The fear dissipated, and she felt herself relax.
Then she smiled. It wasn’t because she recognized MacLean. She was glad enough to see the warrior whom she’d last seen escorting Marguerite back to Melrose Abbey, but that wasn’t the cause of her happiness. Nay, the cause of her happiness was pressing hard against her backside.
Whatever else he might want her to think, Ewen Lamont wasnotindifferent. And he’d just showed her how to prove it.
Eleven
Ewen had spent years of training, learning to listen to and follow his instincts, but in this case they’d let him down. It was instinct that made him reach for her when he realized she was scared, but having the bottom that he could remember every curve and contour of pressed against him was harkening other instincts. Very primitive and powerful instincts.
He thought he’d tamed the wild beast inside him, but it was roaring again. Blood surged through him, hot and pounding, concentrating in one particularly painful area. Hell, he didn’t need a war hammer, he had one banging against his stomach.
He hoped to hell she thought a weapon was exactly what she was feeling, but the wool of the farmer’s clothes didn’t hide his body’s reaction nearly as well as the leather of his armor.
He let his hand slip from her waist and stepped away, snapping his frustration at his friends. “Bloody hell, take off the helms! You’re scaring her.”
MacLean did so first, and then stepped farther out of the shadows into the dusky light. He gave her a short bow. “My lady.”
Janet recovered quickly. The manners, grace, and elegance befitting the daughter of an earl emerged so effortlessly, Ewen wondered how he hadn’t recognized it right away. “Janet,” she corrected him. “Please. Although I fear we were not introduced properly before.”
MacLean smiled, a rare feat for his dark facade. “Under the circumstances, it was understandable, Lady Janet.”
Ewen didn’t miss the grateful smile she threw in MacLean’s direction for his understanding of her deception—or the “see that” one she threw in his.
The other introductions were made, MacKay first and then Sutherland, and Ewen felt his temper heat with every well-mannered word. The ruthless, more-brigand-than-knight warriors he’d fought alongside for months sounded like bloody courtiers out of some bard’s tale.
Gallantry skills, he recalled her jibe. What use did a Highland warrior have for those?
None. But never had he felt the lack of them so acutely.
Sutherland kept staring at her, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. For some reason, it made Ewen want to smash his fist through his teeth. The two women were completely different—couldn’t he see that?
Janet seemed amused by her brother-in-law’s reaction. Or perhaps she was used to it. “Do we look so much alike?”
“I apologize,” Sutherland said with a smile. “You do. The resemblance is uncanny.”
He shot Ewen a look as if he should have warned him.
“They’re twins,” Ewen reminded him. What the hell did he expect?
“Actually, we didn’t look much alike the last time I saw my sister,” Janet said. Her expression clouded, as if the memory caused her pain.
Sutherland shook his head. “Well, you do now.”
The way his fellow Guardsman couldn’t seem to stop looking at her was beginning to irritate Ewen. “They don’t look that much alike. In the light you will see that Janet’s eyes are greener. Her hair is shorter and not quite as blond. Janet also has a freckle right above her lip that Mary doesn’t have. Mary’s face is rounder, and she’s not as slim as Janet.”
Ewen realized he’d said too much when all four faces turned toward him—Janet’s with a frown and his three friends’ with varying levels of surprise and speculation. He didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body, but he felt the sudden urge to crawl under a rock and hide.
Sutherland lifted a brow. “Is that so?” he drawled.
Ewen knew what he was thinking, but he was wrong. “It’s my job to notice details,” he reminded them.
None of the men believed him, but at least Janet didn’t appear to understand. She was looking at him, shaking her head. “You’d better not let my sister hear you say that. I don’t think she’d appreciate being called ‘round.’”
He frowned, perplexed. What was wrong with round?
Sutherland explained. “Women who’ve just had babies can be sensitive about their weight.”
“She didn’t just have a baby. William is seven months old already.”
