The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(98)

She looked to the bed, a stab of pain knifing through her. She could still feel him between her legs, the dull ache a painful reminder of what they had shared. “You cannot expect me to share a bed with you?”

He shook his head, looking sadder than she’d ever seen him. “You can sleep on the pallet. I don’t think I’ll be doing much sleeping.”

“The cost of guard duty.”

He didn’t respond to her jab but rubbed his leg unconsciously, as if trying to get a knot out, and winced.

She turned away so she wouldn’t be tempted to care.

“I’m sorry, Janet. I never meant to hurt you.”

But he had. Irreparably.

On her way to the bed, she picked up his shirt and tossed it to him. The naked chest that had only minutes ago given her such pleasure now hurt to look at. He put it on without comment.

She lay down on the bed and he sat before the fire, his back leaning against the wall and his legs stretched out before him. Janet had no intention of sleeping. She crawled under the plaid and watched him from under half-lidded eyes.

He’d retrieved a skin before he sat, and from the long swig he took, she suspected it was whisky.

With any luck, he would drink himself into oblivion.

Twenty-two

Janet woke with a start and shivered. Good God, it was freezing in here!

Here. She blinked into the shadowy darkness, recognizing the rustic wooden walls of the barn. Suddenly everything that had happened came back to her in a wave of hurt and disappointment.

How could he have done this?

She cursed under her breath. She wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. Thank goodness for the cold. The brazier must have gone out—

Suddenly, the realization of what that meant hit her. Her eyes shot to where Ewen had positioned himself against the wall. He sat with his head slumped forward like a rag poppet. She didn’t need to see his face from behind the silky veil of thick, dark hair to know that he was asleep. Dead asleep. Or rather, passed-out-unconscious asleep, if the discarded skin of whisky by his side was any indication.

She couldn’t believe it. The perfect soldier had fallen asleep on duty. It seemed so completely out of character, it gave her pause. Perhaps someone had been listening to her prayers after all. But she quickly told herself not to count her blessings.

Carefully—very carefully—she rose from the makeshift bed. Her heart pounded the entire time, watching him for any signs of movement, but he didn’t so much as twitch a single muscle.

She drew in a deep, uneven breath. Less carefully, to test him, she stood. Every tiny sound she made reverberated in her ears like a bell, but still he didn’t budge.

Heaven’s gates, how much had he drunk? Was he all ri—

She stopped, reminding herself not to count her blessings.

She looked at him. Looked at her boots. Looked at the bag by his side—a bag that she knew held her other gowns, money, and what was left of their food. She looked at the horse in the stall at the back of the barn.

Could she do this?

Her heart lurched, but then continued to pound. Yes. Yes, she could. At least, it was worth a try. She couldn’t stay with him.

She didn’t know how much time she had, but she hoped she still had a few hours before dawn. Riding the horse would make her easier to track—and she had no doubt he would be tracking her—but it would give her speed that he wouldn’t have on foot. And she’d learned some things from him that might help.

She swallowed, thinking of the journey that lay ahead. It would be long and dangerous, but nothing that she hadn’t done countless times before. So why did it give her a twinge of fear now? Why did the thought of leaving him suddenly make her uneasy?

Because in the last few short days, she’d grown used to having him by her side. She might not have wanted his protection, but she’d come to appreciate it, and if not to depend on it, then to at least to take comfort in it.

Her heart squeezed. Why did this have to hurt so much? How could he have lied to her like that? Not just about the betrothal but about her returning to Roxburgh. He knew how important this was to her. Yet even with his betrayal, she might have tried to understand—might have tried to forgive him—if he loved her.

But he didn’t—or not enough. He would rather see her wed to another man than risk a comparison to his father. The worst part was that she understood. She didn’t even blame him. Not really. But she also knew it wasn’t good enough for her.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Damn him for doing this to her! Until he burst into her life like a siege engine, she’d been happy on her own. Content with the life she had planned.

She wiped the tears away with an angry jerk, determined to be so again. Her work was the only thing that mattered now. It was the only thing she had left.

She was better off alone. Hadn’t she always known that?

Putting aside whatever reservations she had, Janet made her decision. It took her only a few minutes to gather what she needed. As she led the horse from the stall, she took one last look. Tears blurring her eyes, she left without a backward glance.

Someone was yelling at him. Ewen’s head lolled to the left and right. Stop shaking me.

“Ewen! Wake up, lad!”

He opened his eyes. It took him a moment to recognize the man before him. Big. Gray haired. Weather-beaten and battle-scarred face. Robert Wallace.

His mind felt like a bog, his thoughts sluggish.