The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(12)

“Say goodbye, Sister,” Lamont instructed from behind her.

Genna shot him a glare, and then turned to Marguerite to give her an encouraging squeeze. “Take care, ma petite.”

Sister Marguerite glanced at Lamont uncertainly, and then back to her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you …”

“Perfectly sure. This man will do me no harm.” She hoped that wasn’t her third lie of the hour. “Don’t worry about me; just promise me you will rest before you continue your journey.”

The girl nodded.

Genna bit her lip. “It is probably best if you don’t say anything about what happened here. I do not wish to put these men who helped us in any danger.”

Marguerite nodded again, and then after one last hug, Genna let her go. She watched as MacLean led her away through the tunnel of trees. They were almost out of sight when Lamont shouted something at his friend in Gaelic. It sounded like, “Striker, Bàs roimh Gèill!”

She translated the last as Death before Surrender, but what did “striker” mean?

MacLean nodded and repeated the phrase, adding something she did understand: “hunter.” Strange … “What did you say to him?”

“It isn’t important.”

“And yet you chose to speak it in a language that I could not understand?”

He shook his head. She thought it quite remarkable that he had the same exasperated look on his face that her brother and father used to have, which had taken them years to perfect. He’d managed it with her in minutes.

“Yes.”

The man had also perfected the non-answer. “Your friend,” she said. “Won’t it be dangerous for him?”

He dismissed her concern with a shrug. “He’ll be careful. He knows how to blend in.”

Genna couldn’t imagine how either of them would blend in anywhere. They stood out. They were so big, for one thing. Standing next to him she couldn’t help notice just how big. He stood nearly a foot taller than she—he must be at least a hand over six feet—and his shoulders were nearly twice as wide. With all the weapons and armor, he was a bulky man. Not fat, but with far too many muscles for her taste. He was a man built to remind women of their vulnerability, something she tried not to think about. But she couldn’t ignore it with him, which made her all the more eager to be rid of him.

Genna had noticed that he liked the direct approach—or in his case, the stunted approach—so she decided to take it herself. “Why are you insisting on escorting me back to Berwick? Did my superior instruct you to do so?”

“Nay.”

“Then why?”

“That should be obvious: it isn’t safe.”

“And you think I’ll be safer with you? You are wrong. The English are far more likely to stop a warrior on the road than they are a group of pilgrims. I will be far safer with them.”

“Then it’s a good thing we won’t be traveling on the road.”

“Do you proposed to fly to Berwick?” The sarcastic words were out of her mouth before she could snatch them back.

He smiled, and some of that irritation she was feeling squeezed strangely in her chest. He was handsome, she realized. Sinfully handsome. She didn’t need to see the rest of his face to know it. It was right there in that crooked smile. A strange shudder passed through her, prickly and warm, as if someone had just spread a thick plaid over her naked skin.

“Not quite,” he said. “We’ll keep to the trees and stay off the main roads.”

He took a step closer to her, and she caught a faint whiff of leather and pine that she wished she could say was unpleasant. Instead she felt the nearly irresistible urge to inhale. She shook it off, wondering why she was acting like this. She had never been the type to be made silly by a man—not even when she was young. In fact, it had been the other way around.

She had to tilt her head back just to look at him. “What if we get lost?”

The harsh sound out of his mouth was almost a laugh. “We won’t get lost.”

He glanced down, and their eyes met. Something locked in her chest. Her breath, she realized. It seemed to have become stuck. Something strange passed between them. Something hot and intense. Something that made the skin beneath her cloak prickle. She was suddenly very aware of her naked skin beneath the wool.

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, his gaze dropped to her chest. A strange warm flush spread over her, and she gasped. The small sound was enough to break the connection. He jerked his gaze away, a dark look crossing his face.

He took a step back and she tried to cover the moment of awkwardness, but her voice sounded unusually breathy. “I’m afraid it’s impossible. You may escort me to Dryburgh if you insist, but it isn’t proper for me to travel alone with a man.” Jerusalem’s temples, they’d have to spend at least one night together!

His mouth twisted. “There is nothing improper; you are a nun. Your chastity is safe with me.”

There was something about that little smile and the way he said it that didn’t sit well with her. Had she misread what had just happened? Was he telling her he wasn’t attracted to her? Though that was exactly the way she should want it, she had just enough vanity left to discover that it bothered her.

She needed to change into a new chemise and put her veil in order. Then she was sure she would feel like herself again. After she got rid of him. “I did not mean to impugn your honor. You are a man of honor, are you not?”