The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(101)

“Kate, my lord,” she said softly, using the name she’d given the merchant.

The knight’s eyes narrowed. “Pull back your hood.”

She did as he bid, she hoped without showing as much reluctance as she felt. The moment the plaid fell back, a collective silence fell over the knight and his men. They stared at her in shock and unmistakable masculine admiration.

Except for the squire. He smiled broadly. “It is her. Lady Mary, the Countess of Atholl.”

The lad had obviously not heard of her sister’s defection and second marriage. But the knight had. The way his dark eyes gleamed as his mouth curved in a slow smile chilled her to the bone. “And what is the rebel Lady Mary doing in Melrose?”

Janet forced a shy smile to her face. “I’m afraid the boy is mistaken, my lord.” She batted her lashes up at him with what she hoped was just the right amount of innocence. But something told her this man wasn’t going to be easy to fool. “I am—”

“Our daughter, my lord.”

Janet startled and hoped she didn’t look as surprised as she felt, when the merchant came up beside her and claimed her by the arm.

Ewen fought the lulling force of darkness, which sought to drag him under. You can’t sleep. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy. Someone had put a weight on them.

Try. You have something to do. He didn’t know what it was that he had to do, but he knew it was important. Very important. The most important thing in the world.

Get up. You have to go after her.

Oh God, Janet!

He flailed blindly in the darkness, trying to sit up. But something wrestled him down. Powerful, steely hands clamped his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the bed.

He cried out, writhing in pain and frustration as he tried to fight his way free. But the steely hands seemed to multiply like some kind of hideous spider.

Have to get up. Danger. She needs me. Oh, God, Janet … sorry.

“… Tie him down.” A soft voice penetrated the edges of his consciousness. A woman’s voice. An angel’s voice. “… Getting worse … Take leg.”

“No!” He lashed out, fighting with everything he had until the pain overwhelmed him and the darkness dragged him under.

Ewen was dreaming again, running through the darkness looking for something—for someone.

Have to find her …

He startled and opened his eyes, quickly closing them again as the light stabbed them like a dagger.

He groaned, turning, surprised to feel his arms moving freely at his side.

“He’s awake,” a familiar voice said.

Oh God, Janet!

He opened his eyes again, blinking up into the face that had haunted his dreams.

He reached up and cradled her cheek in his hand. “You’re here,” he said, his voice gravelly and weak. She was safe. Janet was safe. “God, I’m sorry.”

She smiled, and he felt the first inkling that something wasn’t right—a fuzzy prickle nudging the frayed edges of his consciousness.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Another face appeared beside hers, also familiar but scowling. Despite the way the man was looking at him, Ewen knew that he should be relieved to see him for some reason.

“I know you almost died,” the man said. “But you are going to find yourself close to death again if you don’t get your damned hands off my wife.”

Sutherland, Ewen realized. He’s alive.

He dropped his hand from the woman’s face. Mary’s face, not Janet’s.

Mary gave her husband a sharp scowl. “He’s been unconscious for nearly four days—do you think you could put aside your primitive male possessiveness for just a few minutes?”

Four days?

Sutherland shrugged unrepentantly. “Not if he’s going to look at you like that. Hell, I thought he was going to drag you down on top of him. I was just saving him from a thrashing when he recovers.”

Ewen wasn’t too groggy to scoff. “That’ll be a cold day in hell, Ice.”

Mary harrumphed. “Obviously, he thought I was my sister.”

“Where is she?” Ewen said, instantly alert. “Where is Janet?”

Sutherland sobered. “We were hoping you would tell us that.”

“You mean she isn’t here?” He looked around, suddenly realizing that he didn’t know where the hell he was.

Mary seemed to understand his confusion. “Dunstaffnage.”

Bruce’s headquarters in Argyll, won from the rebel John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, a couple of years ago.

“We found you not long after you collapsed at the Wallaces,” Sutherland said. “I’m sorry for leaving you and the lass alone out there, but it could not be helped. When the English attacked for the second time, I didn’t want to take the chance and lead them to you. I caught up with MacKay and MacLean, who had found Douglas. We would have been here sooner, but Douglas had a few problems we needed to take care of.” Ewen assumed they were English problems. Sutherland’s expression turned grim. “You were bad. We didn’t think you were going to make it. Saint and Hawk got you to Angel just in time.”

Angel. That was who had been tending him when he’d woken delirious—

Ewen froze in horror as the rest of the memory returned. He was almost scared to look. Hell, he was scared to look. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his gaze to the blanket over him, releasing it only when he saw the lump of his legs—the two lumps of his legs.