The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(22)

Much mollified, the innkeeper patted the sister’s arm as if she were a young girl. “Where did you say you were traveling to?”

“We didn’t,” Ewen said.

Sister Genna shot him a glare and gave the innkeeper a roll of the eyes as if to apologize for his poor manners. “My mother is very ill,” she said in low tones. “I only hope that we will make it to London in time.”

“You poor child,” she said, patting her again. “And all the way to London? But you are …”

“Flemish, Madame,” Genna filled in. They’d decided to be careful in case anyone was looking for an Italian nun. “My father is a merchant.”

He had to admit she was good at this. For a nun, she certainly lied well. He was almost believing her himself.

“How did you and your husband meet?”

Ewen was forced to stand in the doorway for another ten minutes as Genna regaled the innkeeper with the story of their chance meeting at a market in Berwick before “Bruce had caused all this trouble by taking the throne.” He hardly thought he looked like the type to leave wildflowers on her doorstep for a fortnight, but the innkeeper was charmed by his “romance,” and he found himself blushing like a fool (as was no doubt the little minx’s intent!) under her approving gaze.

Sister Genna was a natural, Ewen realized. If he’d wanted to deflect suspicion, she’d succeeded for him. But finally, after promises to send them up some food, the woman left them alone.

The moment the door closed behind her, all his trepidation returned full force. The room seemed to grow thick with it. The sudden silence made him wonder if Sister Genna had been keeping the other woman there to delay this very moment.

Trying to break the moment of awkwardness, he took the two steps to the table and put down the leather bag he kept tied to his saddle. After taking off the plaid he wore around his shoulders, he turned to face her. She’d inched her way to the foot of the bed at the opposite side of the room—about as far away from him as she could manage.

He cursed silently, seeing the wariness on her pale face. She was looking at him as if he were a wolf and she were a juicy lamb. Worse, he knew it wasn’t unwarranted. She must have realized how close he’d been to kissing her out there earlier.

What could he have been thinking? She was a nun, for Christ’s sake! He didn’t consider himself a particularly devout man, but the church was a part of his life, as it was for every man and woman in Christendom. His lust for a woman he’d been taught since childhood to revere as holy and sacrosanct was shameful.

If the fate of his immortal soul wasn’t enough, the possible damage he could do to Bruce’s cause—and thus his own—were he to touch her should be all the reminder he needed. Bruce needed the support of the church to win his war, and Ewen needed Bruce’s if his clan was going to survive. He could only imagine what Lamberton’s reaction would be if it became known that he’d despoiled one of his anointed.

But she sure as hell wasn’t making it easy on him. She didn’t act like any nun he’d ever met—or any woman, for that matter. And it might have been easier to ignore his feelings if he wasn’t pretty damned sure she was feeling them, too.

His mouth fell in a grim line when he saw her shiver. She’d lowered the hood from around her head and the golden locks that had been plastered to her head had begun to dry. Damn it, not the hair again! He felt a tug in his groin and bit off another curse. “You should do as she says and get out of those clothes before you catch cold.” With the innkeeper gone, he went back to speaking French.

Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. It’s warm in here. They’ll dry soon enough.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll turn my back while you change; your modesty will be protected.”

Two bright spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. She’d obviously taken umbrage at his tone. “It’s not my modesty I’m worried about. I only brought two gowns with me, and if you’ll recall, the soldier destroyed the other.”

He untied the strap of his bag and pulled out an extra leine. “You can wear this.” Anticipating her refusal given the transparency of the fabric he added, “Wrap the plaid she brought for the bed around you.”

She debated for a minute or two before comfort won out. “Very well. But don’t turn back around until I tell you.”

“As long as you promise the same. I’ll be changing as well.”

He watched her fight the smile around her mouth and lose. “You might have used some of that charm with the innkeeper. If the English come looking for us, she would have happily turned you in after that less-than-complimentary comment about the room. And not telling her our destination? You’ll only make people suspicious by refusing to answer their questions.”

Charm? He’d never been associated with that before. But talking with Sister Genna was different—easier. It was almost like talking to one of the Guard. His brusqueness and rough edges didn’t seem to bother her.

“Does the same hold true for you, Sister? Can I trust you not to peek?”

She flushed. “Of course.”

He held her stare. She did not back down from the challenge in his gaze, but he knew she was hiding something. Something about her wasn’t right, and he intended to find out what it was.