The Hunter (42 page)

Though the parley was held under the sacred banner of truce, Chief wanted them to serve as part of the escort. They were supposed to leave tomorrow to catch up with the others before they reached Selkirk.

Ewen’s mouth fell in a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t explain that he wasn’t going to Selkirk, and that he was no longer a part of the Highland Guard.

Sutherland had come around to stand next to his brother-in-law. He gave Ewen a hard look. “Why do I get the feeling there is something you aren’t telling us? What exactly did you and the king discuss?”

The conversation with the king had gone exactly how Ewen had expected it to go. Once everyone had left the room, he’d explained what had happened. Bruce would have put a blade through his gut—or perhaps an area slightly lower—if Ewen hadn’t been on his back, unarmed, and weak from fever. Instead, his worst fears had been realized. The king stripped him of his land, his reward, and his place in the Guard, and he would have taken his freedom as well had Ewen not convinced him to let him find Janet to ensure she was not in danger.

And it had taken some convincing. The king had been inclined to defer to Janet’s judgment: if she thought it was important, he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the informant or the information their contact might pass on. No matter how hard Ewen pressed him the king would not
disclose the identity of the informant—except to say that it was someone in Roxburgh highly connected to Edward’s lieutenants. Who did Ewen think had been bringing them all the recent intelligence, enabling the Highland Guard to know exactly where to attack?

Ewen had been stunned. Janet was responsible for that? He’d underestimated her importance and knew it. He owed her an apology—one of many—if she would ever listen to him again.

But learning just how in the thick of it Janet was only ratcheted up his concern. Hell, it wasn’t concern, it was mind-numbing, bloodcurdling, bone-chilling fear. The stakes would be even higher if the English were to discover her role.

He had just as much faith in her as Bruce did, but Ewen’s faith was blinded by something the king’s was not. It wasn’t until Ewen had lost everything that he could see clearly what duty and loyalty had prevented him from acknowledging. The emotion burning his chest and tearing his gut apart could only be one thing. Nothing else could strike this kind of fear and misery in him. He loved her. And he’d taken her love and thrown it back in her face.

“You will have me.”

Her words ate at him. How could he have thought it wouldn’t be enough? She was everything. Without her, nothing else mattered.

For the first time in his life, Ewen could see his father not with embarrassment, shame or anger, but with admiration. For he’d done what Ewen had not: he’d had the courage to risk everything and fight for the woman he loved.

And now the woman Ewen loved was God knows where, doing God knows what, because he’d been too much of a fool to do whatever he needed to do to hold on to her. When he thought of how he’d turned away after making love to her, how he’d told her he was going to take her back and hand her over to another man …

No wonder she’d run. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her, if she would let him.

But what if he didn’t get a chance to explain? What if something happened to her, and he couldn’t tell her how much he loved her?

He had to find her, damn it. He’d tear apart every nunnery on both sides of the Border if he had to.

The danger had finally caused Bruce to relent—but only so far. Hence, Ewen’s role as an observer. As for the rest, the Guardsmen would find out soon enough.

“That’s between Bruce and me,” he told Sutherland.

“Janet is my sister now,” Sutherland said, his notoriously hot temper sparking in his eyes. “If you did something to dishonor her …”

Ewen’s mouth tightened. Sutherland would have to stand in line. “I buggered up, all right. But I’m trying to make it right.” He paused, distracted, as another nun emerged from the priory. But even from this distance he could see the build wasn’t right. He needed to at least get closer. He turned back to Sutherland impatiently. “I am not going to have this conversation right now. As soon as we find her, I will answer whatever damned questions you want. Now unless you are going to try to stop me, get the hell out of my way.”

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 her 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.