The Ranger (34 page)

On the surface he was the perfect fiancé. But that was the problem: it was all on the surface. His formality—his increasing distance—dimmed the happiness inside her to a flicker. Every “Did you have a pleasant day today, Lady Anna?” or “Would you like another cup of wine, Lady Anna?” put a tiny fissure in her heart.

She didn’t understand. He cared about her—he’d admitted as much—so why couldn’t he see how perfect this could be?

But as the days went on, it became harder to convince herself that he wanted this. He was pulling farther and farther away from her. Something was troubling him. Though the week had brought them closer to the end of the truce—the Ides of August was fast approaching—the increased anxiety could be felt everywhere, and she didn’t think it was the looming battle.

She wished he would confide in her, but he’d rebuffed her attempts to speak with him. Not that there had been many opportunities. Other than their brief exchanges at meals, the only time he’d sought out her company was a few days ago, when he’d insisted on accompanying her to Ardchattan Priory. With no messages waiting for her, she didn’t have to hide anything from him.

But perhaps her father wouldn’t have minded him knowing about her role in passing messages. Their betrothal seemed to have eliminated any lingering suspicions her father had of the Campbells. As war moved closer and preparations for battle intensified, the Campbells had been spending more time with her father and brother, which she hoped was a sign of the thawing of any lingering coolness from the old feud.

She sighed, allowing her gaze to wander around the room as her maidservant finished arranging her hair. It was the sixth day of August. One day closer to the expiration of the truce.

Glancing out the window of her tower chamber, she saw a
birlinn
sail into the bay, the main anchorage for the castle. It was an ordinary occurrence, and one that would not have caught her attention but for the speed at which it traveled. The sleek wooden ship had barely pulled onto the sand bank when men started jumping out and racing toward the castle gate.

Her heart jumped, knowing something was happening. Not bothering with a veil, she raced down the tower stairs and entered the
barmkin
at the same time her father was greeting the troop of men from the
birlinn
.

MacNabs.

“What news have you?” her father asked.

The MacNab captain’s face was grim. “It’s King Hood, my lord. He’s on the move.”

She gasped, fear turning her blood to ice. It was here. The day she’d dreaded yet anticipated at the same time. The battle that could be an end to the war.

The castle was in an uproar. The warriors in the crowd seemed to bristle with excitement, eager for the chance to destroy their enemies. The few women who were about, however, had far different reactions—concern and, like Anna, fear.

Instinctively, her gaze sought out Arthur’s. The news had affected him as well. He was watching her with a burning intensity that she hadn’t seen since the attack. Their eyes held for a moment before he turned back to the MacNabs.

Her father ushered the newcomers into the Great Hall. Anna followed, anxious to find out all that she could.

Unfortunately, the MacNabs had little more information. One of their scouts had alerted them that Bruce had left the Earl of Garioch’s castle in Inverurie with a force of at least three thousand—three thousand, to her father’s eight hundred!—and started to march west. Whether he intended to head for Lorn or Ross first, however, they did not know.

Bruce was wasting no time. He would be ready to attack right when the truce expired. Dear God, the barbarians could be knocking at their gate by the next week.

Her sisters and mother had heard the commotion and hurried down to the Hall. Finding Anna at the back of the crowd, they asked her what was happening. She quickly filled them in, seeing her fear mirrored in their anxious faces. It was a day they all knew was coming, but now the bell had begun to toll.

“So soon?” her mother said fretfully. “But he’s only just recovered.”

“He’ll be fine, Mother,” she said, trying to convince them both. But it wasn’t just her father Anna was worried about. What if ...

Nay. She couldn’t think about it. Arthur would come back. They would all come back.

But the uncertainty. The capriciousness of war was exactly what she’d sought to avoid. Why did she have to fall in love with a knight?

The men conversed for a while longer. She’d lost sight of Arthur and his brothers when they’d moved to the Hall, but when the talk turned to a scouting mission she saw him ease forward toward the dais, where her father was seated at a trestle table with some of his men and the MacNab captain.

Her heart froze, guessing what he was about to do. She wanted to call him back, to tell him not to do it, but she knew she could not. It was what he did.

“I’ll go, my lord,” Arthur said.

Her father looked at him and nodded, obviously pleased that he’d volunteered. Alan offered to go as well, but her father refused, saying he needed him at the castle. Eventually, it was decided that her brother Ewen would lead the small scouting party, which also included Arthur’s brothers.

The men wasted no time. Less than an hour later, the team had gathered in the
barmkin
to leave. Anna stood silently beside her mother, feeling as if she were spinning in a whirlpool with nothing to hold on to.

She watched Arthur ready to leave with her heart in her throat. He finished securing his belongings to his horse, took the reins in his hand, and positioned himself as if preparing to mount.

Her heart lurched. Did he mean to ride out without saying goodbye?

If he did, he changed his mind. After handing the reins to one of the stable lads, he turned and strode toward her.

His jaw was squared as hard as his shoulders, as if he expected to confront something unpleasant.

Me
, she realized, feeling a sharp stab in her chest.

“Lady Anna,” he said with a curt bow.

Her mother and sisters had not so subtly turned their backs, shielding them somewhat from the rest of the crowd to afford them some semblance of privacy. But she was still deeply conscious that they were not alone.

“You must go?” She hated herself for asking but couldn’t help it. She knew it was his job, but she didn’t want him to leave. Was this how it would always be?

“Aye.”

There was a long pause. It sounded so final. “How long will you be gone?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could put a name to it.

“It depends on how fast the army is marching. A few days, maybe more.”

She stared at his handsome face, trying to memorize the hard lines of his features, the scars, the strange golden amber of his eyes.

“You will be careful?” It was a silly thing to say, but she had to say it all the same.

A smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “Aye.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, as if he, too, were trying to put it to memory. There was a bleakness to his expression that she’d never seen before.

A shiver of trepidation blew across the back of her neck.
It’s just the war
, she told herself.
He’s focused on the battle ahead
.

He took her hand and raised it to his mouth, the warm imprint of his lips radiating over her skin. “Goodbye, Lady Anna.”

Something in his tone made her heart clench. He turned to go, and she wanted desperately to call him back.

The type of man who was always looking at the door ...

Nay. She told herself she was being silly. He wasn’t leaving her. It was only for a few days.

But why did it seem like goodbye?

Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he spun back around, cupped her chin in his hand, and lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips brushed over hers in a soft, tender kiss that made her heart lurch. It tasted of longing. Of pain. And of regret. But most of all it tasted of goodbye. She wanted to hold on, to make it last, but she barely had time to gasp before it was over.

He dropped his hand, held her gaze for one soul-piercing moment, and left. He didn’t look back. Not once.

Anna stared after him—stunned—not sure what had just happened.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, wanting to hold on to the heat and his taste for as long as she could. But before the last man had ridden through the gate, it was gone.

Arthur had been looking for a way out, and he’d found it. The scouting trip east gave him a chance to do something that months ago would have seemed unthinkable: back out of his mission.

He had to
do
something. He couldn’t stand by and let the situation get worse. The days following their betrothal had been impossible. The pretense was killing him. Anna was so damned happy. So pleased to be marrying the man who was going to betray her. Each tentative smile, each glance seeking reassurance he could not give, was like a drop of acid eating at his conscience.

He couldn’t do this to her. Even if it meant sacrificing his mission. The irony was that he couldn’t have chosen a more effective means of infiltrating the MacDougalls than becoming engaged to the lord’s daughter. The betrothal, coupled with the fact that he’d saved Alan’s life, had given him access to the very center of power: the lord’s council.

He wasn’t sacrificing his mission, he told himself. He’d done enough already in identifying the source of the messages as the women, passing intelligence of the MacDougalls’ numbers and readiness, and providing a map of the terrain, as well as preventing an alliance with Ross—even if that hadn’t happened exactly has he’d wanted it to.

They were on the eve of battle. King Robert would understand.

It was the middle of the night, three days after his disastrous parting with Anna. He hadn’t expected saying goodbye to be so hard. But riding away from her, knowing he might never see her again, had taken every ounce of his resolve. He shouldn’t have kissed her. But looking into her eyes, seeing her fear and worry for him, had been more than he could take. He’d needed that feeling of utter connection one more time, knowing that he’d never have it again.

He glanced over his shoulder, assuring himself he hadn’t been followed, before tethering his horse to a tree. He was about a mile away from where Bruce’s army had camped for the night. He would travel the rest of the way on foot. The sentries were liable to shoot at anything approaching camp at this time of night without stopping to ask questions, and the horse could give him away.

His senses sharpened as he drew closer to the king’s camp, anticipating the first sign of the perimeter guard. He was taking a chance, coming unannounced like this, but he had no choice. There hadn’t been time to arrange to meet or get a message to the Guard, and the MacDougall scouting party was readying to return to Dunstaffnage castle with their report tomorrow. He’d volunteered for night patrol, knowing this would be his only chance.

He knew Chief would have one of the members of the Highland Guard on post as he did every night. Arthur would attempt to make contact with one of his fellow guardsmen first.

Suddenly, the back of his neck prickled. He stopped, sensing the strange shift in the air that occurred when someone else was near. He waited, blending into the darkness of the forest, knowing that he would hear whoever was approaching first.

But after a few minutes, he knew something was wrong. He hadn’t heard anything. Either the man hadn’t moved or Arthur’s skills were failing him.

Again.

But when a dark figure emerged from behind a tree about twenty feet away, he knew there was a third answer: The man’s skill at stealth matched Arthur’s skill at hearing.

Damn
. This wasn’t what he needed. He let out the hoot that should identify him as a friend. Although he suspected that the man who approached might disagree.

Apparently, Lachlan MacRuairi was no longer harassing Ross in the north, and he had picked this night for guard duty.

MacRuairi stilled, readying his bow in Arthur’s direction, despite the secret call. “Who’s there?”

“Ranger,” Arthur replied, flipping back the steel visor from his helm and stepping out from behind the tree that had shielded him.

Even in the darkness he could see MacRuairi’s eyes narrow, the unnatural glow slitted. He shifted his arm to the left, aiming the point of the arrow right between Arthur’s eyes. MacRuairi had an uncanny ability to see in the dark—a hell of a thing to remember now.

“Are you going to use that?” Arthur said.

“I haven’t decided. One death doesn’t seem like much when compared to nine. I could claim I thought it was a traitor—which wouldn’t be that far off.”

Arthur swallowed the crude retort that sprang to his tongue. Knowing he deserved the other man’s scorn didn’t make it any easier to hear. He ignored the arrow pointed at him and strode forward. “Do you think I don’t regret what happened?”

“Do you? I sure as hell couldn’t tell. You looked like you were having too much fun fighting alongside Alan MacDougall, not to mention saving his bloody life.”

They were separated by only a few feet, but MacRuairi wouldn’t have missed at a hundred. “I will answer to the king, Viper, not to you. I need to speak with him.”

“He’s abed.”

Arthur gritted his teeth, clenching his fists at his side. It wouldn’t help anything to come to blows with MacRuairi, but he didn’t have time for his shite. “Then you’ll have to wake him. And my brother as well.”

Finally, MacRuairi lowered his bow. “You sure as hell better have something good to report.” He gave him a hard stare. “And it better have been worth it.”

Had it been? Arthur hadn’t been thinking in terms of worth at the time. He hadn’t had time to make that kind of analysis; he’d been too busy defending himself and protecting Anna.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he was ushered into the king’s tent. If Bruce had been asleep, his appearance gave no indication that he’d just wakened. His dark hair had been combed, his eyes were as clear and sharp as ever, and he was dressed in a richly embroidered dark surcoat and chausses.