The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(80)

“What is going on here?” an authoritative voice boomed. One of the soldiers—the leader, she suspected—had come forward, putting himself between Ewen and the old man, who stood at the doorway of his rectangular stone croft with its crucked turf roof.

“I am seeking a horse for my, uh, wife,” Ewen explained. “She is weary and cannot walk any farther.”

“You didn’t tell me it was for a lass,” the old man said with a surprised frown on his face.

From her position tucked against his body, it was easy for Janet to look up and give Ewen a reproachful shake of her head. Then she glanced over to the old man with another weary sigh. “Sometimes I think he forgets he has a wife. He didn’t want me to come, but I insisted, and now I fear I’ve caused all sorts of problems.”

The old man gallantly jumped to her defense. “A wee, bonnie lass like you, what kind of problems could you cause?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ewen said under his breath, but loud enough for them to hear.

Janet jabbed him in the side with her elbow and shot him a glare. “I told you I was sorry.” She turned to the old man for help. “He blames me.”

“For what?” the soldier interjected.

“For losing our horse in the first place.” She twisted her hands anxiously. “It was all my fault. I didn’t tie the reins well enough, and it wandered away in the storm. Now we must use the coin that we’d planned to give to the abbey to buy another one.” When the men looked at her in confusion, she added, “He did not tell you we are on our way to Whithorn to pray for the birth of the child?”

The old man shook his head.

For some reason the tears weren’t difficult to produce. The though of carrying Ewen’s child filled her with all kinds of strange emotions. Deep emotions. Tender emotions. “We’ve lost so many,” she said softly. “I just want to give him a son.”

Ewen seemed caught up in the emotion as well. He tucked her under his arm again and soothed her with gentle strokes of her head. “Don’t fret, sweeting, all will be well.”

Janet rested her cheek on the solid wall of his chest and took a shuddering breath. Good heavens, he felt good. With the strength of his arms around her, it was easy to believe him.

“This horse is not for sale,” Ewen added, “but we will find another. Come, love.”

He started to lead her away, but a voice stopped them. An irritated, nasally English voice. “Wait. Someone will explain to me what is going on here, now.”

Janet muttered one of Ewen’s favorite curse words under her breath and looked up at the big Englishman looming over them in the saddle. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the heavy armor and numerous weapons shimmering in the sunlight that worried her, but the sharpness of his gaze. Beneath the steel helm, she could tell that the blue-eyed captain with the dark hair and neatly trimmed beard was no fool.

And it was very clear that he wasn’t going to let them just walk away.

Eighteen

The way the soldier was looking at Ewen sent chills racing up and down Janet’s spine. And Ewen—blast it—wasn’t making any effort to deflect suspicion. He was acting every inch the fierce and formidable warrior, using his war-honed, muscular body to shield her.

Jerusalem’s temples! He might as well have shouted his occupation. He looked like a man who was born with a sword in his hand and would fight to the death to protect what was his. In this case, her.

It would be rather sweet, if it weren’t going to get them killed.

“My wife and I are making our way to Whithorn Abbey to pray for the child,” he said curtly, the authority of a Highland chieftain booming in his voice. Good gracious, could he not at least attempt to fake deference? “We lost our horse, and I was trying to buy this one from the farmer.” He motioned to the horse in the yard. “I was not aware it did not belong to him. If you would be interested in selling—”

“I am not,” the captain interrupted. “Is this true?” he asked the farmer.

The old man nodded. “Aye, he offered me ten pounds for the animal.”

From behind Ewen’s broad shoulder—which was impressive, she had to admit—Janet didn’t like the way the soldier’s eyes narrowed. He took in Ewen’s simply garbed appearance. “What kind of peasant walks around with that much coin?”

Janet could practically hear Ewen grinding his teeth. He truly was horrible at this. Mild-mannered, unassuming, and politic didn’t seem to be in his nature. ’Twas a good thing he was such a good warrior; he wouldn’t last two days as a courier.

“The kind who is going to an abbey to pray for an unborn child,” he snapped.

Janet groaned at the unmistakable sarcasm in his voice. Why didn’t he just draw his sword? The effect was the same.

This had gone on long enough. It was clear she needed to do something, and fast. Drawing the soldier’s attention away from Ewen, for starters.

She hoped this would work. She’d been pretending to be a nun for so long, she was a bit out of practice. Fortunately, with nothing better to do while she’d been waiting earlier, she’d taken some pains with her appearance. With a toss of her freshly combed hair over her shoulder, she tugged the dress down a bit over her chest and stepped out from behind her “husband.”

She smiled sweetly at the irate soldier (Ewen’s tone had obviously not gone unnoticed). “My husband is not a peasant, my lord,” she said, walking toward him. She thought Ewen growled something, but she ignored his warning. “He is a master builder. For the last two years, he has been working on improvements to the castle at Roxburgh.” That ought to explain the heavily muscled physique as well as the calluses on his hands, were the captain to look.