Free The Hunter by Monica Mccarty

job, she knew better than to mention it. Instead, she feigned embarrassment. “There is a merchant in the village I wish to see.”
    “For what purpose?”
    She untied the buckles of the large leather bag she still wore over her shoulder and retrieved a small bundle. “For these.” She held it up to his nose so he could smell the fragrant spices.
    “What are they?”
    “Chestnuts roasted in honey and spices. They’re my favorite, and I promised to bring some back with me for the other nuns.”
    She tried not to shirk under the intensity of his gaze, but he seemed to see right through her deception. “You’re sure this isn’t another errand for the bishop?”
    She hoped the flush of heat to her cheeks didn’t show on her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an overly suspicious mind?’
    “Has anyone ever told you nuns aren’t supposed to lie?”
    She lifted her chin. “It isn’t a lie. The nuts
are
my favorite.”
    “Well, you can ask the bishop to pick them up for youwhen he runs his own errand. We aren’t going to Roxburgh. The area will be crawling with English. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a war.”
    She bristled at his patronizing sarcasm, but the subject of her involvement was not one she wanted to reopen. He was suspicious enough already, and heaven only knew what she’d say if he got her angry again.
    So she bit her tongue and bided her time. But she hadn’t given up. The bishop had received word from an important source at the castle and had asked Janet to make contact. He didn’t trust anyone else. She would just have to find a way to convince the stubborn Highlander (a redundancy, in her experience) to reconsider. But she knew she’d better do it before he found that crossing.
    Something was wrong, Ewen thought. The lass was too quiet. She’d given up too easily. He’d wager half his earnings for the month that she was up to something. Hell, he’d wager it all—if he wagered. But he wasn’t his father, and he needed whatever coin he earned to finish that damned castle.
    He just hoped she didn’t have any more hidden daggers. Now that the rain had begun he needed to keep all his attention on the path ahead of them through the forest. The slippery mud and uneven ground was bad enough, but the thick mist that had descended around them was disorienting. Nor did it help his concentration any that the harder the rain came down, the deeper she seemed to burrow into his chest. His bollocks were probably a deep shade of blue by now after having her bottom wedged against him for God-knows-how-many hours.
    She shivered dramatically. He didn’t blame her. For an April day, it felt as cold as the dark of winter. “Please, may we not find a place to stop to wait out the storm?”
    He felt a prickle of guilt. They’d been riding for hoursnow. In addition to wet and cold, she was probably tired as well. “As soon as we cross the river.”
    “And when will that be?”
    “Soon.”
    She glanced back at him from over her shoulder. She’d wrapped the plaid around her head, but water still streamed down her pale face. Her lashes were damp and clumped as if she’d been crying. Guilt pricked him again. She was only a lass. Women were delicate creatures—a fact he had to remind himself of in her case. What would make her want to put herself in such danger?
    “I thought you knew—”
    He cut her off. “I know exactly where we are.” Mostly. They should be reaching the ford in the river soon. He hadn’t gone too far. It was just the rain that was making it look so unfamiliar. He wasn’t lost.
    “I just thought that with the mist, it might be difficult—”
    “We aren’t lost, damn it.”
    She gasped, drawing back a little in the face of his temper. “I did not mean to slight your navigation skills. Of course, we are not lost.” He felt a moment of satisfaction until she ruined it with, “If you say it is so.”
    Guilt forgotten, he fumed as he looked around