The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(54)

Ewen had been chosen by Bruce for the Highland Guard for his extraordinary tracking skills. Man or beast, if there was a trail, he would find it. It was what had given him the war name of Hunter. But the other side of tracking was knowing how to hide your own tracks. And like the ghosts that some thought “Bruce’s phantoms,” it was Ewen’s responsibility to make the Guardsmen disappear.

He still couldn’t believe how close Janet had come to the truth with her jest. But thankfully, that was all it had been: a jest.

Not that he was much in the mood for jesting. It seemed as though every time he rejoined the group or they stopped for a short break—as much for Janet as for the horses—she was laughing with one of his brethren.

But especially with MacLean. His partner was lapping it up like a starving pup. Who in the hell knew that Striker could smile? In all the years Ewen had known him, he’d never seen MacLean like this. Not only smiling and jesting, but also talking. Hell, he didn’t think Striker was capable of carrying on a conversation that wasn’t about war or battle strategy.

But the strange ease that Ewen had found with Janet seemed to apply to his partner as well. And something about that set him on edge—on deep edge.

The lad’s clothing didn’t help, either. MacRuairi should have warned him. Women sure as hell didn’t belong in breeches—especially snug leather ones. They molded the womanly curves of her hips and bottom to perfection and emphasized the slim lines of her surprisingly long legs. It was distracting. Damned distracting. And he hadn’t been the only one to take notice. MacKay and Sutherland seemed embarrassed, but MacLean … he seemed a little too appreciative.

It was after midnight when they stopped for the second time. Ewen had gone back on foot to obscure some of the hoofprints, and intersperse a few signs that he hoped would confuse or delay anyone on their trail, when he heard a soft feminine laugh coming from the direction of the river.

The muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched. Focus, damn it! He knew he should ignore it. But the sound grated against every nerve-ending in his body. He couldn’t take it anymore.

As soon as he came over the rise he could see her. Janet was seated on a rock, and MacLean stood beside her. He was handing her something.

“Thank you,” Janet said, taking what appeared to be a piece of beef. “I’m more hungry than I realized.”

MacLean murmured something that Ewen didn’t hear, and then said, “You are warm enough?”

Ewen was striding toward them, but the sound she made stopped him mid-step. Squeezing the plaid around her shoulders, she gave a delighted sigh that went straight to his groin.

“Wonderfully warm,” she said. “Thank you for letting me borrow it. It was most thoughtful of you.”

Thoughtful? MacLean? Ewen had never known him to be so attentive to a woman. Any woman. And she was the wrong woman.

MacLean shrugged. If Ewen didn’t know him better, he’d think his partner was preening. “I thought I saw you shiver at our last stop.”

Ewen had seen the same thing. He’d been about to offer her his own plaid—God knew it would help to cover her up more—when MacLean had walked over to her and handed her his own.

Ewen had had to fight the urge to rip it off her. It should be mine, damn it.

Janet glanced over as he approached, but rather than acknowledge him, she turned to MacLean with a roll of the eye in his direction. That grated.

Though Ewen knew his partner had heard him earlier, it was only then that MacLean glanced in his direction.

He cocked his brow. “Is something wrong?”

Ewen held his temper by the barest of threads. “Other than the fact that they can probably hear you talking halfway to London? Unless you want the English down on top of us, keep your voices low. And stop all that bloody laughing.”

If Ewen hadn’t already known how ridiculous he sounded, their expressions would have told him. But nothing was worse than their quick exchange of looks, and Janet whispering “grumpy” under her breath, while trying not to laugh.

“What did you say?”

Janet shook her head, mirth shimmering in her eyes. “Nothing.”

MacLean attempted to change the subject. “Did you see anything?”

Ewen glowered at Janet until she finally sobered. Only then did he answer. “Nay.”

She studied him, her gaze assessing. “You are being very careful. Do you have cause to believe someone is following us or are you always this vigilant?”

“If you haven’t noticed, my lady, the Marches are currently occupied by English troops. There is no such thing as too careful or too vigilant when it comes to war. The fact that you don’t understand that is exactly why you shouldn’t be out here.”

She stiffened and gave him a long, scathing stare that made him want to turn away. Without a word, she turned sharply and said to MacLean, “Thank you again. I will see you up by the horses.”

Both men watched her walk away, Ewen cursing his harshly spoken words.

MacLean gave a low whistle, shaking his head. “You were a little hard on the lass, don’t you think?”

Ewen tried not to sound as defensive as he felt. “It’s the truth, and anyone that’s been doing what she’s been doing needs to hear it. This isn’t some game.”

“And you believe that she thinks it is?”