The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(53)

She laughed, but no one else joined her. Indeed, there seemed to be an odd silence. It reminded her of the times she’d walked into her father’s solar when he was talking with his men and he’d just said something he hadn’t wanted her to hear.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ewen step toward her, but before he could move to help her, she turned sharply to give him her back and held her hand out to MacLean.

The big warrior seemed to be amused, but he came forward to take it. Like Ewen, MacLean wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly into the saddle. He was every bit as strong and far more gentle. But unlike Ewen, when he touched her and she put her hands on his muscular arms to brace herself, her pulse didn’t race, her skin didn’t flush, and her stomach didn’t flip.

Unfortunate, that.

Feeling the weight of Ewen’s gaze upon them, Janet forced a gasp of maidenly shock to her lips. It had been a long time since she flirted with a man, but it came back to her so naturally, it might have never been gone. She’d always been the more flirtatious of the sisters, but it was more her natural friendliness than real flirtation, and she’d never taken it seriously. Until now.

She gazed into MacLean’s eyes, the startling dark blue just visible beneath the edge of his helm. Beneath that hard, grizzled exterior, he was quite handsome, she realized. And sharp; she could see it in his eyes.

Flirting with him wouldn’t be difficult at all.

“My word!” She left the men to contemplate what that exclamation might be about. “Thank you, Eoin. You must have all the women at court fighting for your assistance. Not all men are so gentle.” Her gaze flickered over to Ewen for just an instant—but long enough. “You’d be surprised at the lack of gallantry in some.”

Her barb found its mark. She could see Ewen’s fists clench at his sides. He was furious.

Far too furious for “a mistake.”

Far too furious for someone who’d forgotten.

Perhaps she’d found her way to break through to him? She would see how indifferent he was when she “forgot,” and turned her interest in another direction.

“Not all ladies are as easy to lift as you, my lady.” MacLean paused, as if the gentle, flirtatious banter between a man and a woman had been dormant a long time for him as well. “Or as pleasurable,” he said with a wicked smile that she suspected at one time had felled the heart of many a maid before anger had taken over.

“If the lady is quite comfortable,” Ewen interrupted, “we’ve wasted enough time. I want to be east of Selkirk before daybreak.”

If MacLean noticed Ewen’s irritation, he didn’t show it. He turned to her. “My lady?”

She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Comfortable enough for now, but if I decide I need a litter, I will let you know.” She let her gaze drop over the wide spans of chest and thick arms. “You seem more than equal to the task.” He grinned, and she lowered her voice to a whisper that was loud enough to ensure Ewen would hear. “Is he always so grumpy?”

MacLean shot a surreptitious look to the man in question, who was glaring at them so furiously she was surprised smoke wasn’t coming out of his nose.

“I’m afraid so, my lady.”

She smiled back at him, thinking that under the circumstances, she was rather enjoying herself.

Twelve

The mission had to come first, damn it. As angry as he was—and Ewen couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so angry—he knew the danger ahead of him. Hell, not just ahead of him but everywhere around him. The Borders were rife with it.

They wouldn’t be safe until they boarded the birlinn waiting just off shore for them in Ayr—assuming Hawk and Viper hadn’t been called off on another mission. So he buried his anger beneath the call of duty, reminding himself of all he had to do. But it was there, simmering, getting closer to the breaking point with each mile that they rode over the gentle rolling hills of the Tweedsdale.

Although he would prefer to travel on the north side of the Tweed, the bridges were heavily monitored. This part of the Scottish Marches was a maze of rivers and tributaries. At some point they would have to cross water, but it was safer to wait until they were west of Selkirk, where there were numerous places to cross that didn’t require a bridge. They could have tried to cross at the place he’d taken Janet to all those months ago, but that was how he and the other Guardsmen had arrived, and he always tried to use a different route to leave in case someone had tracked them the first time.

With the English controlling the border towns, he supposed it didn’t make much difference: everywhere was dangerous. But even traveling at night with only a single torch to light their way, he felt exposed. The low hills and fertile valley of the Tweedsdale provided little natural cover. It wasn’t until they neared Selkirk that the hills would rise and the forests would thicken. Ironically, he would be returning to Selkirk in two weeks with Bruce for peace talks.

He hoped to reach as far as Ettrick, deep in those hills and forests about twelve miles southwest of Selkirk, before daybreak. There was a cave in the area where they could rest until nightfall.

But they had hours of dangerous and difficult riding ahead of them. Ewen spent the first few hours circling around behind them to hide their tracks as best he could and ensure no one was following them. The snow seemed to be holding off, which was good. Hiding tracks in freshly fallen snow was difficult, unless it fell quickly and heavily.