The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(76)

Teaching her about tracking proved to be an effective way of passing the time, distracting them both—him from thinking about the pain in his leg and the fate of his friends, and her from asking more questions he couldn’t answer about the Highland Guard. She was an eager pupil, surprising him with her interest, as well as with how quickly she seemed to pick it up.

They were able to move at a much quicker pace since she’d become more conscious of the signs she was leaving behind as they climbed, and thus he didn’t need to spend as much time backtracking to cover them up.

He should have instructed her earlier. Why didn’t he? It was one of the first things he did with men under his command. Had he thought the principles too difficult to grasp, or solely the province of men?

She was right, he realized. He assumed that because she didn’t wear armor and carry weapons, she was ill equipped for war. But Janet of Mar seemed to be turning many of his preconceived notions about women on their head.

She wasn’t fragile or helpless. She was strong and capable. Too bloody capable, to his mind.

Although he might be willing to admit that he’d underestimated her abilities, he wasn’t wrong about the danger. She might have defended herself against the knight today, but without the element of surprise—or if there had been more than one man—she’d be just as dead as those women at Lochmaben. Even if she were the best damned courier in Scotland, it didn’t override his instinct to protect her.

But did she need protection?

He thought back to their conversation about the women at Lochmaben. He’d never believed a woman could understand the danger and still want to be involved. Just like him, she’d pointed out. That was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

By the time the shadow of the shieling appeared on the horizon, Ewen had achieved one of his objectives: the lass was exhausted. Too exhausted to do anything more than climb into the folds of the plaid he’d set out for her as a blanket, after cleaning out the debris from the former animal occupants, and sleep.

Her virtue—and his honor—was safe.

For now.

But when he climbed into the small stone hut beside her a few hours later, and she instinctively turned to him, burrowing into his arms, something hard and heavy lodged in his chest. The weight of inevitability? The stony certainty of fate? Because nothing had ever felt more perfect. Alone on a mountain, taking refuge in a stone hut meant for sheep while being hunted by Englishmen, he’d never felt more content.

He tucked his arm under her chest, snuggled her small bottom into his groin, buried his nose in the silky softness of her hair, and savored every minute of holding the woman who wasn’t his, but who sure as hell felt like it.

Seventeen

Janet woke with a start. It took her a few panicked heartbeats to remember where she was, but eventually she started to breathe evenly again. The stone shieling on the mountain. With Ewen.

She frowned. Ewen, who was nowhere to be found. She didn’t need to look around the small stone hut to see that he was gone; she could tell by the empty chill at her back.

He’d slept beside her. Instinctively, she knew that. Not that she could remember it, blast it. The last thing she recalled was being tucked under the warm folds of his plaid. She’d been so tired, she’d fallen asleep the moment her eyes had closed.

He’d probably counted on that, the blighter. He’d marched her over these hills until she was too tired and cold to do anything but collapse.

All she could recall was a feeling of warmth and contentment. Of being perfectly relaxed and snug in her bed, unburdened by the events of the day.

He’d held her, she realized.

Janet shook her head with mild disgust. The one time he’d taken her in his arms and held her, and she hadn’t been awake to enjoy it! If she weren’t so sure that there was something special between them, his attempts to avoid her might have been demoralizing.

She’d just finished rolling up the plaid when the blighter in question ducked through the low door of the shieling. He had to crouch slightly to stand up inside, as the domed turf roof was only about six feet high in the center.

“You’re awake? I didn’t think you’d be up until midday.”

At first she thought he was criticizing her, but then she realized he was teasing. She gave him a knowing look. “I was cold without you beside me.”

His face went blank—too blank. “I was outside most of the night, keeping watch.” He handed her a skin before she could argue. “You can use this to wash until we reach the burn.”

She took the pouch of water gratefully. Her eyes and teeth had a distinctly gritty feel. All she needed was a comb—which should be in one of the bags—and she might even feel human again. She thought about prodding him about their sleeping arrangements, but decided to leave it—for now. Instead, she asked, “What burn?”

“Near the village of Cuingealach. We need a horse. The English seem to have given up the chase, but I want to put as much distance between us as possible.”

A wise plan. But something had been bothering her. “Why do you think they were chasing us in the first place?”

He hesitated, seemingly to take care with his words. “We had some trouble on the way to find you in Roxburgh.”

“So they were looking for you?”

“Probably.”

The knowledge eased her conscience somewhat about the lost cap. It hadn’t been all her fault. Moreover, as she expected it was going to be hard to convince Robert to let her return to Roxburgh after what had happened, the fact that the soldiers had been after Ewen and the others and not her, would help. Of course, there was no question of Ewen escorting her back. It was too dangerous for him. But it wouldn’t be for Novice Eleanor.