The Hunter by Monica Mccarty

feel like this. Confused, half-crazed, and scared all at the same time.
    Her feet quickened as she sped up her pace, racing as much away from him as she was toward Roxburgh and the future she had all planned out. A future that didn’t include lustful thoughts or being distracted by a man. She was going to be a nun, for goodness’ sake!
    It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She felt a small squeeze in her chest before she brushed it away. Of course, it was. Taking the veil made sense. How else could she continue what she was doing? As a nun, she had freedom. A purpose. She liked working for Lamberton and was proud of all she’d done to help Robert.
    What other options did she have? For a noblewoman there were two: marriage or the veil, and she knew marriage wasn’t for her. She’d been engaged twice before, and both times the engagement had ended in the death of herfiancé. War had killed many of Scotland’s young noblemen, but to Janet their deaths had seemed like an omen that marriage was not meant for her.
    Besides, she was happy, and in her experience happiness and marriage did not go together. Her father had ordered her mother around like a serf, her sister Mary’s girlish love for the Earl of Atholl had turned to misery, and Duncan and Christina had spent most of their time arguing.
    Why was she even thinking about this? Even were she to decide she wanted to marry, it would never be to an ordinary soldier, even if he didn’t
seem
ordinary. She frowned. She was a daughter of Mar, the former sister-in-law of a king and aunt to his only heir. Her choice of husband wouldn’t be hers at all. It would be a political match brokered by Robert.
    For more reasons than one, the gruff Highlander with the silky hair and irresistibly kissable jaw wasn’t for her.
    She was practically running now, breathing hard, and despite the chill of the morning mist, a sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow. She couldn’t seem to get away fast enough. She figured she had at least an hour’s lead on him, which even if he tried to follow her would give her plenty of time to reach Roxburgh on foot—it was only a mile or so away. But just to make sure, she veered off the road as she drew near the town and took a roundabout route to the castle through the forest.
    She’d thought about absconding with the horse but hadn’t wanted to risk waking the stable lads. In hindsight, perhaps it was a risk she should have taken. Too late, she heard the sound of hoofbeats. She gazed around like a startled hare, frantically looking for a place to hide. But he was on her before she could dart into a hole—or in this case, the brush.
    Her heart was beating like a drum, but she hoped she managed to appear cool and serene when she turned to face him. “How did you find me?”
    He didn’t bother to answer her question. His face, half-hidden by the helm again, was a mask of icy rage. He leapt off the horse and grabbed her roughly by the arm. “You little fool, are you trying to get yourself killed?”
    She might have felt the urge to cower—having six-foot-plus of solid muscle and angry male bellowing at her wasn’t exactly unintimidating—if he hadn’t riled her own anger. “If anyone is acting foolish, it is you for chasing after me! I’ve told you before, I don’t need or want an escort. I didn’t ask for you to accompany me, and I don’t need your permission to leave without you.”
    “The hell you don’t.”
    She had to admit, she felt a little shiver of fear when he growled and pulled her even harder against him. But then she wondered whether it was something else when her heart took a sharp dive and heat coursed through her. A reaction that she was becoming used to where he was concerned.
    Good Lord, she loved the way he smelled—the mix of the wind in his hair, the pine of the forest on his skin, and the leather of his
cotun
.
    His face lowered to hers, and she sucked in her breath, wishing that helm covered the steely blue-gray