He swore over and over again in his mind, but there was only one thing he could do: come up with a good story or best six mounted, mailed knights with no more than his dagger.
As he didn’t have Janet’s facile tongue, he suspected it was going to be the latter, and even for one of the elite warriors of the Highland Guard that was no mean feat.
God’s blood, could this get any worse?
A few minutes later, when the sound of a voice calling out his name that sent a blast of ice through his veins to chill every last bone in his body, he had his answer: Aye, this could get a hell of a lot worse.
“Ewen!” Janet didn’t let his death glare stop her. She’d known he would be furious, but the moment she’d seen the banner flying in the distance from her hillside perch, she wasn’t going to let anything stop her from trying to warn him. Unfortunately, it had taken her a long time to find him, and now it was too late. She approached the croft at the same time as the soldiers. “There you are! I’d begun to think you’d forgotten all about me.”
She saw his eyes widen as he took in her appearance. With one hand at her hip, as if supporting her back from exhaustion, she patted her softly rounded belly with the other. “Have you found a horse for us to ride yet?”
His face was as dark and brooding as a storm cloud, but after a moment’s pause, he realized his part and came forward to help her. His eyes bored into hers, promising retribution, as he slid his arm around her waist protectively. “I thought I told you to wait for me,” he said, adding after a pause he hoped didn’t sound awkward, “mo chroí.”
She laughed, as if used to his masculine bluster, which surprisingly she was. He would no doubt bellow and growl like an angry lion when this was over, but she didn’t care. He needed her help, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
He was practically unarmed. She wasn’t going to watch him being thrown in irons and dragged away from here.
Lifting to her tiptoes, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, as if soothing him with a placative balm. The grip around her waist instinctively tightened. She felt a shiver of awareness as their bodies melded together. “I grew tired of waiting,” she said, a little flustered by the contact. “Both the babe and I are restless.”
The part of the loving, soon-to-be father apparently wasn’t one with which he was familiar. It took him a moment to feign concern. He put his hand on her rounded belly—or in this case, the pillow of clothes she’d stuffed under the cotte Mary had sent her to wear. The under-gown was still too fine for whatever he was pretending to be, but the plain brown wool was better than the gold embroidered silk surcoat that went over it.
“The babe is all right?” he asked.
Aware of their interested audience, she mirrored his concern in her own eyes and sighed with weariness that she did not need to feign. “I hope so. I didn’t realize how tiring it would be. I’m just so exhausted. I shall be glad when our journey is done.”
“What is going on here?” an authoritative voice boomed. One of the soldiers—the leader, she suspected—had come forward, putting himself between Ewen and the old man, who stood at the doorway of his rectangular stone croft with its crucked turf roof.
“I am seeking a horse for my, uh, wife,” Ewen explained. “She is weary and cannot walk any farther.”
“You didn’t tell me it was for a lass,” the old man said with a surprised frown on his face.
From her position tucked against his body, it was easy for Janet to look up and give Ewen a reproachful shake of her head. Then she glanced over to the old man with another weary sigh. “Sometimes I think he forgets he has a wife. He didn’t want me to come, but I insisted, and now I fear I’ve caused all sorts of problems.”
The old man gallantly jumped to her defense. “A wee, bonnie lass like you, what kind of problems could you cause?”
“You’d be surprised,” Ewen said under his breath, but loud enough for them to hear.
Janet jabbed him in the side with her elbow and shot him a glare. “I told you I was sorry.” She turned to the old man for help. “He blames me.”
“For what?” the soldier interjected.
“For losing our horse in the first place.” She twisted her hands anxiously. “It was all my fault. I didn’t tie the reins well enough, and it wandered away in the storm. Now we must use the coin that we’d planned to give to the abbey to buy another one.” When the men looked at her in confusion, she added, “He did not tell you we are on our way to Whithorn to pray for the birth of the child?”
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, nasallyEnglishvoice. “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.
