The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(10)

“My name is Eoin MacLean, and this is Ewen Lamont,” MacLean said in broken French. Unlike Ewen, MacLean wasn’t quick with languages. Normally they used their war names for Highland Guard missions, but as this mission wasn’t in the dark and the nuns would be able to see their faces to identify them, they’d decided it was safer to use their clan names. “We were sent to find you,” he added.

Ewen didn’t miss the instant look of wariness she shot in his direction at the mention of his clan. A look that unfortunately he was used to among Bruce supporters. Like the MacDougalls, Comyns, and MacDowells, the name Lamont was not a trusted one.

The long feud between the two branches of Lamonts had not ended with Fynlay’s death at Dundonald. Ewen’s cousin John, the current Chief of Lamont, had chosen to fight with his mother’s clan, the MacDougalls, against Bruce. When the MacDougalls had been chased from Scotland after the Battle of Brander, his cousin had gone into exile with the MacDougalls, and the vast lordship of Mac Laomian mor Chomhail uilethe, The Great Lamont of all of Cowal, had been forfeited to the crown, including the important clan strongholds of Dunoon and Carrick.

Distancing himself from his cousin’s rebellion and his father’s “wild” legacy was a constant battle. But he was surprised an Italian nun was that apprised of clan politics.

“Who sent—” She stopped herself, obviously remembering her companion. Slowly, she nodded. “I see.”

She’d realized that it must have been Lamberton who’d led them to her.

“With such an important undertaking as your, uh … pilgrimage,” MacLean added, “your superiors were concerned that nothing go wrong and wanted to make sure you reached your destination safely. As you have discovered, there are many enemies to the church these days.”

Ewen hadn’t realized MacLean was so adept at speaking with double meaning—especially in a language he wasn’t exactly fluent in—but it was clear that Sister Genna understood what he was trying to say: they were here to make sure the message to Bruce did not go astray.

He was studying her while MacLean spoke and didn’t miss the flash of what might be deemed annoyance in her eyes. They were sea blue, he realized. A very pretty, very crystal shade of bluish green. And what kind of nun had long, feathery eyelashes like that?

Whatever pique he’d detected was quickly smothered behind the pious facade. “I fear your journey was unnecessary. I reached my destination two days ago without any problems. Indeed, I was on my way back to Berwick this morning. Sister Marguerite was simply walking me to the hill to say goodbye.”

“You were planning to travel by yourself?” Ewen said.

He hadn’t bothered to keep the incredulity from his voice, and the face she turned to him was serene enough, but he could swear her eyes were shooting tiny greenish-blue darts at him. Damn, she was pretty! Not too old and not too young. He’d guess she was in her mid-twenties—a handful of years younger than his thirty. The other one was pretty too, in a frail, helpless manner Sister Genna was trying to adopt, but she didn’t look much older than a child.

“I hoped to catch up with another group of pilgrims at Dryburgh Abbey, a few miles away. We in the service of God are used to walking long distances. I walk much farther to sell our embroidery at market. Most people I encounter on the road are not like these.”

“But some are,” he pointed out.

She shrugged with far less concern than she should have. Even after what had just happened, she seemed oblivious to the danger she was in. Which only reinforced his belief that women had no part in war—even nuns acting as couriers. Women were too fragile. Too trusting. Too innocent of the ugly side of the world. How could she expect to defend herself against an armed knight?

Though he admired the bravery and spirit he’d just witnessed, the next group of soldiers she came upon might not be so easily persuaded by her threats. What the hell was Lamberton thinking? The good bishop was sending his pretty lamb out to the slaughter with no idea of the danger she faced. And without protection, damn it.

He should be glad to hear she’d passed the missive along and leave it at that. Escorting pretty nuns who didn’t know enough to realize that they were out of their element wasn’t what he’d joined the Highland Guard to do.

As the only Lamont not in exile, it was up to Ewen to restore the good name of his clan and reclaim the clan lands lost by his cousin, ensuring that one of the greatest lordships in the Highlands did not fade away into the mist like those of the MacDougalls and Comyns.

All he had to do was keep his head down, do his job, and not do anything to anger Bruce. When the war ended, he would be rewarded with land and coin.

It was a simple equation. He sure as Hades didn’t need any complications from unknown variables—unknown variables like pretty little Italian nuns. As much as he liked Arthur “Ranger” Campbell’s eldest brother, Neil, he didn’t want to see any more Lamont land in Campbell hands.

But he couldn’t very well leave her out here to fend for herself. Not after what he’d seen.

She made an attempt to explain. “A few, perhaps. Though even these men, I think, were realizing the error of their ways.” Realizing that might sound ungrateful, she added, “Although, of course, we are grateful for your help. You were magnificent! Your sword skills were most impressive; I will make sure to pass along our praise to my superiors.”