The Hunter (45 page)

Janet tried to shut out his words. Tried not to hear what he was saying as she concentrated on the hand reaching slowly for her boot.

Just a few more inches …

She gasped when stepped over her. He would have crushed her legs with his foot if she hadn’t reacted by separating them. But unknowingly by spreading her legs, he helped her. Her hand found its target.

She grasped the hilt of her dagger in her hand as he knelt down on the ground before her.

All she could see in the moonlight was the cold gleam of his smile. “Aren’t you going to fight me? It’s much more fun that way.”

Her heart was in her throat. She held her breath, waiting for the perfect moment.

He lifted his habergeon. Her eyes went to the protruding mass of flesh, and she shuddered with revulsion.

He saw her reaction. “Aye, it’s impressive isn’t it.” He dropped his gaze and wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a hard stroke.

That was when she struck.

She slid the blade from the scabbard and plunged it into his leg.

He cried out in shock and pain. His eyes widened and then his hands circled around her neck, squeezing …

She screamed until she ran out of air.

Ewen took what the boy had told him—that the priest had caught sight of the lady in the village and had sent to the castle for soldiers to arrest her, but the lady had run away before he could catch her—and was able to pick up her tracks at the place the horses had chased her into the forest.

Leaving the boy to watch the road, he and Sutherland followed the tracks through the forest. As it was dark, he had no choice but to use a torch.

He came to the place where another set of tracks appeared from the road, and a dank chill raced through his blood. A few feet later his fears were confirmed: whoever had been following her had caught her. He had just started to follow the tracks where the man had dragged her, when he heard a sound that stopped his heart: a woman’s scream.

He didn’t hesitate. Even after Sutherland bit out a warning to him to be careful, he plunged into the trees. The sound had been close. Torturously close. He prayed as hard as he’d ever prayed in his life.
Please let me get there in time. Don’t let it be too late. Just a few more seconds …

He burst into the clearing, sword raised. When he saw the small figure struggle to her feet from beneath the body of a prone man, everything inside him seemed to come to a sudden halt.

His hand fell. “Janet?”

She looked up at him, and he made a pained sound. The emotions were so fierce and intense, he staggered. His stomach heaved. He’d felt something like this only once before, in the aftermath of his first battle, where the sight of all the blood had sickened him. But it was nothing to the sight of the woman he loved battered and bloody.

“Ewen?” she said softly. “You found me.”

She swayed, and he lurched forward, catching her against him. His heart was pounding so hard he couldn’t breathe. He cradled her to him like a broken bird. The thought of how close he’d come to losing her made his knees week. “Oh God, are you all right? What happened?”

She buried her head in his chest and grabbed hold of him, clutching him like a frightened kitten. But a glance at the body of the man at her feet told him that his kitten had the heart of a lion. She’d been beaten but not defeated, and through the gut-wrenching emotions wracking him he felt a swell of pride.

He kissed her head, savoring the silky texture of her hair and the scent of bluebells that reminded him of home. She
was
his home. How could he not have known it? “It’s all right now,” he murmured soothingly. “I have you. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

Sutherland came up behind them and swore, the torchlight enabling him to see her face. It seemed to break the trance that had enfolded them.

She looked up at him, her bruised and bloody face suddenly intent. “You have to catch them before they reach the castle.”

“Who?” he asked.

Before she could respond, the sound of a sharp whistle pierced the night. He and Sutherland exchanged a look. Sutherland responded, and a few moments later, they had company.

Janet was in a state of shock. She could still feel the man’s hands squeezing her neck. She had thought he was going to kill her. He would have, too, if her blade hadn’t found the perfect spot. Before he could finish her off, he collapsed on top of her, his life’s blood still rushing from his body.

Out of this nightmare, Ewen had appeared like an image
from a dream. It had taken her a moment to realize he was real.

He’d found her. He was holding her, and she never wanted to let him go.

But then she remembered the priest. They had to find him before he reached the castle. Her informant’s life was at stake.

Her explanation, however, was interrupted by the arrival of three more nasal-helmed phantoms. Under normal circumstances she might have felt a flicker of apprehension, even knowing they were friends, but Ewen was holding her.

“We heard the scream,” one of the men said by way of explanation. Magnus, she realized, recognizing his voice.

When she turned from her position pressed against Ewen’s chest to look at him, the big Highlander swore.

She bit her lip, tasting blood, and realized her face must look as bad as it felt.

“What happened, lass?” he asked, his voice more gentle than she’d ever heard it.

She must really look bad. “I don’t have time to explain. There is a party of five soldiers, a priest, and another man headed back to the castle. You have to catch them before they arrive. They have a missive meant for Bruce. A note that could spell a death warrant for someone inside the castle.” She sensed movement from one of the men at Magnus’s side and instinctively retreated to the safety of Ewen’s chest. Even beneath the darkened nasal helm, he looked meaner than the rest.

“Back off, Viper,” Ewen said from behind her. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

The warrior ignored him, his eyes fixed on her—the eeriest eyes she’d ever seen. “When did they leave?”

“A few minutes ago.” Janet thought back. “Maybe five?”

“I’ll go,” the man Ewen called Viper said.

Janet turned to Ewen. “You must go, too. You have to make sure they find them and no one gets away.”

Ewen clenched his jaw shut, looking as yielding as a stone wall. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Please,” she said. “You must do this for me. I beg you.”

His eyes searched hers. “Don’t ask this of me. You’re hurt. Jesus, Janet, you’re covered in blood, and your face …” His voice caught. The moonlight almost made his eyes look shiny with tears.

She managed a wobbly smile, though it hurt. “My face will heal and the blood is not mine.” At least most of it wasn’t. “But I need to find Robert as soon as possible, and I cannot do so unless I know the person in the castle is safe.”

“Viper will see to it,” Ewen said. But he must have read something on her face. “This is important to you?”

She nodded. “The parley in Selkirk is a trap. The English plan to break the truce.”

More than one of the men swore at her news. “You are sure?” Ewen asked. “The breaking of the peace at a truce is beyond even the normal course of English treachery.”

She nodded. “I am sure. The proof is in that missive.”

The mean-looking one with the appropriate name of Viper interrupted. “We need to go if we hope to catch them before they arrive. It isn’t far to the castle.”

Still, Ewen hesitated. He didn’t want to let her go.

Her heart squeezed. “It will be all right,” she said softly. “My brother-in-law will keep me safe. Won’t you, Sir Kenneth?”

Mary’s husband smiled and stepped forward. “As I would my own wife, my lady.”

Sir Kenneth held out his hand, and reluctantly, Ewen released her. “I’ll hold you to that, Ice,” he said fiercely.

Ewen, Viper, and a man she recognized as MacLean started to move off, but Magnus stopped them.
“Bàs roimh Gèill.”
Death before surrender, she translated.
“And Hunter.” Ewen turned to look at him. “Hurry back. I think there’s something you forgot to tell us.”

Ewen’s expression turned grim—God, how she’d missed that!—and he nodded. With one last look to her that spoke of things left unsaid, the three men rode off.

Selfishly, Janet wanted to call him back. She wanted his strength around her. She wanted to bury her head in his chest, curl into a ball, and let him make it all go away.

But they both had a job to do.

When it was over …

For the first time since she’d left him that night at the stable, Janet had hope.

Twenty-five

Dunstaffnage Castle, Lorn, Scottish Highlands,
Christmas Eve 1310

Janet sat on the trunk at the foot of her bed. The maidservant had just finished arranging her hair in a circlet of gold when a knock rapped on the door.

She bid the person enter, and her twin sister, Mary, walked into the room. Their eyes met. Mary shook her head in response to her unspoken question, and Janet’s shoulders slumped.

The strange, wordless communication that she and her sister had shared as children had come back within hours of their being reunited. Being with her sister again …

Emotion swelled in her chest. Janet hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed her twin, until Mary had rushed into the room where she’d been brought on arrival to be tended by Lady Helen, Magnus’s wife. They’d taken one look at each other and burst into tears. It had been quite some time before Helen had been able to resume her ministrations to Janet’s face, ribs, and the broken bone in her wrist.

Janet still could not believe that her sister had forgiven her. Actually, if Mary was to believed, she’d never blamed her. She hadn’t realized how much her sister’s forgiveness meant to her. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted. To Janet’s surprise, talking about what had happened that
night—the explosion, Cailin’s and the MacRuairi clansmen’s deaths, Janet’s disappearance—had been strangely cathartic. She would mourn and regret the deaths that night for the rest of her life, but she was ready to put them to rest.

Despite her joy in seeing her sister, however, Mary’s shake of the head made her chest squeeze with disappointment. “There is still no sign of him?”

It was less a question than a plea. Not long after Janet had successfully intercepted the king only a few miles before he reached Selkirk, warning him of the treachery that lay ahead, Viper—what she now knew was the
nom de guerre
for Lachlan MacRuairi—and Eoin MacLean had caught up with them. Their mission had been a success. They’d retrieved the missive for the king and ensured the safety of their informant. Ewen, however, had left them at Roxburgh, bound for a destination he would not name. He’d given them a message for her—that he would return as soon as possible—but after more than a week, Janet was beginning to lose hope.

She didn’t understand. She thought when he’d found her in the forest, when he’d held her in his arms, when he’d looked in her eyes with such tender, poignant emotion, that he’d changed his mind. That he realized he cared for her and intended to fight for them.

But where was he? Why hadn’t he come for her? Had something happened?

Learning about his leg and how close he’d come to death haunted her. She couldn’t believe she’d mistaken his fever for drunkenness and left him when he was so ill.

Mary shook her head again. “Kenneth spoke to the king, but no one knows where he is. Not even Robert.”

Janet made a face and winced, having forgotten about her injuries. Though Helen said she would heal with little to remind her of her ordeal but a few small scars, the cuts and bruises were still tender.

But Robert, the subject that had provoked her reaction, needed to be dealt with. She hadn’t spoken to him since she and the others had relayed the news of the English treachery. He’d been grateful, and furious at what had happened to her, but they’d yet to discuss Ewen or her future.

“I can’t believe they just let him leave when he was still recovering,” Janet said, hands twisting in her skirts. “What if he’s lying out there somewhere …”

“The men said he was fine,” Mary assured her. “And Bella wasn’t too happy with Lachlan either when she found out. But Lachlan pointed out that he wasn’t a ‘bloody nursemaid’ and Ewen had insisted.”

“Ewen didn’t tell anyone that the king had kicked him out of the Guard?” she asked.

Mary had told her Bruce’s secret army—or the phantoms, as she called them—were known as the Highland Guard among the men. Although Janet was not privy to the identities of all of the warriors, she had her suspicions. If King Edward were smart, he would start looking at every Highlander over six feet tall, built like a rock, with an uncommonly handsome face.

“Nay,” Mary answered, “but as soon as they found out, the men convinced the king to reconsider the matter.”

Knowing how stubborn Robert could be, Janet asked, “How did they do that?”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t know, but whatever it was, it must have been persuasive.”

“This is ridiculous.” Janet threw up her hands and stood. She started for the door.

Mary looked up from where she’d sat on the edge of her bed. “Where are you going?”