Ewen gritted his teeth. “I have to find her. It’s all my fault.”
The door opened and three people burst into the room. “We heard voices…” Helen let out a gasp, but she recovered quickly. Her eyes narrowed. “I see it was a mistake to untie you.” She shot her husband, who’d come up next to her, an I-told-you-so look.
But it was the third person who’d entered the room that caused Ewen’s heart to sink and a sheen of sickly sweat to gather on his brow.
Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, fixed his dark, razor-sharp gaze on him. “Where is Janet, and why is it your fault?”
Twenty-three
Rutherford Priory, Scottish Marches, December 14, 1310
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t toss you in a pit prison right now!” the king had demanded.
“Because you need me to find Janet and make sure she is safe,” Ewen had answered.
But he couldn’t even manage to do that.Five bloody days!For five days he’d scoured the countryside, turning over every rock—every leaf—with no sight of her. Janet had proved a better pupil than he could have imagined, using the skills he’d taught her against him.
This was his last lead—hell, it was his only lead. With St. Drostan’s approaching, he was back at the priory in Rutherford, hoping that whatever reason she’d had for wanting to return by this time would bring her back.
But from his position in the trees a few dozen yards from the entrance to the priory, he could barely make out the faces of the nuns passing through. He clenched his fists at his side, fighting for patience that had run out days ago. “I can’t see a damned thing. I’m going in there.”
MacLean stepped in front of him. “You won’t do her any good if you are caught. Remember what the king said: stay out of sight, observe, and don’t interfere unless necessary. I don’t think tearing apart every church between Roxburgh and Berwick counts as necessary.”
“Or terrorizing merchants unfortunate enough to sell sugared nuts,” Sutherland quipped dryly from his position behind him.
Ewen grimaced. That had been a mistake. But the merchant had been a provoking bastard, and Ewen had been fed up with his smart-arse answers. Before he knew it, his hand had been wrapped around the man’s neck and he had him pinned against the wooden wall of the shop. Not surprisingly, the man had then been far more forthcoming in his responses to Ewen’s questions. Inelegant perhaps, but effective.
“This is my last lead,” he said through clenched teeth. “I won’t take the chance of missing her. Get the hell out of my way.”
“Use your head, Hunter,” MacLean said.
But Ewen was beyond reason. He stepped around MacLean—rather than push him aside as he was tempted to—but another one of his brethren, or rather hisformerbrethren, blocked him.
“You aren’t going in there,” MacKay said.
“I sure as hell am,” Ewen said, muscles flaring with readiness for the fight MacKay was going to get if he didn’t move out of his way. Over the other man’s shoulder he noticed another handful of nuns emerge from the priory. But none of them was the nun he wanted.
“What the hell do you plan to do?” Mackay challenged. “Walk in there looking like that? The nuns will take one look at you and run screaming. You look as feral and wild as a wolf.” He shook his head. “You might want to try to get a few hours of sleep or eat something that doesn’t come from a skin. Your leg is far from healed, and you aren’t going to do the lass any good if you keel over and die. I’m beginning to think Helen was right. We should have kept you tied up.”
Even knowing he spoke the truth, Ewen didn’t give a damn. He’d spent his entire life trying to avoid being compared to his father, and right now he was every bit as crazed and unhinged as Wild Fynlay had ever been. “Unless you want to put on a kirtle and have me call you ‘Mother,’ my sleep and eating habits aren’t your concern. I don’t have bloody time for this!”
MacLean assumed that he was referring to the king’s upcoming journey to Selkirk for the peace parley. “We will only be gone a few days. The negotiations won’t last long. Bruce will demand to be recognized as king, Edward’s lackeys will refuse, and we will be on our way again. If the lass has not returned by then, we can try again.”
Though the parley was held under the sacred banner of truce, Chief wanted them to serve as part of the escort. They were supposed to leave tomorrow to catch up with the others before they reached Selkirk.
Ewen’s mouth fell in a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t explain that he wasn’t going to Selkirk, and that he was no longer a part of the Highland Guard.
Sutherland had come around to stand next to his brother-in-law. He gave Ewen a hard look. “Why do I get the feeling there is something you aren’t telling us? What exactly did you and the king discuss?”
The conversation with the king had gone exactly how Ewen had expected it to go. Once everyone had left the room, he’d explained what had happened. Bruce would have put a blade through his gut—or perhaps an area slightly lower—if Ewen hadn’t been on his back, unarmed, and weak from fever. Instead, his worst fears had been realized. The king stripped him of his land, his reward, and his place in the Guard, and he would have taken his freedom as well had Ewen not convinced him to let him find Janet to ensure she was not in danger.
And it had taken some convincing. The king had been inclined to defer to Janet’s judgment: if she thought it was important, he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the informant or the information their contact might pass on. No matter how hard Ewen pressed him the king would not disclose the identity of the informant—except to say that it was someone in Roxburgh highly connected to Edward’s lieutenants. Who did Ewen think had been bringing them all the recent intelligence, enabling the Highland Guard to know exactly where to attack?
Ewen had been stunned. Janet was responsible for that? He’d underestimated her importance and knew it. He owed her an apology—one of many—if she would ever listen to him again.
But learning just how in the thick of it Janet was only ratcheted up his concern. Hell, it wasn’t concern, it was mind-numbing, bloodcurdling, bone-chilling fear. The stakes would be even higher if the English were to discover her role.
He had just as much faith in her as Bruce did, but Ewen’s faith was blinded by something the king’s was not. It wasn’t until Ewen had lost everything that he could see clearly what duty and loyalty had prevented him from acknowledging. The emotion burning his chest and tearing his gut apart could only be one thing. Nothing else could strike this kind of fear and misery in him. He loved her. And he’d taken her love and thrown it back in her face.
