The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(114)

“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?”