A closer study of the woman’s smiling face as she responded to something Bruce said revealed further differences. Mary of Mar’s face was fuller, the lines around her mouth and eyes were etched a tad deeper, and her hair was a few inches longer. She had the same unusual blue-green eyes of Sister Genna, but Mary’s leaned toward the blue whereas Sister Genna’s favored the green.
Yet they had the same pale skin—albeit Sister Genna’s had a few more freckles, including the one strategically placed above her lip—slender noses, high cheekbones, dark, sooty lashes, and full pink lips. Hell, even the delicate arch of their brows was the same.
How could there be two…?
The truth slapped him. Mary of Mar had had a twin sister. Everyone had heard the story of how the lass had disappeared a few years ago after an ill-advised and failed attempt to rescue her sister from Edward the First’s clutches. She had been presumed dead. A presumption that apparently was wrong.
The bridge! Of course. The lass had disappeared when a bridge had collapsed. Sister Genna had told him as much, but he hadn’t put the two together.
His mouth fell in a hard line as the full import of his discovery hit him. The wee nun had lied to him. Sister Genna wasn’t Italian; she was Janet of Mar, Mary’s lost sister, and, he realized, Robert the Bruce’s former sister-in-law. Bruce’s first wife, Isabella, had been her sister. Ewen clenched his fists as anger surged through every vein in his body.
Suddenly some of the inconsistencies that he’d noticed made sense. The accent that had faded in and out with anger. The too-fine chemise he’d glimpsed during the attack.
The dagger.
Bloody hell, now he remembered where he’d seen something similar! Viper had a dagger that was nearly identical.
Obviously the sister-in-law Janet had been talking about was Christina of the Isles, one of the most powerful women in the Highlands, and Lachlan MacRuairi’s half-sister. Christina had been married to Duncan of Mar. Sister Janet’s brother was well known to him; Ewen had considered him a friend. He’d fought beside the fierce warrior and witnessed his beheading at the hands of the MacDowells at Loch Ryan.
Did Bruce know Janet was alive? Ewen intended to find out. He closed the distance to the dais in a few steps. Though his attention was on the king, he caught the frown on the newest member of the Highland Guard’s face and suspected that Sutherland had noticed his reaction to his wife. But he would deal with him later.
The king glanced up as he approached, his brows furrowing as he took in Ewen’s dark expression. “Is something wrong?”
“I need to speak to you,” Ewen snapped; then, remembering to whom he was speaking he added, “Sire.”
“I haven’t finished my meal.”
“It’s important,” Ewen replied stiffly, though it should have been obvious. Ewen could count on one hand the times he’d asked anything of the king. He put his head down, did his job, and tried to avoid conflict. Ironic for a soldier perhaps, but making trouble had been his father’s way, not his. Another reason to avoid Sister Genna, he thought. She was nothing but conflict. And not the way to distance himself from his wild father and rebel cousin.
Bruce shot him a dark glare. “It had better be.”
Tor MacLeod, the leader of the Highland Guard, must have been watching from the other end of the table. When the king rose, he did as well.
“Alone,” Ewen said.
Bruce didn’t hide his annoyance but waved off the fierce Highland chief.
Ewen followed the king into the laird’s solar, the small room located just off the Hall, and waited for the king to take his seat in the throne-like chair. The MacDougall chief had forfeited both his chair and his castle to Bruce after his loss at the key Battle of the Pass of Brander two summers past.
“Well, what is it that couldn’t wait, Hunter?”
The king preferred to address him by his war name, even when there was no danger of his identity being discovered. The name Lamont was nearly as reviled as that of Comyn, MacDougall, or MacDowell, and it was almost as if Bruce didn’t want to remind himself of the connection.
Ewen didn’t waste any time. “Does Mary of Mar know that her sister is alive and working as a courier for Lamberton?”
The king’s lack of reaction answered Ewen’s first question: Bruce knew. “Lady Janet has been missing for over three years. How can you be so sure she is alive?”
Ewen put his palms flat on the table and leaned toward the king. “Because I spent two days escorting her to Berwick after she narrowly escaped rape at the hands of some English soldiers near Melrose Abbey.”
The king’s expression cracked at the wordrape, but Robert the Bruce was every bit as fierce as his elite band of warriors, and he hadn’t dared to wrest a crown from Edward of England’s hands by showing emotion. Only someone who knew him as well as Ewen would have detected the reaction. He quickly schooled the concern from his features and drummed his fingers idly on the table. “How can you be certain it was Janet? Did she identify herself as such?”
Because Ewen could still see her damned face in his dreams. Still feel the curve of the baby-soft cheek that he’d held in his hand. Still taste the sensual mouth that had moved under his.
He was angry enough to tell Bruce exactly how he knew, but for once he curbed his tongue—albeit not completely. “You know damned well Sister ‘Genna’ is hiding her identity and pretending to be Italian. What the hell are you thinking, allowing your former sister-in-law to put herself in such danger?”
Bruce’s eyes turned flinty black. “Have care, Hunter. I’m used to your blunt manner of speaking, but I’m your king. I don’t care how good of a tracker you are, or how much Stewart believed in you; you’ll control your anger when you are talking to me or find another army to take your chances with.”
Ewen sobered at the sharp reminder—and at how thoroughly he’d forgotten himself.
