The Hunter (14 page)

Did Bruce know Janet was alive? Ewen intended to find out. He closed the distance to the dais in a few steps. Though his attention was on the king, he caught the frown on the newest member of the Highland Guard’s face and suspected that Sutherland had noticed his reaction to his wife. But he would deal with him later.

The king glanced up as he approached, his brows furrowing as he took in Ewen’s dark expression. “Is something wrong?”

“I need to speak to you,” Ewen snapped; then, remembering to whom he was speaking he added, “Sire.”

“I haven’t finished my meal.”

“It’s important,” Ewen replied stiffly, though it should have been obvious. Ewen could count on one hand the times he’d asked anything of the king. He put his head down, did his job, and tried to avoid conflict. Ironic for a soldier perhaps, but making trouble had been his father’s way, not his. Another reason to avoid Sister Genna, he thought. She was nothing but conflict. And not the way to distance himself from his wild father and rebel cousin.

Bruce shot him a dark glare. “It had better be.”

Tor MacLeod, the leader of the Highland Guard, must have been watching from the other end of the table. When the king rose, he did as well.

“Alone,” Ewen said.

Bruce didn’t hide his annoyance but waved off the fierce Highland chief.

Ewen followed the king into the laird’s solar, the small room located just off the Hall, and waited for the king to
take his seat in the throne-like chair. The MacDougall chief had forfeited both his chair and his castle to Bruce after his loss at the key Battle of the Pass of Brander two summers past.

“Well, what is it that couldn’t wait, Hunter?”

The king preferred to address him by his war name, even when there was no danger of his identity being discovered. The name Lamont was nearly as reviled as that of Comyn, MacDougall, or MacDowell, and it was almost as if Bruce didn’t want to remind himself of the connection.

Ewen didn’t waste any time. “Does Mary of Mar know that her sister is alive and working as a courier for Lamberton?”

The king’s lack of reaction answered Ewen’s first question: Bruce knew. “Lady Janet has been missing for over three years. How can you be so sure she is alive?”

Ewen put his palms flat on the table and leaned toward the king. “Because I spent two days escorting her to Berwick after she narrowly escaped rape at the hands of some English soldiers near Melrose Abbey.”

The king’s expression cracked at the word
rape
, but Robert the Bruce was every bit as fierce as his elite band of warriors, and he hadn’t dared to wrest a crown from Edward of England’s hands by showing emotion. Only someone who knew him as well as Ewen would have detected the reaction. He quickly schooled the concern from his features and drummed his fingers idly on the table. “How can you be certain it was Janet? Did she identify herself as such?”

Because Ewen could still see her damned face in his dreams. Still feel the curve of the baby-soft cheek that he’d held in his hand. Still taste the sensual mouth that had moved under his.

He was angry enough to tell Bruce exactly how he knew, but for once he curbed his tongue—albeit not completely. “You know damned well Sister ‘Genna’ is hiding her identity
and pretending to be Italian. What the hell are you thinking, allowing your former sister-in-law to put herself in such danger?”

Bruce’s eyes turned flinty black. “Have care, Hunter. I’m used to your blunt manner of speaking, but I’m your king. I don’t care how good of a tracker you are, or how much Stewart believed in you; you’ll control your anger when you are talking to me or find another army to take your chances with.”

Ewen sobered at the sharp reminder—and at how thoroughly he’d forgotten himself.

Angering the king probably wasn’t the best way of going about seeing the Lamonts restored to their former glory. Discretion intervened, and although it wasn’t without some effort, Ewen managed to get a hold on his anger. “I apologize, Sire.”

Bruce stared at him intently, dark eyes hard as onyx as his fingers continued to drum ominously on the table. Another man might have started to shift, but Ewen stood perfectly still while the king decided whether to accept his apology and, apparently, weighed how much to tell him. “If you’ve met my former sister-in-law, you can probably guess that I was not consulted. She came up with the idea all on her own. I was only made aware of her survival and the part she was playing with Lamberton about a year ago when she returned from Italy, where she’d taken refuge after her attempt to rescue her sister went awry.”

That explained the Italian.

Bruce shook his head. “You have to admire the lass—she does not lack for courage in going after her sister at such a time. We were being hunted like dogs. There was no place to hide. Edward’s reign of terror was in full force; he had eyes and ears everywhere. Not even Atholl dared to attempt to reach his wife before he fled north, but Janet commandeered some of her sister-in-law Christina’s MacRuairi clansmen and sailed halfway around Scotland, riding
into England bold-as-brass, to pluck her sister right out from under Edward’s nose.” One corner of his mouth lifted wryly. “It almost worked, too.”

That sounded like her all right. But the story that instilled admiration in the king only made Ewen more irate. Then, like now, the lass didn’t seem to have any concept of danger. He said as much to the king, who didn’t disagree with him.

“Tell me what happened,” Bruce said.

Ewen gave him a brief but concise report of how he and MacLean had arrived to discover the two nuns surrounded by soldiers, and how “Sister Genna” had protected her young charge and fended the soldiers off with her threats. He described how MacLean had gone after the note to ensure it reached Bruce (which it had) and how Ewen had insisted on escorting Janet back to Lamberton.

The king’s expression, which had been very grave as Ewen described the attack, lightened with a wry smile at the last. “I’m sure she wasn’t happy about that. Janet was headstrong even as a girl and never liked following orders. I suspect that streak of independence has only grown worse in the intervening years. I’m surprised she did not try to talk you out of it.”

“She did.”

The king lifted a brow. “And you didn’t fall for her honeyed tongue?” He laughed. “I should like to have seen it. After her father died, the lass lived with Isabella and me for a time. I can’t tell you how many times I started out trying to punish her for some mischief she’d gotten into and ended up sending her away feeling as if I were the one who deserved to be sent to the nearest priest to repent.”

Ewen had no interest in rehashing old memories of Janet’s youthful follies; he was more interested in her recent ones. “The English are tightening their noose all across the Borders in an attempt to break our communication routes through the church. It has become increasingly
dangerous for all of our couriers, but the women are particularly vulnerable.”

Recalling his earlier gaffe, Ewen was careful not to imply any criticism, but Bruce heard it all the same. “We cannot win the war without the support of the church—both the men of the cloth and the women. They know the risk when they agree to undertake their mission, and I will not second-guess them. Nor will I refuse help simply because it comes from a woman. Janet is the only person I can trust for this.”

Ewen clenched his mouth to prevent himself from arguing. But he didn’t see what could possibly be so important as to endanger her life.

“Have you forgotten what Bella did for me?” Bruce asked, referring to MacRuairi’s wife, the former Countess of Buchan, who’d suffered years of English imprisonment for her part in crowning the king, part of it in a cage. “Or how my wife, daughter, and sisters are still suffering for my cause?”

“That’s exactly my point,” Ewen said. “Women don’t belong in prison or cages. It’s our duty to—”

He stopped before he said the offending words, but it was too late.

“It’s our duty to protect them,” the king finished his thought.

Ewen winced. Damn it, he’d stepped in it again! The king was haunted by what had happened to his women and blamed himself for the fate that had befallen them. He didn’t need Ewen to remind him.

“It isn’t always possible,” the king said softly. He paused a moment before clearing his throat and continuing in a harder voice, “Your fears about my former sister-in-law are not unwarranted, but do not let it concern you. I’ve already started to make preparations for her return, as soon as I can arrange an alternative, which won’t be easy.”

Ewen didn’t bother to hide his relief. “I’m glad to hear it, Sire.”

“Sutherland was making it difficult with his enquiries on behalf of his wife, renewing interest in the lass, and with what you have said …” He shrugged. “Janet will have to understand.”

He didn’t sound any more convinced than Ewen.

“Lady Mary doesn’t know she is alive?”

Bruce shook his head. “We thought it was safer for all involved to keep it secret. Until recently, I wasn’t sure in which direction Mary’s loyalty lay. She was in England for many years.”

“I’m sure she will be relieved.”

“She’ll be furious,” Bruce quipped dryly. He laughed. “But I hope to appease her with wedding plans.”

Ewen frowned. “Wedding plans? But I thought Sutherland and Mary were already married.”

“They are. It’s her sister’s wedding I speak of.”

“But Janet is a …” Even before Ewen could say the word, he realized the truth. He stared at Bruce, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the chest. Or maybe a little lower.

Bruce smiled. “She hasn’t taken any vows.”

A dam burst as anger rose dangerously inside him. It felt like his whole damned body was shaking. “She is
pretending
to be a nun?”

He was going to kill her, or kiss her until he earned the sins he’d been paying for and she begged forgiveness for the torture she’d put him through—he didn’t know which. But one way or another, his too tempting little
non
-nun was going to pay.

Bruce stared at him with a frown, but Ewen was too angry to hide his reaction. “It started as an innocent mistake,” the king explained, “but ended up being the best way to protect her. Who would think Janet of Mar was an Italian nun?”
Who indeed?
Ewen fumed, feeling as if his head were about to explode. How long would it take him
to reach Berwick? He was counting down the hours. “Sister Genna” wasn’t going to talk her way out of this one. “Lamberton said the lass has some ideas to take the veil in truth, but when she hears the husband I have picked out for her, I’m sure she will change her mind.”

Ewen thought the knowledge of how she’d lied to him, let him wallow in his guilt for kissing her, and then used it against him was bad enough. He was wrong.

Married?
Every instinct in his body recoiled at the idea.

“Who?” he asked in a flat voice.

The king looked at him oddly. “Young Walter.”

The blow could have felled him in two. “Stewart?”

The king nodded.

Ewen’s liege lord and the son of the man to whom he owed everything. The door that had cracked open for a moment slammed shut. If Ewen had harbored any thoughts of something more with Janet of Mar—even for an instant—the knowledge that she was meant for Walter Stewart erected a wall in his mind that was far more powerful than any veil.

Everything Ewen had he owed to James Stewart—his home, his land, his education, his place in Bruce’s guard—and now that loyalty belonged to his son. Moreover, any hope he had of restoring his clan’s good name rested not just with Bruce, but also with the Stewarts.

Pursuing his liege lord’s intended wasn’t likely to endear him to either. He wasn’t going to jeopardize everything he’d been fighting for for a woman, especially one who infuriated him half the time.
More
than half the time.

No matter how hot she fired his blood.

No matter that she was the first woman he’d ever talked to that didn’t make him feel as if every word out of his mouth was wrong.

No matter that every time he closed his eyes he saw her face.

A ridiculous thought stole through his mind: What if

Stewart could be persuaded to step aside? Hell, one could even argue that Ewen would be doing him a favor. Janet was probably a good half-dozen years older than the eighteen-year-old Walter, and infinitely wiser. The lass would eat the poor lad up alive.

But Ewen stomped on the flicker of hope before it could flame. Who the hell was he fooling? She was the former sister-in-law of a king. The daughter, sister, and aunt of an earl. He was a Highland chieftain with one finger of land in Cowal, a holding that was a pittance compared to Stewart’s—or even his cousin’s before the Lamont lands were dispossessed.

Even if he wanted her—which he sure as hell wasn’t saying he did—Janet of Mar was not for him.

Or so he would keep telling himself over the long months ahead.

Eight

Roxburgh, Scottish Marches, Autumn 1310

An eerie prickle raced down her spine. Janet turned anxiously, scanning the area behind her, but nothing seemed amiss. No one was paying her any mind. It had to be the weather.