The Hunter (31 page)

“What kind of details?”

“Look behind me.” He waited a few moments. “Now close your eyes and tell me what you saw.”

She looked back at him. “Is that a trick? There is only a flat area of moorland dusted with snow, with a few rocks scattered about.”

“Look again.” He didn’t turn, but called up the image from memory. “The rocks scattered about the moors are graywacke sandstone, but about twenty paces behind me are a few granite rocks stacked in what is probably the beginnings of a summit cairn. Just to the left, you can see the outlines of a narrow path from the north where the grass has been tramped down—probably by mountain hares, if the pile of scat nearby is any indication—and the snow is slightly lower. Near the patches of purple moor grass sticking up through the snow on the west side of the hill are the tracks of a small group of red deer hinds. Directly over my left shoulder about five paces behind me is a small bump in the snow. If you look closely, you can see a few brownish feathers sticking out. I suspect it’s the carcass of a grouse brought down by a hen harrier or peregrine falcon.”

She gaped at him. “You didn’t even look.”

“I did earlier. I told you, I have an unusual memory.”

“I’ll say. And a keen eye for detail.” She smiled delightedly. “What else do you look for?”

He wasn’t used to such an eager audience, but as the subject clearly interested her, and knowing it would help pass the time, he explained some basic principles, such as how to minimize your imprint on the landscape and make sure no signs were left behind; deception tactics to mislead your pursuers, such as walking backward, looping around, stone hopping, and toe walking; how to move with the wind to hide your scent, how to avoid changing directions at obvious places, and how to break a scent trail as they’d done with the dogs.

She listened to him with rapt attention, clearly fascinated.

“Every time you take a step,” he said, “look for stones, hard ground, patches of ice, existing roads or paths, resilient mosses, things like that. Your tracks will be less visible.”

“So think hard,” she said.

That was one way of putting it, but he tried not to think about “hard” given his problems in a certain area.

She looked up at him. “It seems so obvious now that you point it out, but I never realized.”

“Most of what I do is common sense. You just have to think about it.”

“You are being modest.” She tilted her head to look at him. “No wonder Robert wanted you for his secret army. I can imagine a skill like yours is useful for men who want to appear like ghosts.”

He could feel her eyes on him, so he was careful not to react.
Damn it
, the lass was relentless! He should be surprised that she’d figured it out, but he wasn’t. She could find trouble without even looking for it.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

He turned to look at her, his eyes boring into hers. “Should I tell you how much danger you could put both of us in by just mentioning the subject, irrespective of whether it is true?”

Her gaze never wavered. “But it is true. I know it is.”

Clearly, he wasn’t going to dissuade her. He knew he should try. He’d taken an oath, and it wasn’t just his own life at stake, but he didn’t want to lie to her. So he did the next best thing and said, “Let’s go. Rest time is over.”

She groaned. “But we just sat down. You’re just trying to avoid my questions.” He didn’t deny it. “The English won’t be chasing us forever, Ewen. One of these days you won’t be able to avoid answering.”

He didn’t know; he was pretty damned good at avoiding things. Except with her—which was part of the problem. He didn’t answer, simply holding out his hand instead.

He helped her to her feet—with another dramatic groan on her part—and they were off.

Although he was fairly certain they’d lost their pursuers, he wanted to reach the next ridge by nightfall. There was
an old stone shieling where they could take shelter. It was too dangerous to wander around these mountains in the dark, especially in the mist. In the morning, he would see about finding horses to take them to Ayr, where he sure as hell hoped MacKay, MacLean, and Sutherland would catch up to them.

Teaching her about tracking proved to be an effective way of passing the time, distracting them both—him from thinking about the pain in his leg and the fate of his friends, and her from asking more questions he couldn’t answer about the Highland Guard. She was an eager pupil, surprising him with her interest, as well as with how quickly she seemed to pick it up.

They were able to move at a much quicker pace since she’d become more conscious of the signs she was leaving behind as they climbed, and thus he didn’t need to spend as much time backtracking to cover them up.

He should have instructed her earlier. Why didn’t he? It was one of the first things he did with men under his command. Had he thought the principles too difficult to grasp, or solely the province of men?

She was right, he realized. He assumed that because she didn’t wear armor and carry weapons, she was ill equipped for war. But Janet of Mar seemed to be turning many of his preconceived notions about women on their head.

She wasn’t fragile or helpless. She was strong and capable. Too bloody capable, to his mind.

Although he might be willing to admit that he’d underestimated her abilities, he wasn’t wrong about the danger. She might have defended herself against the knight today, but without the element of surprise—or if there had been more than one man—she’d be just as dead as those women at Lochmaben. Even if she were the best damned courier in Scotland, it didn’t override his instinct to protect her.

But did she need protection?

He thought back to their conversation about the women
at Lochmaben. He’d never believed a woman could understand the danger and still want to be involved. Just like him, she’d pointed out. That was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

By the time the shadow of the shieling appeared on the horizon, Ewen had achieved one of his objectives: the lass was exhausted. Too exhausted to do anything more than climb into the folds of the plaid he’d set out for her as a blanket, after cleaning out the debris from the former animal occupants, and sleep.

Her virtue—and his honor—was safe.

For now.

But when he climbed into the small stone hut beside her a few hours later, and she instinctively turned to him, burrowing into his arms, something hard and heavy lodged in his chest. The weight of inevitability? The stony certainty of fate? Because nothing had ever felt more perfect. Alone on a mountain, taking refuge in a stone hut meant for sheep while being hunted by Englishmen, he’d never felt more content.

He tucked his arm under her chest, snuggled her small bottom into his groin, buried his nose in the silky softness of her hair, and savored every minute of holding the woman who wasn’t his, but who sure as hell felt like it.

Seventeen

Janet woke with a start. It took her a few panicked heartbeats to remember where she was, but eventually she started to breathe evenly again. The stone shieling on the mountain. With Ewen.

She frowned. Ewen, who was nowhere to be found. She didn’t need to look around the small stone hut to see that he was gone; she could tell by the empty chill at her back.

He’d slept beside her. Instinctively, she knew that. Not that she could remember it, blast it. The last thing she recalled was being tucked under the warm folds of his plaid. She’d been so tired, she’d fallen asleep the moment her eyes had closed.

He’d probably counted on that, the blighter. He’d marched her over these hills until she was too tired and cold to do anything but collapse.

All she could recall was a feeling of warmth and contentment. Of being perfectly relaxed and snug in her bed, unburdened by the events of the day.

He’d held her, she realized.

Janet shook her head with mild disgust. The one time he’d taken her in his arms and held her, and she hadn’t been awake to enjoy it! If she weren’t so sure that there was something special between them, his attempts to avoid her might have been demoralizing.

She’d just finished rolling up the plaid when the blighter in question ducked through the low door of the shieling.
He had to crouch slightly to stand up inside, as the domed turf roof was only about six feet high in the center.

“You’re awake? I didn’t think you’d be up until midday.”

At first she thought he was criticizing her, but then she realized he was teasing. She gave him a knowing look. “I was cold without you beside me.”

His face went blank—too blank. “I was outside most of the night, keeping watch.” He handed her a skin before she could argue. “You can use this to wash until we reach the burn.”

She took the pouch of water gratefully. Her eyes and teeth had a distinctly gritty feel. All she needed was a comb—which should be in one of the bags—and she might even feel human again. She thought about prodding him about their sleeping arrangements, but decided to leave it—for now. Instead, she asked, “What burn?”

“Near the village of Cuingealach. We need a horse. The English seem to have given up the chase, but I want to put as much distance between us as possible.”

A wise plan. But something had been bothering her. “Why do you think they were chasing us in the first place?”

He hesitated, seemingly to take care with his words. “We had some trouble on the way to find you in Roxburgh.”

“So they were looking for you?”

“Probably.”

The knowledge eased her conscience somewhat about the lost cap. It hadn’t been all her fault. Moreover, as she expected it was going to be hard to convince Robert to let her return to Roxburgh after what had happened, the fact that the soldiers had been after Ewen and the others and not her, would help. Of course, there was no question of Ewen escorting her back. It was too dangerous for him. But it wouldn’t be for Novice Eleanor.

“Shall we be much delayed, do you think? I must be back in Roxburgh within the fortnight.”

A strange look crossed his face. He looked away almost uncomfortably. “You will have plenty of time. But we should go.”

“What about Sir Kenneth? How will he know how to find us?”

“Don’t worry about Sutherland. He’ll catch up with us if he can.”

If
. She caught something in his expression that she’d been too scared and upset to notice before. A slight darkening of the eyes and tightening around the mouth.

Janet stilled, as horror slowly dawned. “You think something has happened to my sister’s husband?”

As if Mary didn’t have cause to hate her enough already.

She must have looked as stricken as she sounded because he swore, drawing his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“And if he’s not?”

He took her chin and tipped her face toward his. “If he’s not, it has nothing to do with you. This is what he does, and sometimes—most of the time—it’s dangerous. Mary knows that.”

Janet nodded, but in her heart she couldn’t accept it. If anything happened to her sister’s husband, Janet would never forgive herself.

A cap. A blasted cap! He couldn’t have died over something so insignificant … could he?

Tears filled her eyes. Ewen’s thumb stroked her cheek, as if he’d wipe them away before they could fall. The gentleness caught in her heart and wouldn’t let go.

I could love him
.

With the smallest amount of encouragement, she could love him. The realization of how easy that would be rose up and grabbed her by the throat, both awe-inspiring and terrifying. It would change everything.

He looked as if he might say something more, but instead he dropped his hand from her face and stepped away.
“Get ready and have something to eat while I take another look around. The mist isn’t as thick this morning, and I want to be off these mountains before it lifts.”

He was almost through the entrance when she called out, “Ewen!”

He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. Her heart squeezed. With his dark hair, steely blue eyes, rough-hewn features and stubble-shadowed jaw, he looked so ruggedly handsome it hurt.

Why him? After all these years, why had this one man finally threatened into her heart?

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She blushed. For being here with her. For keeping her safe and warm. For holding her in his arms. For bringing her the water to wash this morning. For not blaming her, and trying to make her feel better.

“For everything,” she said softly.

Confused, his brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded.

A short while later they were climbing more hills, continuing on their way east. Although rested, her legs were still sore from the day before, and she was glad that he’d eased up on the pace a little.

She frowned, wondering if his leg was bothering him. But after watching him for a while, she didn’t detect any sign of the injury or pain and concluded that the ointment must have worked.

He was right about the mist. It did not linger, lifting by mid-morning, about the same time they reached the burn of which he’d spoken. The stream was about three feet wide, flowing through a deep ravine. It was beautiful, set in the landscape of moss, rock, and a light dusting of snow—patches of snow, more accurately, as the warm sun was already melting winter’s icy breath.