The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(105)

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.

Janet did not lack for partners, and spinning around in the firelight, her cheeks hot and lungs gasping for air, she felt like a girl again. Pretty and alive and, for a moment, carefree.

She didn’t realize how much notice she was attracting.

She had snuck away for a moment into the alehouse to use the privy—which was no more than a hole in the wall with a wooden seat over the cesspit—when a cloaked figure stepped into her path as she exited the building.

Her heart stopped. But it took her only a few seconds to recognize the slender, cloaked figure in the torchlight. Good heavens, it was her informant!

Janet immediately glanced about, looking for a place to escape the crowd, and darted into the narrow wynd that ran alongside the alehouse. It was darker there, and there would be less chance of anyone seeing them.

Her heart was pounding, knowing that it must be something important to bring her informant here like this.

“I feared that I would not be able to find you,” the lady said. “But then I saw you dancing.” The torchlight didn’t quite extend into the wynd, and her face was hidden in the dark shadow of the hooded cloak, but Janet could tell from her voice that she was smiling. “I confess I did not recognize you at first. The pretty, smiling merchant’s daughter is a far cry from an Italian nun.”

Janet was glad the other woman couldn’t see her blush. “You have taken a great risk in coming here.”

“I had to. This cannot wait.” She handed a folded piece of parchment to Janet, which she quickly slid into the purse at her waist. “You must take it to him with all speed. Already it might be too late. The talks are set for the day after next. You must find him before he reaches Selkirk tomorrow.”

Janet was just a courier. She was not usually privy to information, so she knew it must be serious for the woman to be telling her this. “Selkirk?”

“Aye, for the peace negotiations.” The woman took Janet’s arm and drew her closer. Janet could see the panic shimmering in her big eyes. “It’s a trap. The English mean to take Bruce.”