The Hunter (46 page)

“To see that Robert considers correctly.”

Even if Ewen didn’t want her, he wasn’t going to lose everything because of her.

*  *  *

The years had been hard on Robert the Bruce. He’d changed much from the handsome young knight who’d captured the heart of Janet’s eldest sister, Isabella. He was still handsome, but he looked older than his six and thirty years. The war, the difficulty he’d faced after the catastrophic defeat at the Battle of Methven, and his near destruction afterward had taken their toll in the deep lines etched on his face. But it was his expression that had changed the most. The gregarious, lighthearted, chivalrous knight was gone forever, replaced by the serious, formidable, battle-hardened warrior king.

Seated across from him in his private solar, his men leaving at her request, Janet felt a twinge of unexpected apprehension. She might think of him as Robert, but the man before her was undeniably a king. The concern in the dark eyes that met hers, however, gave her courage.

“You are feeling better? Helen has attended to all your needs? I told her that you should have whatever you wished.”

She intended to hold him to that. “I feel much better, Sire. Helen has cared for me as if I were her sister. But there is one thing I would ask for.”

He smiled, looking relieved. “Whatever it is, you shall have it. I am in your debt, Janet. I know what you went through to get that message to me, and I heard how you protected our informant in the castle by jumping in front of the man in the alley.”

Their eyes met, and Janet could see how truly grateful he was. The informant was important to him; it was why he’d trusted her in the first place. But she wondered how he’d heard the specifics of what had happened in Berwick. Someone must have spoken to her informant.

“I still can’t believe the English planned treachery in a peace negotiation,” he continued. “Both Gloucester and
Cornwall gave me their word. I’d expect it from Gaveston, but not from a son of de Monthermer.”

The Earl of Cornwall, Piers Gaveston, was Edward’s favorite. The Earl of Gloucester, Gilbert de Clare, was a strong supporter of the king, but he was also the stepson of one of Robert’s former close friends, Ralph de Monthermer.

“Yet after Methven, I should no longer be surprised.” Robert’s face darkened, giving Janet a glimpse of his anger and rage. “From what I read in that missive, they might have succeeded. They planned to surround us with Roxburgh’s entire garrison while we slept.” He paused for a moment, collecting himself before he looked back up at her. “What is it you want, Janet? If it is in my power, it shall be yours.”

Janet held his gaze and did not hesitate. “I want Ewen.”

Robert’s eyes flashed. “You will not twist my words against me this time, Janet. I already gave my answer to Lamont, when he came to me with his ‘request.’ ”

Janet didn’t let his anger deter her. “I am asking for you to reconsider in light of the recent events. I’ve never asked you for anything before, Robert, but I am asking you now.”

He sat back in his throne-like chair, considering her with hard, intent eyes. “What exactly is it that you are asking for?”

“I do not wish Ewen to be punished for what has happened. Return his lands and give him his place back in the Guard, and …” Her cheeks grew hot.

“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! That 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.”