The Hunter Read online

  Distancing himself from his cousin’s rebellion and his father’s “wild” legacy was a constant battle. But he was surprised an Italian nun was that apprised of clan politics.

  “Who sent—” She stopped herself, obviously remembering her companion. Slowly, she nodded. “I see.”

  She’d realized that it must have been Lamberton who’d led them to her.

  “With such an important undertaking as your, uh … pilgrimage,” MacLean added, “your superiors were concerned that nothing go wrong and wanted to make sure you reached your destination safely. As you have discovered, there are many enemies to the church these days.”

  Ewen hadn’t realized MacLean was so adept at speaking with double meaning—especially in a language he wasn’t exactly fluent in—but it was clear that Sister Genna understood what he was trying to say: they were here to make sure the message to Bruce did not go astray.

  He was studying her while MacLean spoke and didn’t miss the flash of what might be deemed annoyance in her eyes. They were sea blue, he realized. A very pretty, very crystal shade of bluish green. And what kind of nun had long, feathery eyelashes like that?

  Whatever pique he’d detected was quickly smothered behind the pious facade. “I fear your journey was unnecessary. I reached my destination two days ago without any problems. Indeed, I was on my way back to Berwick this morning. Sister Marguerite was simply walking me to the hill to say goodbye.”

  “You were planning to travel by yourself?” Ewen said.

  He hadn’t bothered to keep the incredulity from his voice, and the face she turned to him was serene enough, but he could swear her eyes were shooting tiny greenish-blue darts at him. Damn, she was pretty! Not too old and not too young. He’d guess she was in her mid-twenties—a handful of years younger than his thirty. The other one was pretty too, in a frail, helpless manner Sister Genna was trying to adopt, but she didn’t look much older than a child.

  “I hoped to catch up with another group of pilgrims at Dryburgh Abbey, a few miles away. We in the service of God are used to walking long distances. I walk much farther to sell our embroidery at market. Most people I encounter on the road are not like these.”

  “But some are,” he pointed out.

  She shrugged with far less concern than she should have. Even after what had just happened, she seemed oblivious to the danger she was in. Which only reinforced his belief that women had no part in war—even nuns acting as couriers. Women were too fragile. Too trusting. Too innocent of the ugly side of the world. How could she expect to defend herself against an armed knight?

  Though he admired the bravery and spirit he’d just witnessed, the next group of soldiers she came upon might not be so easily persuaded by her threats. What the hell was Lamberton thinking? The good bishop was sending his pretty lamb out to the slaughter with no idea of the danger she faced. And without protection, damn it.

  He should be glad to hear she’d passed the missive along and leave it at that. Escorting pretty nuns who didn’t know enough to realize that they were out of their element wasn’t what he’d joined the Highland Guard to do.

  As the only Lamont not in exile, it was up to Ewen to restore the good name of his clan and reclaim the clan lands lost by his cousin, ensuring that one of the greatest lordships in the Highlands did not fade away into the mist like those of the MacDougalls and Comyns.

  All he had to do was keep his head down, do his job, and not do anything to anger Bruce. When the war ended, he would be rewarded with land and coin.

  It was a simple equation. He sure as Hades didn’t need any complications from unknown variables—unknown variables like pretty little Italian nuns. As much as he liked Arthur “Ranger” Campbell’s eldest brother, Neil, he didn’t want to see any more Lamont land in Campbell hands.

  But he couldn’t very well leave her out here to fend for herself. Not after what he’d seen.

  She made an attempt to explain. “A few, perhaps. Though even these men, I think, were realizing the error of their ways.” Realizing that might sound ungrateful, she added, “Although, of course, we are grateful for your help. You were magnificent! Your sword skills were most impressive; I will make sure to pass along our praise to my superiors.”

  Though it was said with the perfect balance of feminine flattery and sincerity, Ewen had been around MacSorley long enough to recognize when he was being humored.

  Perhaps detecting his skepticism, she added, “Truly I do not know what we would have done had you not appeared when you did.”

  If he hadn’t seen her display earlier, the meek, helpless act might have fooled him. His eyes narrowed. Why the act at all? What game was she playing?

  She gave them a solemn smile, as if she were blessing them. But he was distracted by the small heart-shaped mole she had above her lip. God’s blood, a mole like that belonged on the mouth of a jade!

  “You have our deepest gratitude. Sister Marguerite and I will keep you both in our prayers. Goodbye.”

  Jesus! Ewen frowned and came to a sudden stop. How the hell had she done that? She’d been walking, and they’d been following her without even realizing it. They were almost back to the road.

  He felt like bloody Odysseus with the sirens. “Not so fast, Sister.” He had no intention of letting her walk off alone. MacLean could take the missive to Bruce, and he’d see their courier safely back to Lamberton. And when he was finished, he and the bishop were going to have a nice, long talk about using nuns as couriers. “Say your goodbyes if you wish, but you are coming with me.”

  Genna tried not to let her discomposure show, but it had been a long time since a man had tried to order her around. Not since … Duncan. Her chest pinched thinking of her brother. It was still hard to believe he was gone. Her big, strong, seemingly indestructible brother had been killed by the MacDowells at Loch Ryan not long after her disappearance.

  She turned around calmly and met his gaze—the disarming one whom, as he’d not seen fit to do so himself, MacLean had introduced as Lamont. Odd, as she thought the clan had stood with the MacDougalls against Bruce and had been exiled to Ireland. The Lamont clan was located in Cowal, she recalled, near Argyll in the Western Highlands. Their name was thought to be derived from the Norse “Logmaor,” or lawman. Which was especially ironic given that this man seemed to have the communication skills of a rock.

  He wasn’t responding in the way she expected, and it was mildly disconcerting. He also had a disarming way of looking at her. Hard. Intense. As if he could see all her secrets. Thinking of the scars, she realized that he had—some of them, at least. But she had plenty more waiting to be discovered.

  The sooner she rid herself of this unnerving man, the better.

  Feigning a patience she certainly didn’t feel, she bestowed one of her most nunly smiles on him. Calm. Serene. Understanding. With that slightly mysterious and hallowed detachment that set the nuns apart. How Mary would laugh to see her affect such a countenance! Her chest pinched, and she pushed the thought away. Her twin sister was safer without her around. But she hated not being able to see her and tell her she was all right. Soon, she hoped. The war couldn’t go on forever … could it?

  “I don’t understand. I believe I explained that there was no cause for you to come.” She’d delivered the missive, blast it. Why would the bishop send them after her? Lamberton had never displayed such a lack of faith in her before. She didn’t need an escort; he would only interfere with her plans. “Was there something else?”

  The smile had no effect on him. His face was as impenetrable as the steel that hid his brow and nose. She frowned. She had to admit, she was curious to see the entirety of his face. He had a nice mouth and jaw—

  She stopped with a startled jerk, wondering what in perdition had come over her.

  “I will return you to Berwick. You don’t need to worry about your friend. MacLean will see her safely back to the abbey. He will make sure everything reaches its intended destination.”

  The man