The challenge was issued to all three of the men blocking his path. They looked at one another and must have recognized the determination in his gaze—or maybe it was the wild, frenzied, just-on-the-edge-of-madness look that convinced them.
MacLean shook his head and sighed, stepping aside first. “You’d better know what the hell you are doing.”
Ewen didn’t, but he had to do something. He couldn’t stand here and wait another minute.
His eyes scanned the area in front of him as he moved through the trees. The river wound to the east side of the priory. From there he would have a closer view of the yard. He could leave his armor behind and pretend to be a fisher—
Suddenly, he stopped. His gaze flickered back to something he had skimmed over earlier.
“What is it?” MacLean whispered, coming up behind him.
“The lad,” Ewen said. “Sitting on the rocks by the river.”
“What about him?” MacKay asked.
“I’ve seen him before.” Something prickled at the back of his neck. “The first time I was here, and a few days ago.”
Sutherland frowned. “What is suspicious about a local boy fishing?”
“Nothing,” Ewen answered. “If that’s what he is doing. But look, his line isn’t in the water—it’s on the edge of the bank—and he isn’t watching the fish.” He was watching the door to the priory, exactly as Ewen would be doing, albeit far less obviously.
“What do you think he’s doing?” MacLean asked.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
Ewen kept watch on the door and the boy for the rest of the afternoon. Each time a nun emerged, the lad seemed to study her face every bit as intently as Ewen did. Not once did the boy check the fishing line beside him. Either the lad was the worst fisherman ever or he was watching for someone. But for whom?
If it was a coincidence, it was one that made Ewen uneasy. Damned uneasy. And he didn’t think it was a coincidence.
His suspicions were confirmed a short while later, when the door of the priory closed for the night and the lad abandoned his post. Following him was easy, but every step of the way, Ewen’s heart jogged a little faster.
The lad wasn’t headed to a house nearby, he was headed to Roxburgh. More specifically, he was headed to the castle.
Ewen didn’t need to follow the lad through the castle gate. From his vantage atop a nearby hill, he could see with bone-tingling clarity directly into the courtyard. Even before the boy approached the building, Ewen had guessed where he was headed. Ah hell, the chapel!
His blood went cold, recalling Janet’s confrontation with the castle priest at the market.
If the priest was having someone watch the priory, Ewen knew what that meant. The monk found on the road to Berwick had talked before they killed him. Janet’s identity had been compromised. That was how the English had followed them so easily from the priory a couple of weeks ago.
It also meant that Ewen wasn’t the only one hunting her, and if he didn’t find her first, the danger he’d feared would become all too real.
Thanks to the merchant and his wife, Janet had a way to make contact with her source without returning to Rutherford, a place to stay, and a new identity.
Her veil and scapular stayed hidden in her bag. In their stead, she donned a linen cap and became a member of the burgeoning number of tradesmen and merchants who were flocking to the burghs. In the highly structured feudal society, the merchants were somewhere below the nobility and above the rest—not unlike the clergy. As a daughter of a merchant, she enjoyed the same kind of freedom that she had as a nun to walk around largely unnoticed.
Janet didn’t know what had provoked the merchant to claim her as his daughter, but it had saved her from what could have been a very difficult—and probably life-threatening—situation. One she very well may not have been able to talk her way out of.
Even with the merchant’s claim, Sir Thomas was suspicious. It wasn’t until the merchant’s wife, Alice, had come forward to scold her for making eyes at the handsome knight when she was nearly betrothed to another, and Janet had broken down in tears, sobbing that she didn’t want to marry a man old enough to be her father, that the squire admitted he could be wrong, and Sir Thomas allowed them to move on. Indeed, he seemed to want to escape the family drama and Janet’s “rescue me” gaze as quickly as possible.
But her heart hadn’t stopped pounding for days, even well after they’d arrived safely in Roxburgh. She’d thanked the Hendes for what they’d done and had been relieved when they hadn’t asked her questions, but had simply offered her a place to stay for as long as she needed.
Janet repaid their kindness with hard work, helping them to set up their shop in the lower floor of a building on High Street, which also housed a haberdashery, vintner, and goldsmith.
In retrospect, the run-in with the soldiers near Melrose had proved an unexpected boon. It had given her exactly what she needed: a way of making contact with her informant in the castle that allowed her to avoid places she’d been before. She’d taken Ewen’s lessons to heart; she didn’t want any way to connect Novice Eleanor or Sister Genna to Kate, the wool merchant’s daughter.
On the first Saturday of her return, when the ladies from the castle wound their way through the market booths, Janet was ready. A quick “accidental” bump, a mumbled apology, and a meaningful glance had been all the explanation necessary. Janet had made a point to walk slowly back to the Hendes shop, where she was sure her informant would see her enter.
Janet’s guilt for any potential danger she might have put the Hendes in by staying with them was assuaged a bit by the immediate success the couple garnered, after a number of noble men and women from the castle entered their shop and declared their wool the “best in Roxburgh.” The Hendes were soon fending more orders than they could fill, including one from the constable of Roxburgh Castle himself, Sir Henry de Beaumont.
On one of these visits, Janet managed a short conversation with her informant while showing her a swathe of fine ruby-colored cloth.
“Is there anything I can help you with, milady?” she’d asked, careful to keep her words innocuous in case they were overheard.
The woman shook her head. “Not as of yet, I’m afraid. But as there are many important celebrations upcoming, I’m sure I will think of some reason for this beautiful wool soon.” She smiled. “There is much excitement around the castle with Christmas approaching.”
Janet translated the message easily enough: nothing yet, but something big was definitely brewing. “Aye, milady. Even in the village, excitement is in the air. I shall be attending my first St. Drostan’s feast tomorrow. I hear it is quite the celebration.”
“Aye, there will be a feast at the castle as well,” the lady said.
Another lady had come up at that point and interrupted them. The group left soon after, but not before her informant had promised that she would see her on the next Saturday market day a few days hence.
Disappointed that there was still nothing to report and that her sojourn in Roxburgh would extend for at least a few more days, Janet did her best to keep herself occupied.
The hard work kept her mind off her heartbreak and the difficult conversation she would be having with Robert when she finally did return to the Highlands. As much as the prospect of donning a habit again—this time, for real—did not appeal to her, an arranged marriage appealed even less.
Heaven’s gates, Walter Stewart? Noble blood or nay, she would not marry a lad barely old enough to have whiskers on his chin. She couldn’t bear to think of being with him … intimately.
For the most part, Janet succeeded in keeping her mind off the passion Ewen had shown her in the barn that night—the way he’d made her feel, how incredible it had felt to have him in her body, the overwhelming emotion that had gripped her—but it went there now.
She would never share that with another man. She knew it with every fiber of her being and from the bottom of he
r bleeding, ripped-apart, torn-into-shreds heart.
Apparently, however, Janet was not as adept at hiding her heartache as she’d thought.
“The feast will do you good,” Alice Hende insisted after returning from the St. Drostan’s mass that morning. She eyed Janet knowingly. “Whoever he is, he is not worth working yourself to the bone.”
Knowing Alice’s shrewdness, Janet did not attempt to deny it. But neither did she want to talk about it. Her feelings were still too raw. “You are kind, but I think it is best if I stay behind. You and Master Walter go and enjoy the mummers. You can tell me all about it.”
Alice put her hands on her broad hips. “No.”
Janet blinked. “No?”
“Aye, no. You are going to the feast, you will have fun, and that is the end of it.”
Thickset and plain of face, the merchant’s wife resembled every iron-spined nursemaid that Janet had ever had. Alice had birthed five daughters, all of whom were settled, and there wasn’t an excuse or explanation that she hadn’t heard. Janet knew she could cajole or entreat until the sun went down and came up again, but Alice Hende would not be swayed.
A swell of emotion filled her chest. What was it about stubborn and domineering that had become so endearing to her?
Blinking back tears, Janet nodded. She knew when she was overmatched.
And in truth, later that evening, she was grateful for Alice Hende’s insistence. For the first time in days—weeks?—Janet laughed, and for the first time in years, she danced.
The high street was ablaze in good cheer and firelight. A stage had been set out for the mummers to perform, large trestle tables were laden with food and drink, and musicians had been organized to provide dancing.
Alice had insisted that Janet wear the fine surcote Mary had given her, and the older woman had arranged her hair in a small embroidered cap that left a cascade of golden curls tumbling down her back.
Janet did not lack for partners, and spinning around in the firelight, her cheeks hot and lungs gasping for air, she felt like a girl again. Pretty and alive and, for a moment, carefree.
She didn’t realize how much notice she was attracting.
She had snuck away for a moment into the alehouse to use the privy—which was no more than a hole in the wall with a wooden seat over the cesspit—when a cloaked figure stepped into her path as she exited the building.
Her heart stopped. But it took her only a few seconds to recognize the slender, cloaked figure in the torchlight. Good heavens, it was her informant!
Janet immediately glanced about, looking for a place to escape the crowd, and darted into the narrow wynd that ran alongside the alehouse. It was darker there, and there would be less chance of anyone seeing them.
Her heart was pounding, knowing that it must be something important to bring her informant here like this.
“I feared that I would not be able to find you,” the lady said. “But then I saw you dancing.” The torchlight didn’t quite extend into the wynd, and her face was hidden in the dark shadow of the hooded cloak, but Janet could tell from her voice that she was smiling. “I confess I did not recognize you at first. The pretty, smiling merchant’s daughter is a far cry from an Italian nun.”
Janet was glad the other woman couldn’t see her blush. “You have taken a great risk in coming here.”
“I had to. This cannot wait.” She handed a folded piece of parchment to Janet, which she quickly slid into the purse at her waist. “You must take it to him with all speed. Already it might be too late. The talks are set for the day after next. You must find him before he reaches Selkirk tomorrow.”
Janet was just a courier. She was not usually privy to information, so she knew it must be serious for the woman to be telling her this. “Selkirk?”
“Aye, for the peace negotiations.” The woman took Janet’s arm and drew her closer. Janet could see the panic shimmering in her big eyes. “It’s a trap. The English mean to take Bruce.”
She wasn’t here. Damn, he’d been so sure she would be.
“I have to be back by St. Drostan’s Day,” she’d said.
So where the hell was she? Not at the priory. Nor at the hospital for that matter. Ewen had left Sutherland to watch the priory and followed the group of nuns who’d walked to the hospital after the morning prayers. Orders or nay, his role as an observer had ended last night, the moment he realized the priest was having her watched. Posing as a traveler on the road, he examined every person in that hospital: leper, nun, traveler, the ill or infirm—even the group of ladies from the castle who’d arrived to give alms on the saint’s day.
But she wasn’t there.
He was running out of rope. Running out of ideas. He’d never felt so damned helpless, never been so lost. The one time he really needed to find someone, his skills had failed him.
Worse, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he somehow should have known. How could he not have realized someone was watching her? He should have realized the soldiers from Douglas could not have tracked them that fast. He’d blamed her for carelessness when he’d missed the signs himself.
It was after dark when he left the hospital to rejoin Sutherland at the priory. MacLean and MacKay had left late the night before, after attending to some business in the forest, and not without some argument.
“The king isn’t going to like it,” MacLean had said. “He ordered all of us back tomorrow. You don’t even know that she is here. You can be back by tomorrow night if you ride hard.”
Ewen’s mouth clenched. He wished to hell she wasn’t here, that she was someplace safe and far away. But he knew Janet. If she thought it was important, nothing would keep her away. “She’s here,” he said flatly. “I don’t give a shite about orders.” His partner lifted his brow at that, but Ewen ignored him. “You three go and return when you can. I’m not leaving her.”
MacKay looked skeptical. “You sure you know what you’re doing? If you’re wrong, the king won’t be happy.”
The king wasn’t happy now. And Ewen wasn’t wrong. “Would you leave your wife?”
MacKay didn’t say anything.
“In a heartbeat,” MacLean said flatly.
Ewen threw him a disgusted look. “Well, I’m not leaving her.”
None of the men stated the obvious: she wasn’t his wife, nor was she ever likely to be.
In the end, it was MacKay and MacLean who’d ridden away to join the others and report to the king what had happened. Sutherland had insisted on staying with Ewen. “If I leave and something happens to her, my wife will never forgive me. I think I’ll take my chances with Bruce.”
Knowing Mary, it was probably a wise decision. But Ewen was glad for the extra sword—and the extra pair of eyes.
He whistled to let Sutherland know he approached. The newest member of the Highland Guard, a man who could fill in just about anywhere and had taken over the dangerous job of working with black powder after the death of one of their brethren, responded with a hoot before jumping down from a tree ahead of him.
“Anything?” Ewen asked.
“Nay. The prioress locked up about an hour ago. I’ll assume from your tone that you didn’t have much luck either.”
Ewen shook his head grimly. “Did the lad show his face?”
A flash of white appeared in the moonlight as Sutherland grinned. “After last night? I don’t think he’d step within a mile of this place, even if you weren’t paying him to stay away.” He chuckled. “I didn’t realize we had so many admirers in the ranks of English spies.”
“The lad didn’t know what the hell he was doing.”
Last night, before MacKay and MacLean had left, they’d waited for the lad to leave the castle, followed him, and surrounded him in the forest. There were times that their phantom reputation came into good use. The lad, probably sixteen or seventeen, had been terrified initially. He’d blurted out what he was doing for the priest almost before they’d finished asking the question. For over a month, he’d
earned a penny a day to watch the new nun in the priory and report to the priest immediately if she went anywhere or did anything. The boy hadn’t understood why he was still watching the place when the nun had left with a man a fortnight earlier, but he was happy collecting his money for as long as the priest wanted to pay.
He’d been stunned to learn he was spying for the English. “I’m not a traitor,” he’d insisted. “I’m a Scot.”
The lad had been so offended, so ashamed, that Sutherland was right—Ewen probably didn’t need to pay him. But he thought it best to ensure the lad didn’t have second thoughts.
They’d instructed him to stay away from the priory, but keep reporting to the priest every night as before. Afterward, he was to meet them, and he would be paid a shilling—more than his family probably earned in a week.
Once it was clear they did not mean him any harm, the lad had acted like he was in the presence of demigods, peppering them with questions until they’d been forced to send him away. “Can you really appear out of the mist?” “Do your swords really come from Valhalla?” “Do you have heads under the masks or do your demon eyes glow out of emptiness?” “Where do you go to when you disappear?”
“Perhaps we’ve found a new recruit?” Sutherland said.
Ewen would have laughed if he weren’t thinking that they would be needing one soon. “You never know.”
“So what now?”
“We go back to Roxburgh and wait for the lad to report back to us.”
“And then?”
Ewen wished to hell he knew. He was out of leads. He didn’t realize how much he’d pinned his hopes on today. But one thing was for certain: he wasn’t going to give up until he found her.
Janet stared at her informant in stunned disbelief. The English meant to capture Robert at Selkirk under the auspices of a peace negotiation? It defied every notion of honor. It was a breech of a code between soldiers in warfare—by long tradition, parleys were sacred ground under the cover of a truce. “Are you certain?”
“I would not risk this if I were not. It is all there,” her informant said, referring to the parchment. “I was only fortunate I found this out earlier this evening. The feast day celebration enabled me to sneak out of the castle. But I must return before anyone notices I am gone. You can get this to him in time?”
The Hunter Page 32
