The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(40)

She used her time to read, pray (mostly for patience), indulge to her heart’s content in enjoying her favorite nuts (which the nuns were kind enough to buy for her when they went into town), and try to think of a way to get a message to her source at the castle that didn’t involve going to the market and potentially coming face-to-face with Father Simon again.

After four weeks the friar still hadn’t returned, but Janet had a way to make contact, which proved far easier than she’d anticipated.

Her informant had come to her.

The next time the Sisters left to tend the sick and needy at the nearby Hospital of Saint Magdalene, “Eleanor” accompanied them. The important hospital along the Abbey Road—linking the four great abbeys of the area—served not only as a sojourn for travelers and a place for the poor and infirm, but also as a charity for many of the ladies of the castle. When the next saint’s day arrived, Janet knew they would arrive to give alms to the sick and the poor who’d taken refuge there.

Every day for the next two weeks, Janet accompanied the nuns to the hospital. Surprisingly, she took to the work of nursing. When some of the other Sisters shied from the lazar house, the separate cottages housing the lepers, Janet took over the task of bringing them their daily loaf and, three times a week, their salt meat.

Finally, on St. Andrew’s Day, which also happened to be the first Sunday of Advent, Janet’s efforts were rewarded. The informant had been surprised but greatly relieved to see her. In the one moment they’d had to exchange a private word, her source told her that something important was brewing, and they hoped to have more information by St. Drostan’s Day, about a fortnight hence.

The following morning there was still an excited spring in Janet’s step as she took the lepers their bread. As she left the last cottage to walk back to the hospital on that chilly first of December morning, she was feeling so pleased, she didn’t notice the shadow that moved behind her until it was too late.

Fear leapt to her throat, cutting off the scream that might have sounded before his hand covered her mouth as he dragged her behind one of the cottages. A green sleeve. Her abductor wore the cloak of a leper!

He captured her hard against him, pinning her arms so that when she tried to lash out to free herself, she couldn’t move. His hold was like a steel vise, cold and unyielding. Yet while his body was solid as a rock wall, it was warm—achingly warm—and smelled of pine and leather. By the time he’d lowered his mouth to whisper in her ear, her heart was racing not with fear but with something else.

Her captor was no leper. It was Ewen. He’d come back!

“You seemed to have forgotten your promise to stay out of trouble, Lady Janet.”

She was so happy to realize it was he that it took her a moment to realize what he’d said—in Gaelic, no less. Her heart started to pound all over again, this time with trepidation. He knew her name. Her real name.

And he hadn’t called her Sister.

Tending lepers? Christ! The lass couldn’t seem to avoid danger; she only jumped from one fire to another. Speaking of fire, his body was getting too damned hot just from having her pressed against him.

Ewen released her as soon as they were safely out of eyesight behind the farthest cottage, spinning her around to look at her.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He’d forgotten how pretty she was. Glimpses from afar hadn’t prepared him for seeing her face-to-face again. With her bright eyes and cheeks rosy from the cold, Lady Janet of Mar was the picture of country vivacity and health. His mouth hardened. Far healthier than someone who’d caused him so much damned … trouble (not fear, damn it!) had a right to look.

This mission had been plagued from the start. No sooner had he and his three Highland Guard brethren left the ship at the coast in Ayr than they’d run into an English patrol in Douglasdale. Normally a single patrol of a dozen men wouldn’t be of much concern for four members of the Highland Guard, but after months of fighting Edward’s army, they were all a little battered and bruised. Ewen was no exception. He’d suffered an arrow wound in the leg while on a mission to track down some of Bruce’s men who’d been taken in a skirmish near Rutherford Castle, and even with Angel’s help, it had yet to fully heal.

Arrow wounds, cuts from swords, broken bones from war hammers and maces, and stabs from pikes were nothing they weren’t used to, but the various injuries had hampered them in their efforts against the patrol. There was no other explanation for how one of the Englishmen had been able to escape and find safety behind the walls of Douglas Castle before Ewen, MacLean, Sutherland, and MacKay could catch up to him.

The unfortunate result was that reports of Bruce’s phantoms in the area had spread, and their presence was no longer a secret. With God-knew-how-many soldiers looking for them, they would have to be very careful.

Then, as if the English hunting them weren’t enough, they’d arrived at Roxburgh to retrace Lady Janet’s last steps and heard from one of their loyal clergymen about the confrontation at the market with the priest. Worse, no one had seen her since. The lass had seemed to disappear without a trace at about the same time as the dead friar.

Ewen would not soon forget the gut-wrenching fear he’d experienced when the trail seemed to have come to a dead end. For days they’d scoured every road leading out of Roxburgh, hoping to find something—anything—except for the one thing he would not consider: a body.