Monica McCarty - [Highland Guard 07]

by The Hunter

  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.

  She was rather fond of those calluses …

  Her skin tingled, and she had to force her mind away from why.

  Before the Englishman could ask more questions, she heaved a weary sigh, not missing the way his gaze fell to the tight bodice of her gown. She looked up at him tearily, giving him her best helpless, maiden-in-distress look. It took some effort. “My husband … he is worried about me and the child,” she said by way of apology for Ewen’s manners. “It has been a difficult journey.” Her voice went higher and faster with her increasing distress. “The storm came, and then I lost the horse, and you see he was so angry—rightly so, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  The soldier shot Ewen a look as if he didn’t agree at all. Janet regretted having to cast him in the role of bully, but it was necessary to bring out the soldier’s chivalrous nature. “I had to keep stopping every mile, and then I said I couldn’t go on—not until we found another horse. I’m sure it is horrible of me, but the thought of taking one more step across those mountains … I’m too heavy to carry, you see. And then he called me round?” The men gasped in understanding. A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I just couldn’t do it.” She blinked up at him, pleased to see that he seemed to have forgotten all about Ewen. “I’m just so very …” She swayed dramatically, as if she might swoon. “Tired.”

  Barely was the word out of her mouth than the soldier had jumped down to take her arm and steady her. “Do not distress yourself, dear lady.” He shot a glare to the old farmer. “Why are you just standing there? Quick, get the lady something to drink.” He led her over to a stool that sat by the door. “Rest here; you should not stand for so long in your condition.” Janet smiled as she looked up into the soldier’s concerned gaze, knowing she had him.

  Ewen didn’t know whether to throttle her or stand and cheer. By the time they rode out of the village a few hours later, they not only had a horse but full bellies as well.

  Watching her had been something of a revelation. No actor upon the stage could have performed better. She spun her story with such ease and confidence, even he had started to believe it. He’d actually found himself telling the old man and his wife that the child would be named James if it was a laddie, after the man who’d taught him everything he knew. James Stewart had indeed taught him everything. Of course, the farmer didn’t realize that Ewen wasn’t talking about building, but about being a warrior and a chieftain.

  Aye, she’d done well, but he could never forget the heart-stopping moment when he’d first seen her. It had been a shock. Not just that she’d disobeyed him and put herself in danger, but also how she’d looked. She didn’t look anything like a nun or a lad. Dressed like a lady for the first time since he’d known her, he’d been riveted by the sheer feminine sensuality of her long golden hair tumbling over her shoulders in loose ringlets, and the sweetness of the curves revealed by her form-fitting gown. Her breasts were spectacular. The gown seemed to have been constructed to make a man think they were being presented just to him, like some kind of bounteous offering to the gods. Jesus, he’d wanted to toss his plaid around her shoulders and bury his head in them at the same time!

  Of course, one large curve had been rather a surprise. Pregnant. It felt like a boulder had slammed into his chest. It squeezed. Tightened. Burned with an emotion he’d never felt before. A kind of fierce possessiveness came over him that dwarfed anything that had come before.

  He wasn’t as skilled as Raider or Saint in hand-to-hand combat, but he would have taken on every one of those soldiers bare-handed to protect her. Hell, he would have taken them on bare-arsed naked, as his father had done with the wolves, to protect her.

  He’d been nearly out of his mind with anger—and probably jealousy, damn it—when she’d purposefully started to ploy the English captain with the feminine charms he hadn’t yet finished admiring.

  Only the realization that it was working had stay
ed his hand. But it had taken every ounce of self-restraint that he had (and some he did not have) not to go over there and smash his fist through the bastard’s appreciative gaze. The fact that the captain knew exactly how angry Ewen was only seemed to fit the part she’d cast for him as the harsh, overprotective, short-tempered husband.

  Who in the hell could mistake him for that?

  So he fumed silently, if not invisibly, as Janet went about dispelling the soldier’s suspicions, enlisting the farmer’s help to find a villager who might have a horse for sale, charming the farmer’s dour wife into cooking them a hot meal, and somehow getting them out of there without a blade drawn. He wasn’t foolish enough to wish differently, but right now, with the way his body was teeming with restless energy, he would have welcomed the fight.

  Once he was certain they were not being followed, he circled back to collect his armor and weapons from where he’d left them by the burn. The detour was regrettable, but even with the weight of two on the horse, they should be able to reach Sundrum just outside of Ayr by nightfall. There was a safe house there for them to spend the night, where he hoped the others would catch up with them.

  Though he was holding her securely about the waist in front of him, and his body was painfully aware of her, he hadn’t said a word since they left the village. With all the strange emotions twisting inside him, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself.

  They’d been riding for about an hour when she finally broke the silence. “Go ahead. I know you’re angry. Just get it over with. But before you start yelling, I just want it noted that I only left the burn because I saw the banners and was trying to warn you.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “I also want it noted that you weren’t exactly making friends in the village.” This time his mouth didn’t even open before she cut him off again. “You only had a dagger. I know you are an exceptionally skilled warrior, but you would have to have been a real phantom to fight your way out of that.”

  He quirked a brow. Thought he was an exceptional warrior, did she? He rather liked hearing her say that. “May I speak now, or do you have anything else to say?”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “I’m done. For now.”

  She looked like a penitent waiting for the lash. He was sorry to disappoint her. “You did well, lass. Thank you.”

  He’d seemingly done the impossible: rendered her speechless. She could catch flies with her mouth open like that.

  “ ‘Thank you’?”

  He shrugged. “The babe was a stroke of brilliance.”

  “Brilliance?” she repeated dumbly.

  “I see why you have made such a good courier. I can’t decide whether you missed your calling as a lawman or as a performer on the stage.”

  “You mean you’re not angry?”

  He gave her a sidelong look while navigating the horse through a narrow clearing of brush. “I didn’t say that. You took five years off my life when I saw you coming down that hill—and another five when you started flirting with the captain.”

  “I wasn’t flirting, I was distracting.”

  He gave her protest all the attention it was worth—in other words, none. “ ’Tis a dangerous game toying with a man like that, but I have to admit, you sized him up well. He had a heavy streak of English chivalry in him. Not that I wasn’t about ready to take his head off for looking at you like that.”

  She blinked up at him in the sunlight, looking so beautiful that he would have cut off a limb to be able to kiss her again.

  He cleared his throat and forced himself to look away.

  She was so quiet for a moment, he could almost hear her thinking. “You really think I’m good at what I do?”

  The happiness in her voice made his chest squeeze. And the way she was looking at him … It was as if he’d just plucked the sun from the sky and handed it to her. He could get used to that look.

  “After what just happened, I can hardly deny it.”

  She shook her head, bemused. “I can’t believe you aren’t going to yell at me.”

  “Aye, well, don’t make a habit of doing something like that. Not all men are as honorable as Sir Ranulf.” That, as it turned out, was the captain’s name. A bit of his anger returned. “Some might see fluttering lashes and a healthy display of cleavage as an invitation.”

  She gave him a sly look over her shoulder. “You were jealous.”

  “Jealous?” he blasted, outraged. “I wasn’t jealous.”

  “It’s quite understandable—Sir Ranulf is quite a handsome man.”

  If he’d been able to see straight, he might have noticed the wicked twinkle in her eye. But he was too furious. “Handsome? That pretty popinjay? I wonder how much time he spent staring into the looking glass to trim that beard of his. There wasn’t a damned hair out of place!”

  Only when she burst out laughing did the haze clear his eyes. His eyes narrowed, realizing she’d teased him into revealing far more than was wise.

  The minx fluttered her eyes and leaned forward, giving him a bird’s-eye view of that spectacular cleavage. “And what of you, Ewen? Are you the type of man to view it as an invitation?”

  For one foolish moment he let himself look. He let his eyes plunge the wicked depths between her breasts. He gorged himself on the fullness, the roundness, the silky softness of the creamy white skin. He could almost taste her …

  He sucked in his breath at the force of the heat that gripped him. At the knife-edge of lust that roared through his blood. As if guessing his pain, she slid her bottom back in the saddle against him. Nudging.

  It took everything he had not to grab her hips and rub her harder against him. Only the cool challenge in her eyes stayed his hands.

  “It’s not an invitation I am free to accept, damn it. And you know very well why. How do you think the king would react—or Stewart would react—to discover that I’d taken your innocence?”

  She frowned. “Stewart? Do you mean young Walter Stewart? Why should he care?”

  Ah hell! Ewen clamped his mouth shut, realizing his mistake. “He is my liege lord. His father vouched for my loyalty, and I will not see that repaid by embarrassing the son.”

  She appeared chastened, his explanation seemingly satisfying her. “So it is Robert’s reaction that worries you? You think he would punish you for being with me?”

  Think? Ewen gave her a hard stare. “I know he would. And he would have every right to. You are his sister-in-law, for Christ’s sake. I am the chieftain of a disfavored clan with one finger of land left of a once great lordship. My clan is hanging on by a thread, Janet. Any hope I have of recovering that land rests with the king.”

  Janet could see the conflicting emotions warring on his face and almost felt bad for pressing him. Almost.

  She understood the source of his dilemma; she just didn’t see it as an insurmountable problem. Not after what he’d said.

  She still couldn’t believe it: he’d not only thanked her, but also had admitted that she was good at what she did. He’d seen what she could do and recognized how she could be useful. “Brilliant.” The admiration in his voice had nearly made her weep.

  After days of wondering whether all she was doing was banging her head against a stone wall, she’d finally gotten through to him. He wasn’t like her father or Duncan—or most of the other men she’d met. He was different. She was right: his apparent lack of regard for women had been a consequence of ignorance and inexperience rather than true belief. He didn’t see her as a helpless accessory or as a serf, but as someone capable, valued, and worthy of respect—like Magnus’s wife, Helen, the healer he’d mentioned.

  It was what she’d always wanted from a man but never dreamed of finding. She was more certain than ever that this was right. How could he hold her in his arms like this, with their bodies pressed together intimately, and deny it? She wanted him to touch her. To make love to her. She wanted to feel his body connected to hers and know what it was to experience passion.

&n
bsp; The problem was convincing him.

  It was disheartening to think that she’d held so tightly to something for twenty-seven years, and then when she finally was ready to let go, was having to persuade a man to take it.

  “This is between you and me, Ewen. I see no reason for Robert to be involved at all. If you want me, and I want you, why should anything else matter?”

  He gave a harsh laugh, devoid of even the illusion of amusement. “You can’t be that naive. You know that isn’t the way it is done. Sharing a bed is not that simple.”

  She lifted her chin, not liking his tone. “It should be.”

  “Perhaps, but until that day, a noblewoman is not free to give her innocence wherever she wishes.”

  Janet knew he spoke the truth, but it didn’t mean she had to agree with it—or abide by it. “There is no reason Robert needs to know.”

  He stiffened. “I would know. I would not dishonor you like that.”

  Janet glanced up at him sitting behind her, seeing the steely expression set on his face. That infernal nobility of his was proving problematic again. “Because we are not to be married?”

  The look he gave her was fierce, searing in its intensity. His jaw clenched even tighter. “Because we cannot be married.”

  His vehemence took her aback. She was silent for a moment, absorbing the implications. He must have taken her protestations against marriage to heart. Or was it something else? Cannot … Perhaps he was alluding to their differences in station?

  But somehow it felt as if he’d just thrown down the gauntlet. And despite his recent epiphany, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pick it up. Sharing a bed, as he’d put it, was one thing, but trusting a man to put her fate in his hands was another. Did she want to marry him?

  Nineteen

  After days of being hunted, the ride from Cuingealach, the little village in the hills, to Ayrshire proved disconcertingly uneventful.

  They crossed the hills between Douglas and Sanquhar, and continued west through the Airds Moss. By late afternoon, they neared their destination.