is someone here to see you.”

  “Tell him to wait.”

  Tor looked at her, a half-smile turning his mouth. “I think you’ll want to see him.”

  He looked outside the door and waved someone in. Janet gasped, her heart jumping to her throat when Ewen strode through the door.

  “You’re back!” she cried, and would have run into his arms if she hadn’t noticed the man who’d come up behind him.

  Her heart, which had been soaring only a moment before, came crashing to the ground. She froze, her mouth falling open in shock.

  Though he looked considerably older than the last time she’d seen him, Janet did not have trouble recognizing the lanky new Steward of Scotland, Walter Stewart.

  Her gaze shot to Ewen’s in mute horror, looking for reassurance. Why had he brought him here?

  Ewen wanted to go to Janet the moment he entered the room, but he was very conscious of the man seated in the throne-like chair behind the table. Ewen had gone about this all wrong with the king before; he had to do it right this time.

  The relief at seeing her so hale hit him with a powerful blow to the chest. He’d told himself over and over that Helen would care for her, that she was in the best of hands; but she wasn’t in his hands, and it wasn’t until he saw her face-to-face that he could begin to relax.

  He took an inventory of her injuries, from the wrapping around her wrist, the bulky wrappings around her ribs beneath her gown, and the small line of stitches at her cheek. The swelling in her jaw and nose had retreated, leaving the yellowish, black-and-blue remnants of her bruises. The two black half-moons under her eyes suggested that her nose had been broken, although it appeared as straight as before.

  Her eyes met his, and the look of uncertainty smashed his good intentions to hell. To hell with Bruce! He walked over and held out his hand. She slipped her tiny palm in his, as if it belonged there—which it bloody well did—and he helped her to her feet.

  He didn’t release her hand, keeping it enfolded in his. With his other, he tipped her head back to better examine her face, tilting it in one direction and then the other. “You are all right?”

  She nodded, and he allowed himself one more tender sweep of his thumb along the bruised contour of her chin before he released her and turned to face his king. He didn’t trust himself not to kiss her, and with the way the king was looking at him right now, he was already close to walking out of here in chains.

  “I thought I ordered you to return on St. Drostan’s Day with the others,” Bruce said, eyeing him angrily.

  Ewen decided not to point out that he’d actually ordered him from his sight. “I had something important that I needed to take care of.”

  Bruce’s gaze flickered to Walter before coming back to him. “You seem to be having trouble following all kinds of orders of late.”

  Ewen didn’t disagree.

  The king held his gaze for a moment longer and then turned to Walter. “I assume he has brought you here for a reason?”

  “He has, Sire,” Walter said, stepping forward with a bow. “Lamont came to me with a rather unexpected request. He asked to marry my betrothed.”

  He heard Janet’s sharp intake of breath and felt her eyes on him, but he was watching Bruce. The king sat back in his chair, giving nothing away by his expression. “He did, did he? Did he mention that I had refused a similar request?”

  “Aye,” Walter said. “He mentioned that.”

  “And what did you tell him?” Bruce asked.

  Walter’s gaze flickered apologetically to Janet before he answered. “I told him that I would give him my support and break the betrothal, if that was the lady’s wish as well.”

  “It is!” Janet would have rushed forward to assure him, but Bruce held her back with a lift of his hand.

  Ewen said a silent prayer of thanks. Until that moment, he hadn’t been a hundred percent certain that he hadn’t been arguing with Walter Stewart (who despite his youth had proved a formidable opponent) over the past few days for nothing. Ewen had been lucky to walk out of Rothesay Castle without having to promise him his firstborn.

  “I assume he told you everything?” Bruce asked.

  Stewart, who was obviously very conscious of Janet’s presence, blushed. “He did.”

  The king didn’t say anything for a minute, but then he turned to Janet. “MacLeod will take you back to your room. Lady Anna has prepared a feast tonight on the eve of the Nativity. We will speak more later.”

  Janet started to protest, “But—”

  Ewen cut her off, taking her hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Go now. I will find you.” I will always find you, he told her silently. “Remember?”

  She nodded.

  “Trust me,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “I won’t let you down.” Not again.

  She wrinkled her ill-treated nose. “I won’t always be this biddable.”

  He smiled. “I shudder to think of it.”

  He brought one of her hands to his mouth for a kiss before he finally released her, for what he swore would be the last time.

  She marched rather huffily toward the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she gave her parting words to Bruce. “Remember your promise, Robert.”

  “I didn’t make any promises,” the king protested.

  “Aye, but I know you were about to.” She gave him a cheeky smile, wincing when it seemed to cause her pain.

  Both Ewen and the king lurched toward her with concern. “Are you all right?” they asked in tandem.

  Janet’s smile deepened. “I will be.”

  The little minx! T