The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(29)

He knew what she was trying to do—use his guilt against him—but was too damned angry with himself and wracked with shame to find the energy to put up a fight. Or maybe he just didn’t trust himself to have another argument with her. He was still reeling after what had just happened. By how thoroughly he’d lost control, and how quickly a kiss had dissolved into so much more.

How could he have forgotten himself like that? His father was the one who took what he wanted. Ewen had much more discipline than that—usually.

It had been easy, he realized. She’d responded with an openness and eagerness that made it easy to forget she was untouchable.

He wasn’t the only one who’d sinned. She might not want to admit it—and he was (just) gallant enough not to point it out—but she’d wanted him as badly as he’d wanted her.

“Please,” she repeated. “It won’t take any more than an hour, and then we can be on our way.”

Ewen stared down at that pale upturned face, at the wide blue-green eyes, the pink lips still swollen from his kiss, and the classically arranged delicate features, and felt something shift in his chest.

He was going to give in, damn her. They would go to Roxburgh. It was his guilt, he told himself. It wasn’t that he would give her anything she wanted when she looked at him like that.

“I think you missed your calling, Sister.”

She blinked at him in confusion, her long, feathery lashes fluttering like a raven’s wing. He had to steel himself against the sudden gripping in his chest, but she was so damned beautiful it hurt. “What do you mean?”

“You should have been a lawman.”

He watched as understanding that she’d won dawned on her features, and thought that no morning, no glint of sun upon the land, could have been as beautiful. “Thank you.”

Ewen held her gaze for a moment, but then forced himself to turn away with a gruff nod.

Guilt might have given her what she wanted this time, but he wasn’t going to let her manipulate him again. He needed to finish this and get back to the business of winning this war and seeing to his clan’s future. Getting as far away as possible from Sister Genna had become his first priority. To Ewen’s mind, they couldn’t reach Berwick soon enough.

Seven

Janet had been right. The quick detour into Roxburgh had been easy. No hue and cry had been raised, no one had noticed them; indeed, it had all been accomplished with little risk to either of them.

She’d slipped in and out of the castle, making contact with a potentially war-changing source of information, and returned to Ewen at the church in less than an hour. The importance of this contact could not be understated; and Janet would be right in the thick of it.

Yet it was hard to be excited. She may have won the battle in getting him to agree to take her, but victory was proving cold and lonely.

They rode in virtual silence the rest of the way from Roxburgh to Berwick-upon-Tweed. The ease of conversation they’d shared had disappeared. His curt, blunt responses returned tenfold, making him seem almost chatty in comparison before. He rode so stiffly behind her, she couldn’t relax. After hours of riding together, her body ached with the effort to keep distance between them. Snuggling against the comfortable shield of his chest was a distant memory.

During their brief stops to eat or water the horse, he barely looked at her.

Something had changed between them, and Janet knew it was her fault. She felt guilty for what she’d done but didn’t know what to say. Worse, she knew it was better this way. She had a job to do and so did he. Apologizing, telling him the truth, would only make things more complicated.

But every time she looked, his implacable features set in such cold repose that something inside her cried out. She wanted to reach for him, to draw him back from the remote place to which he’d removed himself. But what purpose would it serve?

Though she told herself over and over that she was doing the right thing, it didn’t help to calm the restlessness and anxiety teeming inside her. It wasn’t until they stood outside the gates of Coldingham Priory, however, that Janet felt the first stirrings of what could only be described as panic.

“We’re here to see the bishop,” Ewen said to the monk who answered the bell. “Tell him it is Sister Genna and her escort.”

He dismounted and helped her down while they waited for the man to return.

It wasn’t quite dark yet, leaving plenty of light for her to see the rigid set of his jaw. She bit her lower lip, her hands twisting in the folds of her gown, as she contemplated what to say. “Ewen, I …”

He turned his face to hers, his expression a mask of indifference. “Yes?”

Her heart fluttered wildly as she searched for … what? “I … Thank you.”

Why she was thanking him, she didn’t know. She hadn’t wanted his protection or his company, indeed she’d fought against it. But he’d given it, and that demanded something, didn’t it?

He nodded, and for one minute she saw some of the warmth in his eyes that she hadn’t realized had been missing until it was gone. Whatever he intended to say, however, was lost when the monk returned and opened the gate to take them to the bishop.

They were led across the courtyard and into the small chapter house that was attached to the priory. As it was dark inside, the monk lit a few candles before leaving them alone again.