Janet had been right. The quick detour into Roxburgh had been easy. No hue and cry had been raised, no one had noticed them; indeed, it had all been accomplished with little risk to either of them.
She’d slipped in and out of the castle, making contact with a potentially war-changing source of information, and returned to Ewen at the church in less than an hour. The importance of this contact could not be understated; and Janet would be right in the thick of it.
Yet it was hard to be excited. She may have won the battle in getting him to agree to take her, but victory was proving cold and lonely.
They rode in virtual silence the rest of the way from Roxburgh to Berwick-upon-Tweed. The ease of conversation they’d shared had disappeared. His curt, blunt responses returned tenfold, making him seem almost chatty in comparison before. He rode so stiffly behind her, she couldn’t relax. After hours of riding together, her body ached with the effort to keep distance between them. Snuggling against the comfortable shield of his chest was a distant memory.
During their brief stops to eat or water the horse, he barely looked at her.
Something had changed between them, and Janet knew it was her fault. She felt guilty for what she’d done but didn’t know what to say. Worse, she knew it was better this way. She had a job to do and so did he. Apologizing, telling him the truth, would only make things more complicated.
But every time she looked, his implacable features set in such cold repose that something inside her cried out. She wanted to reach for him, to draw him back from the remote place to which he’d removed himself. But what purpose would it serve?
Though she told herself over and over that she was doing the right thing, it didn’t help to calm the restlessness and anxiety teeming inside her. It wasn’t until they stood outside the gates of Coldingham Priory, however, that Janet felt the first stirrings of what could only be described as panic.
“We’re here to see the bishop,” Ewen said to the monk who answered the bell. “Tell him it is Sister Genna and her escort.”
He dismounted and helped her down while they waited for the man to return.
It wasn’t quite dark yet, leaving plenty of light for her to see the rigid set of his jaw. She bit her lower lip, her hands twisting in the folds of her gown, as she contemplated what to say. “Ewen, I…”
He turned his face to hers, his expression a mask of indifference. “Yes?”
Her heart fluttered wildly as she searched for…what? “I…Thank you.”
Why she was thanking him, she didn’t know. She hadn’t wanted his protection or his company, indeed she’d fought against it. But he’d given it, and that demanded something, didn’t it?
He nodded, and for one minute she saw some of the warmth in his eyes that she hadn’t realized had been missing until it was gone. Whatever he intended to say, however, was lost when the monk returned and opened the gate to take them to the bishop.
They were led across the courtyard and into the small chapter house that was attached to the priory. As it was dark inside, the monk lit a few candles before leaving them alone again.
While they waited for the bishop to appear, Janet suddenly found herself wondering what Ewen might say. As happy as Lamberton would be about the contact she’d made in Berwick, she didn’t think he’d be pleased to learn what had happened with the English soldiers near Melrose. She knew better than to think that Ewen would agree not to tell him, but there was no telling how he would make it sound if she let him be the one to relate it.
“I would appreciate it if you would let me explain to the bishop about what happened in the forest.”
The shrewd quirk of his brow told her how easily he’d guessed her thoughts. “I’m sure you would.”
She gritted her teeth. Whatever had changed between them, he still managed to rile her temper easily enough. “Perhaps you will tell himeverything, then?”
His blue-gray eyes hardened to slate. “I think you’ve already used that bargaining marker, Sister.”
Janet felt her cheeks grow hot, knowing he was right. “I don’t know why you must be so difficult about everything. It’s not as if I’m not going to tell him.”
“Aye, but it’showyou’ll tell him that concerns me. I suspect you could make Armageddon sound like a day at the fair.”
Janet pursed her mouth. “You give me too much credit. I assure you, the bishop will understand the danger.”
“Aye, but doyou?” His gaze held hers. “Promise me that you’ll leave the fighting to the men and stay out of it, and I’ll let you explain to the good bishop any way you want.”
With some effort, Janet bit back her angry retort. But inwardly, she fumed. Whatever confusing emotions she’d been feeling earlier disappeared.Leave the fighting to the men. Ewen Lamont saw women as nothing more than helpless, silly creatures who needed a big, strong man to protect them. Although he certainly qualified, she wanted nothing to do with a man who thought like that. Physical attraction—no matter how powerful—wasn’t enough. She should thank him for reminding her.
“You’d better decide quickly,” he said. “The bishop is coming.”
She didn’t hear anything. But she frowned a few moments later when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.
“Very well, I agree,” she said, not feeling the least bit guilty about the lie. Although technically, it wasn’t a lie. She would let the men do thefighting, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t continue doing exactly what she’d been doing.
His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe her, but she was saved from further enquiry by the arrival of the bishop.
