The Hunter (30 page)

“What husband? I am not married, nor do I ever intend to be.”

Her vehemence took him aback. “You sound so certain.”

She lifted her chin. “I am.”

“You can’t seriously be considering becoming a nun?”

After what had just happened, it sounded just as implausible to her. But she would do what she must. “If that is my only alternative to marriage.”

“You make marriage sound like a death sentence. Would it really be so horrible?”

She thought of her family. Yes, it would be. How could she explain? How could she make him understand what to
him—to most men—must seem unnatural? “I would lose myself.”

His brow wrinkled. “How?”

“I would no longer have the ability to control my own actions. Everything—even the smallest decision—would be controlled by my husband. My will would no longer be my own. I have no wish to be treated like chattel.”

He frowned. “It’s not always like that.”

She lifted a brow. “So you know of many men who treat their wives as equals?”

His frown deepened. “A few.”

Her heart skipped forward. Did that include him? “And would you allow your wife the power to make her own decisions even if they did not agree with yours?”

“We aren’t talking about me.”

“No, we aren’t,” she said quietly, her heart squeezing with unexpected disappointment. She couldn’t have been thinking of him as a husband, could she? “But you wished to know my reasons, and you are a perfect example. You’ve made your feelings about what I’m doing quite clear. By what right could I expect another man to feel differently? Can you imagine a husband permitting me to continue my work?”

His mouth tightened mulishly. “Your work is dangerous.”

“So I need to be protected from myself, is that it?” Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. She decided to turn the question back on him. “Why are you so sure I shouldn’t be doing this? Why do you have such little regard for women—or is it just me?”

He appeared shocked. “Jesus, Janet, just because I don’t think it’s safe for you to wander all over Scotland by yourself in the middle of a war, doing something that could get you killed if you are discovered, doesn’t mean I think less of you. Bloody hell, you’ve proved yourself to anyone after today. You’ve done as well as any man.” Her chest lifted at his words. He had no idea how much they meant to her.
“But being a woman makes you vulnerable in different ways. When I think of what could happen to you …” His face darkened, and his eyes took on a haunted glaze. “Damn it, do you have any idea what the English would do to you if they found out what you were doing?”

There was something more at work here than simply his view on traditional roles for men and women. Obviously, he was speaking from personal experience. “Tell me what happened.”

His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle below it start to tic. “It was a few years ago—not long after we landed in Scotland after being forced to take refuge in the Isles for a few months.” She swallowed. It was when her brother Duncan had been killed. “We were being hunted, the tide had not yet turned, and a handful of villagers—mostly women and children—helped to hide us in the hills. The English found out, and when we returned to thank them,” his eyes met hers, “there wasn’t anyone left to thank. The women had been raped and beaten before they’d had their throats slit. Only one lass survived.”

Janet gasped. Though he’d spoken with his usual bluntness, she could hear the emotion in his voice and realized how horrible it must have been. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course, it was,” he snapped. “We asked them for help, never imagining the risk we were asking them to take.”

“But they would have done it anyway,” she said softly. “Even knowing, they would have helped you.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I would have done the same.”

He stared at her, not saying anything for a moment. “Why is being a courier so important to you?”

“The why shouldn’t matter. The fact that it is should be enough.” Was it too much to hope that a man could understand that? “I do not ask you why you do what you do. Just because I don’t wear armor and carry a sword doesn’t
make what I do any less important.” She paused. “This war won’t be won by the sword alone, Ewen. How do you think Bruce’s phantoms know the right place to attack?” He was watching her intently. “Good intelligence passed by couriers.”

She left it at that, not wanting to say more.

He seemed to consider what she’d said, but whether he gave it any weight, she couldn’t tell. “Is this about your sister?”

She stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t have to prove yourself or atone for what happened at the bridge. Mary doesn’t blame you. If you only knew how desperate she’s been to find you, and how anxious she is to have you back.”

Janet’s heart devoured every word. Was it true? She wanted to believe him and yearned to question him, but that would mean acknowledging to herself that his words held some truth. “My sister has nothing to do with this. Isn’t it enough to want to help? Must there always be a further reason? How about you—why are you here, Ewen? What made you decide to be one of Bruce’s phantoms?”

He shot her a glare but didn’t take the bait. “I joined Bruce’s
army
because my liege lord, and a man I respected above all others, asked me to do so. I’ve stayed to keep my clan from extinction.”

Her eyes widened at the blunt honesty. No patriotic fever or talk of freedom and tyranny from him, just ambition and reward. “Your father?” she asked.

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. When he did, he laughed. “Hardly. My father was not a man to inspire much devotion. Nay, I speak of the former steward—Sir James Stewart.”

Janet couldn’t hide her surprise. Was that the lord he’d spoken of who’d fostered him? The Stewart Lords of Bute were one of the most important clans in the country. “You are connected to the Stewarts?”

A wry smile turned his mouth, as if he guessed the direction of her thoughts. “Not closely. My mother was Sir James’s cousin—his favorite, as it happened.” Seeing her confusion, he sighed as if resigning himself to having to say more. “My mother was betrothed to the Chief of Lamont when she met my father—one of his chieftains—and decided to marry him instead. Needless to say, the Lamont chief was not happy. He went to war with my father and would have destroyed him without Sir James’s help.” He shook his head. “Ironically, it was my father being cut off from the rest of the clan that gave me the ability to save it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like the MacDougalls, the MacDowells, and the Comyns, my cousin—the current chief—and his clansmen stood against Bruce and have been exiled and had the clan lands dispossessed, except for my lands in Ardlamont. Were it not for my connection to the Stewarts, and thus to Bruce, I would be with them. As it stands, I am the last Lamont in Cowal. My clan lives or dies with the skill of my sword, so to speak.”

Janet was stunned. No wonder he seemed so stubborn and single-minded about every mission. The future of the once great clan rested on his broad shoulders. But something else he’d said gave her a whisper of possibility. “You are a chieftain?”

He held her gaze. “Do not be too impressed, my lady. It is a minor holding only—with half a castle.”

Her brows furrowed, not understanding the sarcasm. “Until the king rewards you with more for your service?”

He shrugged. “If that is his will.”

She eyed him speculatively. Though he’d said it with nonchalance, she sensed how much it mattered to him. This was what drove him. Reward and a position for his clan under a Bruce kingship.

It also provided another explanation for why he’d
stopped. Despoiling the king’s sister-in-law was hardly likely to ingratiate him to Robert.

But there was no reason Robert should ever find out. Not that she thought that was likely to sway Ewen. He was proving to have an inconveniently steely streak of honor in him.

She bit her lip, wondering if there was another way. Despite his continued rejection and appalling behavior in walking away from her in the middle of lovemaking, she still wanted him and wasn’t going to give up.

Why it was so important to her, she didn’t know. Either she was a glutton for punishment or there was something truly special between them that was worth the continued blows to her pride. And then there was the passion. The undeniable attraction that sprang up between them like wildfire. She could not discount that.

In any event, “I can’t do this” wasn’t an answer she intended to accept. It sounded too much like no. If Mary’s voice whispered a warning, Janet pushed it aside. She knew what she was doing. Besides, there was no one else around to get hurt.

He scanned the area behind her. “We’ve rested long enough.”

She lifted a brow in question. “Resting” wasn’t how she would describe what they’d been doing.

If she wasn’t sure that it was impossible for him to blush, she would have sworn his cheeks darkened as he took in her meaning. “Aye, well, you can sleep once I’m sure that we’ve lost them.”

“I think I’d prefer to do some more resting.”

He shot her a reproachful glare. “Janet …”

He might have been scolding a naughty pup. She blinked up at him innocently. “What?”

“It isn’t going to happen. I told you it was a mistake. It’s over.
Over
.”

She smiled, knowing that neither of them believed him. It wasn’t over; it had just begun.

Ewen pushed them mercilessly, as much to put distance between them and the English as to keep her too busy to plot his downfall.

The lass was trouble.

And stubborn.

And too bold by half.

She was also smart.

And achingly sweet.

And far stronger than he’d ever expected.

He couldn’t believe she was still on her feet. So far today she’d been hunted by dogs, attacked by an English knight, killed said knight with a well-placed dagger to the leg, trudged for miles knee-deep in an icy river, suffered a bath in that icy water, and hiked for miles over frozen, mist-topped hills. As if that weren’t enough, she’d also come within a hair’s breadth of ruin.

One orgasm couldn’t make up for all that. Though it had been one hell of an orgasm. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look of ecstasy and surprise on her face as her body had shattered under him. The rush of color to her cheeks, the half-lidded eyes hazy with passion, the softly parted lips swollen from his kiss.

Jesus
. Heat swelled in his sorely abused groin. The release he’d taken in his hand after leaving her had barely taken the edge off. How was he going to keep his hands off her until they reached the coast, when all he could think about was finishing what they’d started?

The lass had invaded his senses, penetrated his defenses, and slipped under his skin. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. Even exhausted, his leg on fire, cold and hungry, he couldn’t look at her without thinking about throwing her down on the ground, wrapping those long, slim
legs around his waist, and giving her exactly what she was asking for.

So he did what any fearless warrior would do: he didn’t look at her.

But he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
More resting …
bloody hell! Was she trying to kill him? God knew why, but the lass had gotten it in her head to give him her innocence. Did she have any idea how hard it was for him to refuse that kind of an offer?

Of course, she didn’t, and after hearing her views on marriage, he sure as hell wasn’t going to enlighten her. He had no doubt he’d have to drag her kicking and screaming all the way to Dunstaffnage. Bruce was going to have a hell of a battle on his hands when she found out about his plans.

The worst part was that he wasn’t sure he blamed her. He’d never considered marriage from a woman’s perspective before, but he had to admit, her concerns were not without merit. He’d always taken for granted a man’s role of absolute authority. To a woman like Janet who was used to making her own decisions, it would be stifling. She would chafe against those bindings at every turn.

But what was the alternative? Ewen wasn’t like MacKay, he couldn’t let his wife follow them into battle. He frowned. Although he had been grateful more than once to have a skilled healer at hand.

Helen is different
, he told himself.

But wasn’t Janet?

They climbed to a small plateau in the hillside, and he stopped. Though it was only a few hours after noon, daylight was already fading.

“Wait here,” he said, pointing to a rocky outcrop. As he’d done every few miles, he let her catch her breath while he circled back to attempt to hide their tracks. The snow on the ground had hardened as the temperature dropped the higher they climbed on the mountain, making it easier
to do so. But where the ground was too soft, instead of hiding, he set about confusing their pursuers by walking backward, breaking off in other directions for a while, or making a number of footprints in one area.

When he returned a few minutes later, she was seated on one of the rocks, watching him. “Is anyone following?”

He shook his head.

But something made her curious. “Why did you stop to look at the bracken back there?”

He sat down beside her and pulled out his skin. After taking a long swig, he handed it to her. “Some of the stems were broken where we brushed by.”

She frowned. “I thought you were hiding our footprints.”

“I’m hiding our tracks.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

He shook his head. “I’m looking for any disturbances on the landscape, not just footsteps. Any sign that someone might have passed.”

“And you can tell from a few broken twigs that someone has passed.”

He shrugged. “It’s a sign.”

She gave him a long look. “How did you become so good at this?”

“My father’s henchman was a tracker. He used to take me out with him when I was young, and later when I returned from fostering. He noticed I had an unusual memory for details and taught me how to use that skill to track. But it’s mostly experience.” Years and years of learning what to look for.