The Hunter

by Monica McCarty

  “And?” Robert asked.

  “And if he still wishes to marry me, give us your permission.”

  “You would not have me order it?”

  Janet shook her head. “I’d no more have him forced into a marriage not of his choosing than I would be forced into one myself.”

  The king frowned, not having missed her bold reproach. “He took your innocence. I will not reward him for that.”

  “You don’t know me at all if you think he took anything that I did not willingly give him.”

  “He took advantage of your innocence,” Robert said uncomfortably; obviously, he didn’t find the subject of such intimate matters with a woman who was like a sister to him a pleasant one.

  “I am not a girl, Robert. I am a woman of seven and twenty who has been waiting her entire life for this—for him. I love him.”

  “Love is not a reason for marriage. He doesn’t have land to speak of, or titles, or a fortune.”

  “Then you can give him more,” Janet said. “If what I have done is not deserving of a reward, then what about what he has done?” She let him consider that for a moment. “As for love, what of your marriages, Robert? Surely a subject can look no higher than her king for guidance?”

  Robert’s expression gave no hint that her words had penetrated, but she knew they had. It was well known that Robert had married both his wives for love.

  A moment later he shook his head, giving her that exasperated look she recalled from the time she’d spent living with him and Isabella. “You should have been a lawman, Janet. Too bad you were not born a man—I could use you in my privy council.”

  Janet grinned, recalling Ewen’s similar words when she’d first met him. She also remembered something else. Lamont, lawman. “Perhaps I shall be, Sire.”

  Her brows drew together pensively. The kernel of another idea had just taken root when they were interrupted by a hard rap on the door. A moment later, the fierce West Highland chief who rarely left Robert’s side, stepped into the room.

  Imposing. Formidable. Intimidating. Authoritative. Scary. None of them came close to describing Tor MacLeod. The leader of the Highland Guard seemed more a peer than a subject, even in the presence of someone as majestic as Robert the Bruce.

  “I assume if you are interrupting, it is something important?” Robert asked.

  “Aye,” Tor said. “There is someone here to see you.”

  “Tell him to wait.”

  Tor looked at her, a half-smile turning his mouth. “I think you’ll want to see him.”

  He looked outside the door and waved someone in. Janet gasped, her heart jumping to her throat when Ewen strode through the door.

  “You’re back!” she cried, and would have run into his arms if she hadn’t noticed the man who’d come up behind him.

  Her heart, which had been soaring only a moment before, came crashing to the ground. She froze, her mouth falling open in shock.

  Though he looked considerably older than the last time she’d seen him, Janet did not have trouble recognizing the lanky new Steward of Scotland, Walter Stewart.

  Her gaze shot to Ewen’s in mute horror, looking for reassurance. Why had he brought him here?

  Ewen wanted to go to Janet the moment he entered the room, but he was very conscious of the man seated in the throne-like chair behind the table. Ewen had gone about this all wrong with the king before; he had to do it right this time.

  The relief at seeing her so hale hit him with a powerful blow to the chest. He’d told himself over and over that Helen would care for her, that she was in the best of hands; but she wasn’t in his hands, and it wasn’t until he saw her face-to-face that he could begin to relax.

  He took an inventory of her injuries, from the wrapping around her wrist, the bulky wrappings around her ribs beneath her gown, and the small line of stitches at her cheek. The swelling in her jaw and nose had retreated, leaving the yellowish, black-and-blue remnants of her bruises. The two black half-moons under her eyes suggested that her nose had been broken, although it appeared as straight as before.

  Her eyes met his, and the look of uncertainty smashed his good intentions to hell. To hell with Bruce! He walked over and held out his hand. She slipped her tiny palm in his, as if it belonged there—which it bloody well did—and he helped her to her feet.

  He didn’t release her hand, keeping it enfolded in his. With his other, he tipped her head back to better examine her face, tilting it in one direction and then the other. “You are all right?”

  She nodded, and he allowed himself one more tender sweep of his thumb along the bruised contour of her chin before he released her and turned to face his king. He didn’t trust himself not to kiss her, and with the way the king was looking at him right now, he was already close to walking out of here in chains.

  “I thought I ordered you to return on St. Drostan’s Day with the others,” Bruce said, eyeing him angrily.

  Ewen decided not to point out that he’d actually ordered him from his sight. “I had something important that I needed to take care of.”

  Bruce’s gaze flickered to Walter before coming back to him. “You seem to be having trouble following all kinds of orders of late.”

  Ewen didn’t disagree.

  The king held his gaze for a moment longer and then turned to Walter. “I assume he has brought you here for a reason?”

  “He has, Sire,” Walter said, stepping forward with a bow. “Lamont came to me with a rather unexpected request. He asked to marry my betrothed.”

  He heard Janet’s sharp intake of breath and felt her eyes on him, but he was watching Bruce. The king sat back in his chair, giving nothing away by his expression. “He did, did he? Did he mention that I had refused a similar request?”

  “Aye,” Walter said. “He mentioned that.”

  “And what did you tell him?” Bruce asked.

  Walter’s gaze flickered apologetically to Janet before he answered. “I told him that I would give him my support and break the betrothal, if that was the lady’s wish as well.”

  “It is!” Janet would have rushed forward to assure him, but Bruce held her back with a lift of his hand.

  Ewen said a silent prayer of thanks. Until that moment, he hadn’t been a hundred percent certain that he hadn’t been arguing with Walter Stewart (who despite his youth had proved a formidable opponent) over the past few days for nothing. Ewen had been lucky to walk out of Rothesay Castle without having to promise him his firstborn.

  “I assume he told you everything?” Bruce asked.

  Stewart, who was obviously very conscious of Janet’s presence, blushed. “He did.”

  The king didn’t say anything for a minute, but then he turned to Janet. “MacLeod will take you back to your room. Lady Anna has prepared a feast tonight on the eve of the Nativity. We will speak more later.”

  Janet started to protest, “But—”

  Ewen cut her off, taking her hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Go now. I will find you.” I will always find you, he told her silently. “Remember?”

  She nodded.

  “Trust me,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “I won’t let you down.” Not again.

  She wrinkled her ill-treated nose. “I won’t always be this biddable.”

  He smiled. “I shudder to think of it.”

  He brought one of her hands to his mouth for a kiss before he finally released her, for what he swore would be the last time.

  She marched rather huffily toward the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she gave her parting words to Bruce. “Remember your promise, Robert.”

  “I didn’t make any promises,” the king protested.

  “Aye, but I know you were about to.” She gave him a cheeky smile, wincing when it seemed to cause her pain.

  Both Ewen and the king lurched toward her with concern. “Are you all right?” they asked in tandem.

  Janet’s smile deepened. “I will be.”

  The little minx! T
hat wince had been a reminder. And he wasn’t the only one to realize it. When she left the room, Ewen and the king exchanged a look. Ewen suspected he would be wearing an exasperated and slightly defeated look like the one that was on the king’s face for a long time. Happily.

  Twenty-six

  Janet had waited long enough. Ewen had left the king’s solar over an hour ago. Lady Anna Campbell, the wife of Arthur Campbell, who was the keeper of Dunstaffnage for the king (and also, if his handsome face and muscular physique were any indication, one of the Guardsmen), had been kind enough to inform her of that, as well as where Janet could find him.

  She took it as a good sign that he had been given a chamber in the castle, rather than under it in the pit prison. So why hadn’t he come to find her?

  The castle was abuzz with excitement for the evening’s celebration. Janet passed a number of servants on her way down from her third-floor chamber to Ewen’s on the first. She frowned, however, when she noticed a young—and quite pretty—serving girl headed to the same door as she with a large bucket of water in her hands.

  The girl was about to open the door when Janet stopped her. “I’ll take that.”

  The servant looked horrified. She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right, my lady. The laird is …” Her cheeks heated. “Bathing.”

  “Is he now?” Janet hoped she didn’t sound as shrewish as she felt.

  The girl nodded. “Lady Helen insists that he soak his leg at least once a day.” Janet felt a pang of guilt for her jealousy, but that jealousy was instantly revived when the girl added, “I’m to help him with whatever he needs while Lady Helen attends to little William.”

  Janet had met her adorable nephew a few days ago. The child was a handful, having just started to crawl. “Is something wrong?”

  “The wee laddie bumped his head on the bedpost, but Lady Helen says he’ll be fine. Not even a bruise.”

  Janet nodded, not hiding her relief. “I will take the bucket in to the laird. We are to be married.” At least she hoped they were. “But if you wouldn’t mind, there is something I would like you to do first.”

  When Ewen answered the knock at the door, it was the servant girl who replied. “Your water, my lord.” But it was Janet who entered the room. She closed the door behind her and walked toward the man sprawled naked in the tub with his back toward her. She was just annoyed enough to look at him without shame, taking in every inch of hard, bronzed skin.

  “Shall I wash your back, my lord?” she said in a soft, singsong voice completely unlike her own.

  “If you wish,” he said indifferently.

  The blighter! He should bloody well wash himself! It was with quite a bit of satisfaction that Janet dumped the entire bucket of water on his head. Cold water, she’d taken the time to notice.

  “What the hell!” He jumped out of the tub and turned on her in shock and anger. Seeing who it was, the anger slipped away. He frowned. “What in Hades are you doing here, Janet?”

  She pursed her mouth, crossed her arms, and perused that incredible body slowly, slightly mollified when a rather large part of him started to thicken and rise under her steady gaze.

  He swore, grabbed a drying cloth that was lying on the bed, and wrapped it around his waist.

  But if he thought to cover himself, he’d miscalculated. The damp linen clung to every muscle and molded every inch of the thick club. My, it was pleasantly warm and sultry in here.

  “Stop looking at me like that, damn it.”

  Her eyes met his. “Would you rather I called the serving girl back?”

  It took him a moment, but something finally clicked. He smiled. Broadly. He looked so handsome it made her chest squeeze. “You’re jealous.”

  She didn’t deny it. “You can wash yourself from now on.”

  He grinned, crossing his arms—probably to distract her. It worked. She sucked in her breath at the impressive display of bulging muscle. Good gracious, she had new appreciation for warfare! “What if I need help?”

  “I will help you,” she said through gritted teeth, knowing she was being ridiculous.

  “I think I should like to see that. Biddable and subservient in one day. I will make a proper wife out of you yet.”

  Her eyes went to his. The jealousy, the jesting, the muscle admiration, all slipped away. Only one thing mattered. Nothing had ever mattered more. “The king agreed?”

  “Aye,” he said huskily. In his gaze she could see all the emotion swelling in her heart. “But he did have one condition.”

  Janet was suddenly wary. “What kind of condition?”

  “I must have your agreement.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes when he dropped to his knee at her feet. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I should have told you the truth. I’m sorry for not holding you in my arms after we made love and telling you how much I loved you. I’m sorry for not having enough courage to fight for us, for not doing whatever it took to make you my wife. I thought I’d lost everything, but none of it mattered without you. I know I can’t change things or make it up to you, but I promise I will try for the rest of my life if you will agree to be my wife.”

  Janet stood there in stunned silence. Their roles, it seemed, had been reversed. The man who always said the wrong thing had expressed himself beautifully, and the woman who always knew what to say couldn’t seem to find her tongue.

  He began to get a little worried, looking up at her uncertainly. “Janet?”

  There was one thing she had to know. “What if I wish to continue my work?”

  He paused. “You would still do so even after what happened?”

  “What if I did?”

  “I would try to talk you out of it. The priest may be dead, but there are others who will eventually put it together like he did.”

  “And if you couldn’t convince me?”

  He looked as if he would rather be chewing nails. “I would defer—most unwillingly—to your judgment. And I should probably grow just as disagreeable as MacKay when Helen insists on accompanying us.”

  A broad smile spread over her features. If she ever needed proof of his love, she’d just heard it. “You, disagreeable? It defies belief.”

  He smacked her on the bottom, and she laughed.

  But then she sobered. “I should like to continue to help Robert, but I think my days as a courier are over. You were right; I was overconfident about my abilities and perhaps,” she conceded, “even a bit naive about what might happen. I should have exercised more discretion. After two close calls, I think I have overstayed my welcome in the Borders, not to mention run out of identities.”

  “Two close calls?” he boomed.

  Oops. “I guess I forgot to mention how I came to be working in a drapery?”

  “Aye, I’d say you did.”

  Janet gave a quick recounting, ignoring the darkening of his expression when she mentioned the squire and knight, and ended with how she’s been forced to leave without saying goodbye to the Hendeses. “Do you think there might be a way to get word to them, and see that they are safe?”

  “Consider it done,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, not realizing how much it had been weighing on her.

  “I won’t say I’m not glad you won’t be insisting on donning your habit again.”

  Janet smiled. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Besides, it would be quite inappropriate under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?”

  She wasn’t ready to tell him that yet. But it had been her coup de grâce if Robert had proved unreasonable. “Don’t think I’m finished, though. I have another plan in the works.”

  He groaned. “I don’t even want to ask.”

  “Don’t worry, it is nothing too outrageous.”

  He made a pained face. “What a relief,” he said dryly. “Janet, unless you have failed to notice, I am still on my knee.” He winced uncomfortably.

  Her eyes jumped to his leg
. “Oh God, I forgot about your leg.” She dragged him to his feet. “Does it hurt horribly? I’m so sorry for leaving you like that—I didn’t realize you were ill the night I left. I thought you were drunk.”

  He smoothed her hair back from the side of her face. “I rarely overindulge in spirits.”

  She looked at him. “Because of your father?”

  He nodded.

  “I should have known.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want you to know. Hell, I didn’t realize how bad it was myself.”

  “Thank God for Helen,” she said.

  He returned the sentiment and cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  She smiled. “Yes … Yes!”

  “Thank God,” he groaned, drawing her into his arms. The tender kiss meant to seal the promise of their future, however, quickly turned into something else. Something hot and demanding. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, plastering her body to his.

  The warm stroke of his tongue in her mouth made her shiver. Heat softened her bones, spreading over her in heavy molten waves. God, she loved kissing him.

  The circles of his tongue became deeper and hotter, faster and more carnal. His body grew harder, rigid with the force of his desire.

  She moaned, and he drew away.

  “Ah hell. Did I hurt you?” His finger slid over the cut on her cheek and the bruises on her chin.

  She shook her head.

  “I wished you hadn’t killed him,” he said. She looked at him in surprise. But his face was as fierce as she’d ever seen it. “I would have made it much more painful for him for hurting you like this.”

  She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss on his lips. “It is in the past. And right now I am more concerned with the future—our future.”

  Not so absently, she let her hand fall between them, drawing little circles on his stomach with her fingertips. His skin was so warm and smooth, and the closer she danced to the prominent bulge under the drying cloth, the darker his eyes grew and the harder the bands of muscle across his stomach clenched.

  He would have grabbed her wrist to stop her, but she was smart enough to use her injured hand.