The Hunter (19 page)

He had a way of saying “my lady” that made her want to cringe. “Stop calling me that.”

His gaze bit into her and she shuddered, seeing the anger simmering there. But his voice was deceptively even. “What would you prefer I call you? Sister? Genna? Eleanor?”

“Janet. You know that’s my name. Stop pretending you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.”

With that ominous bit of warning that made her stomach feel as if a rock were bouncing up and down inside, he turned away.

They rode in silence for a while, each mile more and more uncomfortable. Why didn’t he just get it over with? Waiting for the axe to fall was making her anxious.

He was tense, too, although not for the same reason. The alertness she’d noticed had only increased the longer they rode—south, she realized suddenly.

“Why are we riding in this direction? Shouldn’t we be riding away from England?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “I’m making sure no one is following us.”

“Why would they be?”

She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer her, as it seemed she had about a one-in-two chance of that occurring. If he was trying to deter her from questions, however, it wasn’t going to work.

He seemed to be making an effort to cover their tracks. At least that was what she assumed he was doing, when he occasionally led them off the path into rocky ground or obscured their direction at junctures by riding back and forth a few times and varying the speed—and thus the stride—of their horses.

“
Is
anyone following us?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, but we’ll go a few more miles before we circle back to meet the others.”

“Others?”

“You did not think I would come alone? Your former brother-in-law sent four of his best men to find you, including your new brother-in-law.”

“Mary’s husband?”

She’d heard from Lamberton about Sutherland’s defection from the English and knew that her sister was safely returned to Scotland. If there was one good thing about being dragged back to Scotland like this, it was that she would finally be able to see her sister.

But beneath the excitement was also nervousness. Would Mary feel the same? Janet had caused her sister so much grief. She’d made a mess of everything, and Mary had been the one to suffer for it. She’d only narrowly escaped imprisonment and her son, Davey, had been taken from her again. Mary had every right to blame her for it.

Did she?

God knows, Janet did. Because of her, the man who’d picked her up and wiped her tears when she’d skinned her knee, who’d taught her how to ride a horse, who’d told her stories on his knee, was dead. The old servant had loved her like a father—better than a father and much better than her actual father. And what had he gotten for it? An arrow in the back.

Ewen must have been watching her face. When he spoke, it was in a far gentler voice than he’d used before. “Aye. Kenneth Sutherland, heir to the Earl of Sutherland.”

Janet nodded, having learned as much from the bishop. “Is … is she happy?”

He nodded, and for a moment she saw a glimmer of the softness in his eyes that she remembered. “Aye, lass. Very happy.”

Janet smiled. “I’m glad. No one deserves it more.”

He looked as though he wanted to say something. But
when he turned away instead, Janet told herself not to be disappointed.

It didn’t work.

They followed the road south for a few more miles, encountering no one, before veering off the path near a small loch, where they stopped to water the horses. Not having ridden a horse for some time, Janet was grateful for the short reprieve to stretch her legs.

She tended to her needs, and then walked to the edge of the water. It was a small loch, no bigger than a mile in diameter, but pretty, with the trees shrouding it in shades of green and brown.

The light was beginning to fade, and she guessed it must be a few hours after midday. With winter approaching, the days were growing shorter. It would be dark before long. They would barely be back to where they’d started, when it would be time to stop for the night.

Ewen came up beside her, seemingly reading her thoughts. “We will travel at night.”

“Won’t that be dangerous?”

His gaze hardened. “Aye. But that shouldn’t bother you.”

Janet couldn’t stand it anymore. His not-so-subtle barbs were driving her mad. “I know you are angry about what happened before. Why don’t you just say what you have to say and get it over with?”

Then maybe he would stop acting like a stranger. Like nothing had happened between them. And then maybe they could … what?

Janet didn’t know, but it wasn’t this.

Not giving in to his anger was a hell of a lot harder than Ewen expected. Every time he thought of what she’d been doing—of what she’d done—he went a little crazed with it.

“Angry?” he repeated. “Why should I be angry? Because you let me kiss you, and then let me believe I’d committed
a grave sin, or because you gave me your word you would stay out of this?”

She stiffened, pursing her mouth the way she did when she found something distasteful. In other words, when someone pointed out something she didn’t want to hear. “I didn’t say that. I said I would leave the fighting to the men—which I have.”

It took everything he had not to put his hands on her. No woman had ever riled his temper so easily. Hell, he hadn’t even known he had a temper. The muscles in his arms flexed at his side, shaking with the effort not to touch her. Not to take her by the arms and haul her up against him, where he was damned sure she would have to listen to him. “Don’t try that shite with me, Janet. You know bloody well what I meant!”

Not heeding the warning of his crass language, she gave a careless shrug of her shoulders and batted those big sea-blue eyes at him innocently. “Do I?”

He wasn’t aware that he’d moved until she gasped and took a step back—right into a tree. He loomed over her, a flurry of dangerous emotions firing inside him. Anger, frustration, and something that went far deeper. Something extreme and uncontrollable. Something wild. Something that roused every primitive and base instinct left over from his barbarian ancestors. Something that made him want to push her up against that tree, rip her clothes off, wrap one of her legs around his hips—what the hell was there about a woman wrapping her legs around him?—and ravish her until she vowed never to put herself in danger again. He could almost feel her shuddering against him. Feel the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest. Feel the heat of her. The taste of her.

God, he wanted her, and restraint hurt. He was hot and hard, and pounding with need.

How did she do this to him? How could she strip him
bare in a matter of minutes? Make him as out of control as …

As his father
.

A sudden chill penetrated the heat.

Rather than be intimidated—as any lass in her right mind
should
be—the lass only looked more outraged. Stretching to her full height, a good foot shorter than he, she stood toe-to-toe with him and dotted her tiny finger into his chest to emphasize her words. “You have no right to order me to do anything. What I do is none of your business.”

Whether it was her words or the thought of his father, he didn’t know. But as quickly as the anger had stoked inside him, it was doused. Ewen was nothing like his father.
Nothing
.

His father had been rash and undisciplined, wild and irresponsible. He had no concept of duty and loyalty.

Ewen knew exactly where his duty lay, and it wasn’t in laying with her.

He stepped back. “You’re right.”

He should thank her for reminding him. He wasn’t going to have this conversation because it didn’t matter.
She
didn’t matter. Janet of Mar was not for him.

It didn’t matter that no other woman had ever affected him like this. It didn’t matter that he took one look at her and felt every inch, every bone, every ounce of blood in his body heat with desire so fierce and raw that it took his breath away. It didn’t matter that she made him angry. It didn’t matter that she was the first woman he could talk to without having to worry about whether he’d said something wrong.

Hell, it didn’t even matter that he
liked
her. So what? Marriage wasn’t based on likes and dislikes. It was based on duty, and people did their duty and ignored their personal desires every day.

Civilized men—responsible men—didn’t simply take a
woman because they wanted her. His father might have done that, but he wasn’t his damned father. He didn’t get impassioned about anything, damn it. And sure as hell not about a woman.

Except her.

He swore. It was only a few days. He could handle a few days of almost anything—including being aroused to the point of pain.

His physical discomfort was almost worth the expression on her face. His sudden retreat had discombobulated her.

She blinked up at him. “I am?”

He nodded. “Aye. It’s not any of my business. But you’d think after what happened with your sister at the bridge, you would be more cautious.” She flinched, and Ewen sensed that his barb had struck deeper than he’d intended. But maybe it would make her think. “Now, if you are ready, we should go.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left before the hurt in her eyes made him do something stupid.

Stung by the reminder of her sister, Janet watched him walk away. What had just happened? One minute he was looking at her as if he didn’t know whether to throttle her or kiss her (she was rather hoping for the latter), and the next he was walking away as if he didn’t care one whit about her.

Perhaps he didn’t.

The realization stabbed. Why was he acting like this, so cold and indifferent? Good heavens, he’d seemed more attracted to her when he’d thought she was a nun!

Something had changed between them, and it wasn’t just a veil. She’d thought …

What? That he felt something for her? That there had been some kind of special connection between them? Had her own feelings made her see something that wasn’t there?

It wasn’t often that Janet felt unsure of herself, but it was becoming an all-too-frequent occurrence around Ewen Lamont. How a rough, uncouth soldier with limited communication skills (which sounded better than “spares words but not feelings”) and abysmal manners could leave her so unbalanced and confused defied comprehension. She’d come across a thousand men like him (although admittedly not many who were built like a stone wall and handsome enough to make her knees weak).

She didn’t know what she wanted from him. He wasn’t right for her—she knew that. He was too opinionated, too rigid, too much like her patronizing “lasses-can’t-do-that” brothers and father. But she couldn’t deny that seeing him again made her heart flutter as if she were a thirteen-year-old lass who’d just met her first handsome knight. She felt silly and woozy and flushed all at the same time.

Jerusalem’s temples, she couldn’t even breathe right! All he had to do was stand next to her and the wild fluttering of her heart took over her lungs, making her breath quicken into short little gasps.

And heaven forbid he touch her! If he touched her, she would turn into a horrible soupy mess. All melty and hot, and unable to think straight.

She was too old to be acting like this. Surely these kind of feelings were the province of lovesick young girls, and not a woman of seven and twenty who was basically a nun?

Except there was no “basically” when it came to being a nun. He’d made her remember that she was a woman. A woman who was no longer young, but who knew exactly what she was going to do, until he’d come along and confused her with his no-nonsense, say-whatever-is-on-his mind and won’t-be-gainsaid manner, his ruggedly handsome face, that broad chest and distracting display of muscle, and most of all, the fierce taste of passion that had shown her just how far from nunhood she really was.

Instead of trying to remember every facet of a kiss that should never have happened, she should be focusing on her job. And instead of feeling excited at the prospect of spending time with him over the next few days on the journey north, she should be angry at him for insisting that she leave the Borders and interfering with her mission yet again.

Winter might have brought a temporary lull in the fighting, but the war was not over. Her job was not yet finished. She had to be back by St. Drostan’s. Janet was confident that once she explained everything to Robert, and he could see that she was perfectly safe, she would return to her post in Roxburgh. The king needed her. This informant was too important to risk with someone else. Unlike Ewen, Robert listened to reason.

But even so, she hated the idea of leaving like this. She might have refused to go if she hadn’t been fairly certain the hard-headed brute would toss her over his shoulder like some Viking barbarian and carry her away.

When it came to doing his duty as a soldier, Janet suspected there was nothing that would get in his way. Yes, that was Ewen: the perfect soldier. He didn’t make trouble, did his job, followed orders, no questions asked—or tolerated, she thought angrily. Arguing with him was like trying to argue with a stone wall.

What she didn’t understand was why she cared. She’d like to think it was because he was interfering with her duty, but she knew that wasn’t what was making her heart squeeze when he walked away as if she didn’t matter to him at all. As if the air had not just been crackling between them.

And blast him for bringing up her sister! He didn’t understand anything.

She didn’t know whether she was more annoyed with him or with herself.
Him
, she decided with certainty as she watched his back grow smaller. He didn’t turn around—not once. Not even to see if she was following.

Her gaze narrowed, her frown deepening as she noticed
something and marched over to where he stood with the horses.

“What’s wrong with your leg?”

The slight tensing in his shoulders was barely noticeable, but it was there. “Nothing.”

Without warning, he circled his hands around her waist, picked her up, and unceremoniously plopped her down on her horse. It happened so fast that had she blinked, she might have missed it. She felt a little bit like an iron pot taken straight from the oven.