The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(13)

“Usually.”

She frowned. Not exactly the answer she was hoping for, but it would have to do.

“And as an honorable man you would not force your person on an unwilling woman?”

For a chivalrous man there was only one answer. He, of course, gave her another.

“Well, I guess it depends upon the circumstances, because I have every intention of forcing my person on you, Sister. So if you are done trying to talk circles around me until I do what you want, you can change while I find my horse, and then we can be on our way.”

And without waiting for her to respond, he turned on his heel and left her there, gasping. Or perhaps sputtering was more accurate. It had been a long time since she’d lost a war of words.

It seemed she wasn’t going to be rid of him as easily as she’d hoped. Actually, it seemed as if she wasn’t going to be rid of him at all.

Three

Something about her expression when he walked away made Ewen want to laugh. He’d wager it wasn’t often the wee nun heard the word “no.” He was less amused, however, upon his return. For a woman of God, she sure as hell had a way of rousing the devil in him.

He stared down at her from atop his horse, his hand extended. “I said, give me your hand.”

She shook her head, the hideous black veil back in place, completely hiding the golden beauty that lay underneath. But he knew it was there, and if he looked hard enough—which he did—he could just see the silky-fine strands of gold curls escaping from beneath the tight wrapping at her temples. The softness, however, was at distinct odds with the stubborn set of her mouth. “I thank you for your kind offer, but I prefer to walk.”

It was the third time he’d asked, which was already the second time too many. His jaw tightened, but it didn’t help to moderate his words. His patience had run out. “It wasn’t kind, it wasn’t an offer, and I don’t give a rat’s arse about what you prefer. You’ll get up on this horse voluntarily or I’ll put you there myself, but be assured that one way or the other you will ride with me.”

Her eyes widened just a little, but to her credit her gaze did not falter from his. “You have an unusual way with words.”

This from the woman who’d threatened a shriveling manhood and bollocks like raisins?

“So I’ve been told.”

Ewen had never been very good at conversing with ladies. He was too rough around the edges—hell, he was too rough all around. MacSorley had enough charm for all of them put together. Which was fine by him. Ewen was a warrior, not a troubadour. He had neither the time nor the inclination to charm. His plain speaking might be off-putting, and maybe even harsh at times, but it was effective. In battle and in the other life-and-death situations that faced the Highland Guard, being clear and concise was what mattered. There was no room for subtlety. Besides, the kind of communication he enjoyed with women didn’t require much conversing.

Immediately his mind slipped to places it shouldn’t go. His gaze dropped for an instant to the woman’s well-covered chest before he snapped it harshly back.

Jesus, he needed to stop doing that! Nun, he reminded himself. Belongs to God.

But he suspected it was going to be a long time before he forgot the sight of the perfect, soft feminine flesh hidden under the habit.

He clenched his jaw. “Well, what’s it to be, Sister?”

After a long pause, she gave a loud harrumph and put her hand in his. Apparently, Sister Genna had decided not to test him. It was a wise decision. She would learn very quickly that he didn’t make threats; he did what he said.

He lifted her effortlessly into the seat before him—she weighed next to nothing—and they started off. By his estimation, they should reach Berwick the following evening. It was only a distance of about forty miles, but with two on a horse and keeping to the countryside to avoid the roads in difficult terrain, it would take them twice as long.

Having ridden in and out of the Borders more times than he wanted to remember over the past two years on Highland Guard missions to wreak as much havoc as possible with the English garrisons who held the castles, Ewen was intimately familiar with the landscape. He knew every forest, every patch of trees, every contour of every hillside, every mask that nature provided to pass in and out unseen.

Because it was instinctive, not because he thought there was any real threat of being followed, he did what he could to avoid leaving tracks, but with the recent spate of spring thunderstorms, the soft ground made it nearly impossible. However, the rain would hide what he could not. In the time it had taken to retrieve his horse and “persuade” Sister Genna to ride with him, dark clouds had gathered across the sky, the wind had started to ruffle the leaves, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

But it wasn’t the brewing storm that made him dread the miles ahead. No sooner had he settled her in the seat in front of him, and slid his arms around her slim waist to take the reins, than he realized he might have been too hasty to dismiss her plea to walk. Having her body nestled against his was making it difficult—bloody difficult—to remember that she was a woman of the cloth.

Now admittedly, he didn’t have much experience holding a nun in his arms, but he couldn’t recall ever coming across a nun that smelled like the bluebells that blanketed the hillside near his home in Ardlamont. The soft floral fragrance infused his senses, teasing him and making him draw her closer, lean down, and inhale.