The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(18)

So she’d gone to her sister-in-law Christina, persuaded her to let her borrow some of her men, and gone after her sister on her own. But something had gone wrong. Or rather, everything had gone wrong. Christina’s men had been discovered, and Mary, her son David, Janet, and their loyal servant Cailin had all been caught up in the ensuing battle. Janet would never forget seeing Cailin felled by that arrow on the bridge. She’d tried to help him, but suddenly the world had exploded in thunder and lightning—the most terrible she’d ever heard.

Janet remembered little of what happened after the bridge had seemingly burst into flames. She’d woken up a day later in a convent surrounded by a sea of nuns, thinking she’d died and gone to heaven. She’d been quite relieved on that point, actually, the alternative having been threatened by her father and brother often enough.

She been confused at first, stricken and unable to remember anything, so when the nuns assumed she was one of them (which wasn’t surprising given her attire at the time), she hadn’t protested. After a day or so her memories returned, but by then the abbess of the convent where the fishermen had taken her had connected their found “sister” with the Scottish lady the English were looking for.

Later she learned that Cailin, the man who’d been more of a father to her than her own, had lost his life, along with many of Christina’s men; Mary had barely escaped imprisonment, and David had been taken away from her again.

All because of her.

The abbess had taken a great risk in protecting Janet and smuggling her out of England to Italy with a group of pilgrims where she could recover in safety. But perhaps it was understandable, as the abbess’s husband before she’d taken the cloth had been one of the thousands slaughtered by the first Edward of England in the sacking of Berwick ten years before.

By the time Janet had left for Italy, the plan for her to act as a courier for the Scots had already been hatched and “Sister Genna” was born. Only three people knew of her true identity: the abbess, the Bishop of St. Andrews, and later—when Lamberton had been able to tell him personally—Robert the Bruce. Not even her twin sister, Mary, knew she was alive.

It was safer for all of them that way. She’d hurt her sister enough by what she’d done. She would not put Mary in more danger were it to be discovered that Janet of Mar was alive and a “traitor” to England.

The scars from that horrible night held no shame for her, though she wished she could say the same for the actions that had led to them. But she wasn’t the same impetuous girl who thought she knew what was best for everyone around her. Who didn’t take no for an answer.

She bit her lip. Well, perhaps she hadn’t changed in that regard, but at least she didn’t embroil others in her trouble. Usually. Which was what made her lapse earlier with Sister Marguerite all that much worse. Janet knew she was better off alone. Fortune seemed to disfavor those near her. Which was one of the reasons she’d decided to become a nun.

Though Ewen Lamont seemed like a man who could be trusted, she could not take the chance in revealing her identity to him. What she was doing was too important.

Although admittedly, he did not seem to share her belief. His feelings about a woman’s place still rankled. If she ever met a man who thought of her as an equal, she might have to put aside her plans to take the veil and marry him! But she might as well pray for wings to fly. Not even her formidable sister-in-law had managed that task. She could still hear the terrible rows Christina and Duncan would have before disappearing together into their chamber for hours.

Nay, Janet was happy with the path she’d chosen. Marriage meant strife or serfdom, and she was glad to escape those particular chains.

Why was she even thinking about this? Her immediate concern was Roxburgh. The imperious Highlander had interfered with her plans enough.

He was studying her in his off-putting silent manner with those too-intent steely eyes of his. She knew her outburst had given away too much. She tried to explain—calmly this time. “The English are watching the bridges. It will not be safe to attempt to cross.”

She couldn’t repress the small shudder that ran through her. It wasn’t just an excuse. Since that night with her sister, she hated bridges.

“We aren’t taking one of the main bridges. I know of a place where we will be able to cross that the English won’t be watching.” His eyes held hers—another unnerving habit of his. “Why are you so eager to go to Roxburgh?”

Janet cursed her outburst again. She’d meant to persuade him gently—when the time came—to make a quick stop in Roxburgh. But she hadn’t anticipated him having to change course.

Having heard his opinion about her job, she knew better than to mention it. Instead, she feigned embarrassment. “There is a merchant in the village I wish to see.”

“For what purpose?”

She untied the buckles of the large leather bag she still wore over her shoulder and retrieved a small bundle. “For these.” She held it up to his nose so he could smell the fragrant spices.

“What are they?”

“Chestnuts roasted in honey and spices. They’re my favorite, and I promised to bring some back with me for the other nuns.”

She tried not to shirk under the intensity of his gaze, but he seemed to see right through her deception. “You’re sure this isn’t another errand for the bishop?”