The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(86)

She was going to hate him for not telling her the truth. For allowing her to believe she could actually be returning to Roxburgh in a few days. For not telling her about the betrothal.

What had seemed prudent and not-his-place at the outset now felt like a betrayal. It was a betrayal. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. Their relationship had changed. The sinful attraction he’d felt for “Sister Genna” had transformed into something deeper, something more intense, as he grew to know—and care about—Janet. Somewhere in there, the right thing to do had switched, and if he’d ever had an opportunity to correct the mistake, he’d missed it.

Finishing this mission was going to exact a personal cost that he’d never imagined. He’d known she’d be angry; he just hadn’t realized how much it would matter to him.

Part of him wanted to tell her the truth, but he knew it would probably be better this way.

Maybe if she hated him it wouldn’t be so hard for him to walk away? Maybe it would stop him from thinking of things that couldn’t be? Maybe it would make it less hard to see her marry someone else?

His chest burned. The very thought of it ate like acid in his gut.

His hand clenched the reins, and unconsciously his arm drew tighter around her waist.

What the hell choice did he have? The king wasn’t going to very well set aside the betrothal with Stewart to let her marry one of his Guardsmen—not to mention a Lamont—even if Ewen could convince her, which he wasn’t sure he could. The only option open to him was one he wouldn’t consider. He wasn’t his damned father. He wouldn’t “abduct” his liege lord’s bride. He wouldn’t risk everything for one woman. No matter how much he wanted her.

And God, how he wanted her! After so many hours with her in his arms, every inch of his body burned with need. The scent of her hair, the slimness of her waist, the heaviness of her br**sts, the curve of her bottom, had infused his senses, imprinted on his consciousness, invaded his soul.

He didn’t want to let her go.

She turned to look up at him. “Is something wrong?”

He startled. “Nay, why?”

“Aren’t you going to get down? I assume this is our destination?”

He cursed under his breath, trying to cover his embarrassment. How long had they been standing there?

He pried his arm from around her waist and jumped down. After helping her to dismount, he tied the reins to a post. “Wait here, while I make sure we are welcome.” She nodded, but then he thought of something else. “It is important that you only call me by my first name.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Lamont is not exactly a welcome name in these parts. There are some who still believe that my kinsmen had a hand in killing William Wallace’s father.” Not to mention that his cousin, the exiled Lamont chief, was a vassal of the Earl of Menteith, the man who was responsible for turning Wallace himself over to the English.

Normally, he would simply use his war name of Hunter. But with Janet here that wasn’t an option. She knew too much already.

Fortunately, the answer seemed to satisfy her. “Very well. And who am I?”

He knew what she was asking, but there was no way in Hades that he was going to pretend to be married to her again. He couldn’t stand another night of sleeping beside her. “Janet. That is all they need to know. I would not make them uncomfortable by learning that they serve the king’s sister-in-law in their humble abode.”

“I would not make anyone uncomfortable, but it has been many years since I’ve been served by anyone. I do not expect it, nor do I wish it. I assure you, this humble abode will seem like a castle compared to some of the places I’ve stayed.”

He didn’t miss the soft rebuke. If she was also trying to tell him that their difference in station didn’t matter to her, he pretended not to understand. It might not matter to her, but it would to the king. Of that he was damned well sure.

With one last look that felt suspiciously like goodbye, Ewen went to find the farmer.

Once Janet realized the truth of her feelings for Ewen, everything seemed to fall into place. If she had any doubts about what she wanted, they were soon put aside upon arriving at the small farmstead.

She sat at the table set out before the softly glowing peat fire, enjoying the warmth that enveloped her. It wasn’t just the heat from the flames or the satisfaction of a good meal, but also the company. The Wallaces were gracious hosts, and their happiness was contagious.

Ewen was right; not all marriages were horrible. The Wallaces were proof of that. Their fond banter, subtle loving glances, and unconscious touches spoke of possibility.

Robert Wallace was a distant cousin of William Wallace. He’d fought alongside his illustrious relative until six years before, when Robert lost a hand at a skirmish in Earnside. Margaret was considerably younger than her husband, and far prettier. The dainty, dark-haired lass with her elfin features and slim build seemed utterly wrong beside the grizzled warrior of around forty years, who had the towering height of his famous relative and the imposing bulk of a smith. But somehow they went together perfectly. Her bright laughter and open, sunny nature complemented her husband’s gruff, taciturn disposition. It was clear he doted on his young wife. His young pregnant wife.

The odd pang Janet had felt in her chest when she’d first realized Margaret was with child had become more identifiable as the evening wore on. It was longing. Sharp, aching longing.