The Hunter (44 page)

The sounds behind her started to fade. She kept heading in the same direction, praying that it was the right one, but the darkness and trees had taken away her sense of direction.

After another handful of minutes, she had to stop. Bending over, she gulped in air like a starving person. She might be able to walk for days, but running at full speed for twenty minutes had sapped her of every bit of her energy.

Yet she had to keep going.

Slower now, but still running, she threaded her way through the trees.
Please let it be the right direction
.

For so many reasons, she wished she had Ewen with her. He wouldn’t get lost, which was more than she could say for herself. With the clouds, there weren’t even stars to guide her. She was going on instinct now, looking for any sign of something familiar. It was less than five miles between Roxburgh and Rutherford, with forest between them most of the way. The road was to the north of where she hoped she was.

The sounds were gone now. But she didn’t let herself
relax, knowing the forest could absorb sound as efficiently as it did light.

That was why she didn’t hear him until it was too late.

A man grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her side with his big, steel-clad arm. A leather gauntlet slammed over her mouth before she could scream. Her feet kicked wildly but uselessly in the air. “I have ’er!” he yelled.

Something wasn’t right. Ewen’s unease had begun to grow about an hour ago. The lad was late.

“He should be here by now,” he said.

“Perhaps he was delayed by the feasts?” Sutherland suggested. “It seems to be quite a celebration, if those fires are any indication.”

From their vantage on the hill, they could see the main gate and into the castle courtyard. Roxburgh Castle sat on the tip of a small peninsula of land at the juncture of the rivers Tweed and Teviot. The village lay behind and was mostly blocked from view, but they could see the roar of the fires.

By this time of night, the gate to the castle would normally be closed, but due to the feast, people were still flowing freely in and out.

“I’m going in there,” Ewen said.

“Are you mad? Roxburgh Castle is one of the most heavily defended castles on the Borders. There are at least five hundred English soldiers garrisoned there right now, waiting to resume the war, where one of their greatest objectives is to kill the members of Bruce’s famed secret army. And you are just going to walk right in there without a plan and hope they don’t notice you?”

Ewen gritted his teeth. “Aye. I’m sure as hell not just going to keep standing here. With the feast, this might be my best chance to get in there. And I do have a plan. I’ll
relieve one of the men-at-arms celebrating in the village of his attire.”

“That’s a plan? It’s bloody suicide, that’s what it is.”

“If her contact is at the castle, Janet could be there right now. The feast would be a perfect opportunity.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of risk for a possibility.”

“Possibilities are all I have right now. Unless you have a better idea,” he challenged angrily.

Sutherland’s jaw set in a hard line. He stared at him for a long moment. “I’ll go with you.”

Ewen shook his head. “I need you out here. If something goes wrong, I may need you to use that powder of yours for a distraction.”

Sutherland swore. “I sure as hell wish Viper were here.”

Ewen couldn’t disagree. Lachlan MacRuairi had a unique ability to get in and out of almost anywhere. But right now, Ewen would be grateful for any of his brethren—or former brethren. If something happened, two swords against five hundred wasn’t exactly encouraging odds.

Damn, it was hard to believe that he wasn’t going to be a part of this anymore. Fighting in this team had been the greatest thing he’d ever done. And these men …

They were the closest friends he’d ever had. They were like brothers to him. Leaving this all behind was going to be harder than he wanted to think about.

He and Sutherland had just finished working out the details—there weren’t many—of his plan when Sutherland caught a movement coming up the side of the hill. “So much for circumspect,” Sutherland said wryly. “The lad isn’t exactly trying to hide his eagerness to get here.”

Ewen’s pulse spiked as the lad drew near enough for him to make out his expression. “It isn’t just eagerness—something is wrong.”

The lad’s eyes were wide as he scrambled over edge of the hill. “Sorry … late … lady …” he gasped, heaved over, between big gulps of air.

Ewen grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him upright at the mention of “lady.” “What about the lady? Did you see her?”

The lad’s eyes went so wide, Ewen thought they were going to pop out. He was mouthing words, but no sounds were coming out.

“Calm down,” Sutherland said at Ewen’s side. “You’re scaring him.”

Ah hell
. Ewen let him go, and tried to moderate his tone when he felt like roaring at the top of his lungs. “What happened?”

The lad eyed him warily, still trying to catch his breath. Finally, he uttered the words that sent every drop of blood rushing from Ewen’s body.

“The p-priest … he found the lady.”

Janet fought with everything she had, but the soldier seemed to barely notice as he dragged her through the forest. The road was closer than she’d realized. After about fifty yards, they broke out of the trees and he pushed her forward with enough force to put her on her knees. She gazed up and found herself surrounded by men on horseback. In addition to the priest and the oaf who’d caught her before, she counted a half-dozen soldiers.

But none looked more dangerous than the priest. There was nothing churchly about the menacing gaze fixed on her. “Did you have a nice run, my dear?”

Janet felt a flash of panic but forced it aside. She had to think. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight. A handful of different explanations filtered through her mind, but she didn’t have time to weigh them all. She went with the first thing that came to mind: pretending that she hadn’t known who he was. “You are a priest?” she said, getting to her feet. “Thank goodness! I thought you were with this man who was accosting me.” She motioned to the oaf.

The priest shook his head with a tsking sound. “You can
forget the playacting, my dear. I know who you are. Your friend the monk was most forthcoming—with some persuasion, of course.” The small smile sent shivers racing up and down her spine.
Poor Thom
. “I know of your transformation from the Italian nun to the novice Eleanor. I suspected you of helping the usurper king to pass messages, but imagine my surprise and pleasure when you led us right to his secret army. I am most interested in learning the names of the men you were traveling with.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she persisted. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

His eyes narrowed. The soldiers moved their horses in tighter around her, and she had to fight the overwhelming urge not to try to dart between them and run. The instinct to flee at the danger closing in was primal.

“Do you think removing a veil and putting on a pretty dress will fool me?” the priest demanded. “It took me a moment when I saw you dancing, but I don’t forget a face. Especially one as pretty as yours. It’s a shame. So much beauty, going to waste.”

Janet didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t know what to say. Her tongue seemed tangled in her mouth. He wasn’t the knight or the squire, and she didn’t have the merchant and his wife to help her. She didn’t have
anyone
to help her. God, what she wouldn’t do for Ewen and his friends right now.

All she had was her wits—which seemed to be failing her right now—and her dagger. She would have to wait for the right time to attempt to get away, which, with all these men surrounding her, clearly wasn’t right now.

She tried her luck with the soldiers. “It seems there is some misunderstanding,” she said to one of them. “Perhaps it would be best if we returned to town—”

The priest didn’t let her finish. “There is no misunderstanding. What were you doing with the woman in the alley? And who is she?”

“Woman?” Janet repeated, as if confused. “Oh, you mean the beggar woman?”

“Do you usually embrace beggar women?” the priest asked, a shrewd glint in his eyes.

Janet cursed her mistake; she’d forgotten about the hug. “I was surprised myself, Father. But she was most grateful for the coin I gave her.”

“I do not think so, Genna or Eleanor or whatever name you are going by now. But it isn’t your identity that concerns me.” Obviously the dead friar hadn’t been privy to her real name, or she suspected the priest would be very interested. “We’ve suspected that someone has been leaking information from the castle, and you are going to tell us who that is. But first things first.” Janet didn’t like the small smile on his face when he turned to the soldier who’d captured her. “Search her.”

His words sent a chill racing down her spine. She knew it wouldn’t take them long to find the parchment in the purse at her waist. And if they did …

She didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t just her life at stake, but also her informant’s, the king’s, and the future of Scotland itself. If Bruce were captured now, the cause would be lost. Who else would be brave enough to stand up to the most powerful kingdom in Christendom? King Edward would put another puppet on the throne or take it for himself.

She couldn’t let them find it; she had to get away.

The time for talk had ended. She reached for her dagger, but she wasn’t quick enough. The soldier grabbed her arms in his crushing hold and spun her around to face him.

“Let go of me!” She managed to get one of her hands free and lashed at his face. One of her nails caught his cheek, but it only made him angrier.

In the torchlight she got her first look at him, and she almost wished for darkness. He wasn’t exceptionally tall like the man who’d caught her in the alley, but what he
lacked in height he made up for in breadth and bulk. He was wide as an oak, thick and strong. Beneath the edge of his helm, all she could see was a squashed-in, crooked nose that looked like it had healed in the same position in which it had been punched, a thick, dark beard that covered the bottom half of his face and a good portion of his neck as well, and piercing dark eyes that were staring at her with rage.

“Bitch!” He caught her wrist in his hand and squeezed so tightly, she thought he meant to snap the bone. He let go of it long enough to slam his fist into her jaw.

Her head snapped back, and she cried out in pain and the shock of being struck. He hit her again, this time backhanding her against the cheek. Blood poured down her face as tears sprang to her eyes. But still she fought back. She lashed out wildly—instinctively—but he caught her blows with ease. He hit her again and again, beating her into submission. Her jaw … her cheek … the side of her ribs. Her head swam; the pain was overwhelming. It took everything she had just to stay on her feet.

“That’s enough,” one of the other soldiers said, distaste evident in his voice. Apparently not all the soldiers were brutes who enjoyed beating women. “Let’s see if she has something first.”

The brutish soldier spun her around again, holding both her wrists in one vise-like hand, while the other pawed roughly at her body with obviously relish.

“The purse,” the priest said impatiently. “Give me the purse.”

She cried out and made one last frantic effort to protect the missive, but he snapped the leather girdle from her waist and tossed it to the priest.

Through tear- and blood-streaked vision, she watched as the priest removed the parchment from the leather pouch. A gleam of victory appeared in his gaze as one of the men held a torch above his head, and he read it.

He folded the damning evidence back up and slid it into his vestments. “I see I was right about you and the lady. I should think with this, Lord de Beaumont should be able to pinpoint the source of his leak. Although that won’t be half as much fun as it would be for Randolph here to retrieve the information from you. It’s a particular talent of his.”

Numb with the pain of his beating, her bruised and battered body still managed to chill.
Torture! Oh God, give me strength
. Though she’d known the danger from the outset—and had known something like this could happen—she had hoped never to face it.

The priest must have read the fear in her eyes because he smiled. “I do hate to deprive him of his fun.” He looked at Randolph. “See what you can find out. If she doesn’t tell you what you ask, kill her.”

Janet’s heart leapt to her throat. “Wait. You can’t do this. You are a man of God.”

“And you are a traitor. The man you call king is a murderer and excommunicated by the pope. God has no mercy for rebels.”

Janet turned to the soldier who’d spoken for her before. “Please.”

But he turned coldly away, ignoring her pitiful plea. Chivalry had ended with the discovery of the missive.

A moment later, the priest, his oafish minion, and the other soldiers were riding away, leaving her with her torturer and executioner.

“Do not take too long,” the priest said over his shoulder right before they disappeared from view.

The brutish soldier started to drag her back into the trees. Janet’s heart was slamming against her ribs—her probably broken ribs—and every instinct urged to use what remaining strength she had to fight back. But she had to be patient and wait for the perfect opportunity. She would have only one chance to take him by surprise. So
she forced the fight from her muscles, becoming as floppy as a poppet of rags.

When they reached a small clearing, he tossed her unceremoniously on the ground. She looked up at him looming over her and tried to push back the panic crawling up her throat.

Her stomach turned.

He reached up under his habergeon of mail and started to work the ties of his braies. “Don’t move, you stupid bitch. I’ve never fucked someone into telling me what I want to hear, but then again I’ve never questioned someone as pretty as you. Or as pretty as you used to be. Your face doesn’t look too good right now.” He laughed.