The Ranger (35 page)

He was seated on a trunk. The lack of furniture attested to the lightness and speed with which the army was moving. King Edward would never have dreamed of leaving on campaign without carts full of his household goods and plate. But living as an outlaw for over a year with his headquarters in the heather, Robert the Bruce had grown accustomed to far less.

Neil, looking slightly more disheveled, stood to his left and Tor MacLeod, leader of the Highland Guard, to his right. Like the king’s, MacLeod’s expression was grim.

The question in his brother’s gaze cut like a knife. Surely Neil couldn’t be questioning his loyalty.

“What the hell happened out there, Ranger?” the king asked.

As succinctly as possible, Arthur gave his account of the events leading up to his unexpected trip north, the planned betrothal between Lorn’s daughter and Sir Hugh Ross, Lorn’s hope to join forces, and Arthur’s intention to prevent the alliance from happening.

“You were successful?” Bruce asked.

Arthur kept his expression neutral. “Aye, your grace.”

The king nodded, pleased. If any of the men wondered how this had been accomplished they did not ask.

Arthur went on to explain how he’d led the patrol away from the MacDougall party on the way north but had been forced to defend himself to protect his cover.

“That was you?” MacLeod said. “Our men at Urquhart Castle were furious that a solitary rider managed to elude them.”

“Not completely. I wish I had. But the men had me pinned near a cliff. I couldn’t tell them who I was.”

None of the men said anything. Like him, they knew such situations were necessary to preserve his cover, but none of them liked it.

He continued, explaining that he’d been surprised by MacRuairi and his men on the way back to Dunstaffnage.

Neil drew in his brows. “You didn’t hear them?”

Arthur shook his head, offering no further explanation. He explained how at first he’d simply reacted, then, when he’d realized who the attackers were, he’d retreated to defensive maneuvering. When it came to the point where he’d saved Alan MacDougall’s life, he offered no excuse other than the truth. He’d only meant to block the blow; killing the man had been an accident.

Neil asked the question no doubt all of them were thinking. “But why save him at all? Protecting Lorn’s heir is not part of your mission. Killing him would almost be as good as killing Lorn himself.”

Arthur met his brother’s gaze, not shirking from the truth. “I wasn’t trying to protect him.”

“It’s the lass,” MacLeod said, putting it together. “You care for her.”

Arthur turned to his captain, not denying it. “Aye.”

“Lorn’s daughter!” Neil exclaimed, not holding back his outrage. “Jesu, brother, what could you be thinking?”

Arthur didn’t have an answer. There wasn’t one.

“What are you saying, Ranger?” the king said, his dark eyes hard as ebony. “Has a lass made you forget what side you are on?”

“My loyalty is to you, sire,” he said stiffly, but the king’s barb stung.

Neil stared at him. “Have you changed your mind about Lorn? Have you forgotten what he did to our father?”

Arthur’s mouth thinned in a flat line. “Of course not. But my wish to see John of Lorn destroyed does not extend to his daughter. That’s why I’m here. I need to leave Dunstaffnage.”

The room was dead silent. He could feel his brother’s stare burning into him, but he didn’t dare look in his direction. He’d let him down. The man who’d been like a father to him. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face.

“Have you been compromised?” the king asked. “Are you in danger of discovery?”

He shook his head. “The lass knows I’m hiding something, but I do not think she suspects.”

“Then the reason you wish to leave your mission before it is completed is because of the lass?”

“It’s gotten complicated.” Knowing it sounded insufficient, even to himself, he explained how Lorn had questioned him about the attack, how he’d feared Lorn might be suspicious, and how he’d been forced into a betrothal.

“But that’s fantastic news,” the king said, looking happy for the first time since he’d entered the tent. “You’ve gotten closer to Lorn than I ever dreamed possible. I’m sorry the lass is involved, but no harm will truly come to her. A young girl’s heart is quick to mend.”

Admittedly, the king, who was known for his way with the lasses, had far more experience than he did, but in this case Arthur didn’t think so. Anna loved too fiercely. Too blindly.

“I can’t let you leave,” the king finished. “Not yet. Not with battle so near. I need you inside to see what they intend. The information you’ve been providing is too valuable. Victory is too close to let it be snatched away at the last minute. John of Lorn is a black-hearted devil, but I do not underestimate his strategy in warfare, or his ability to surprise.”

Arthur knew the king would not be dissuaded. Robert Bruce burned for retribution. Lorn had defeated him before; he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way this time. One woman’s heart was a small price to pay.

“We will attack the castle at dawn on the sixteenth,” MacLeod said, seeming to sense his frustration. “It will only be a few more days.”

But he didn’t know Anna MacDougall. Arthur would rather face the first King Edward’s war-wolf siege engine than try to resist Anna for “a few more days.”

“They’re back!”

Mary’s excited voice sent Anna rushing to their bower window. Frantically, she searched the mail-clad forms streaming through the castle gate. When she finally saw the familiar broad shoulders, she exhaled the breath it seemed she’d been holding for four days.

He’d come back. He hadn’t left her. She felt foolish even thinking it of him. But she didn’t want to admit to herself how worried she’d been.

Anna tossed down her embroidery and ran out of the room on the heels of her sister, who seemed just as excited as she was by the scouting party’s return. Her brow furrowed. Did her sister care for Arthur’s brother more than she let on?

They arrived in the Hall just as the men were being ushered into her father’s solar to give their report. The evening meal had finished some time ago, but she and Mary ordered food and drink to be prepared for the scouting party while they waited. A wait that seemed interminable. Finally the men emerged from her father’s solar and came into the Hall. First her brothers, then Sir Dugald, and then, at last, Arthur.

He was caked with dirt and dust, his face weathered by the sun, his jaw bearing four days of a beard, and he smelled of horse and sun, but he’d never looked more wonderful to her. If a hall full of clansmen weren’t surrounding them, she would have catapulted herself into his arms.

They stood off to the side for a moment, while the servants readied the tables. This time he couldn’t avoid her.

“You are well?” she asked, not trusting her eyes.

His gaze softened, sensing her concern. “Aye, lass, I am well. In need of a good long dunking, but otherwise perfectly hale.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She bit her lip, gazing up at him hesitantly. “
I-I
missed you.”

His face shuttered, the pulse below his jaw ticking. “Anna ...”

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. “Did you think of me at all?”

“I had much on my mind.” But seeing her expression, he sighed. “Aye, lass, I thought of you.”

The admission might have made her happy had it not been so reluctantly given.

The trestle tables had been set out, and the servants had started to bring out the platters of food. The rest of the men began to filter over to the benches. From their place near the door of her father’s solar, he looked over her shoulder as if he were anxious to join them.

She couldn’t fool herself any longer. “You don’t want this betrothal.” The truth stung. She stared at him, the burning in her chest excruciating. “Is there ...” She could barely get the words out. He’d spoken of a bride as a reward. “Is there someone else you were hoping to marry?”

He gave her a harsh look. “What are you talking about? I told you there was no one else.”

“Then it’s just me you don’t want.”

His face looked pained. “Anna ...” He cleared his throat. “This isn’t the time.”

Some of her frustration gave way, despite the people around them. “It’s never the time. You are either gone, locked away in meetings, or busy practicing. When, pray tell,
is
the time?”

Clearly frustrated, he raked his helm-crimped hair back with his hand. It fell in soft waves past his ear, and she almost reached out to tuck it behind his ear before she stopped herself.

“I don’t know, but right now all I want to do is get something to eat, wash the filth from me, and sleep for more than a few hours.”

He had to be exhausted. She felt a prickle of guilt but pushed it aside. She wouldn’t let him keep putting her off. “Then tomorrow. We will talk tomorrow.” She gave him a meaningful look. “In private.”

He actually looked alarmed. She’d not thought him capable, but apparently being alone with her did what dozens of armed men could not. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I can’t. I’m supposed to ride out—”

“When you get back.” He seemed poised to find another excuse, but she cut him off. “I know you are busy with the preparations for war, but do I not warrant a few minutes of your time?”

He held her gaze for a long time. “Aye, lass, you do.”

“Good. Then get some food.” She waved him toward one of the tables. “Your brothers are waiting for you.”

He gave her a short nod and went to join his family. She turned to find her sister Mary standing closer to her than she’d realized. She was watching Anna with a pitying look on her face.

“It’s nothing,” Anna said, embarrassed by what her sister might have heard. “He’s tired, that’s all.”

Mary took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Have care, Annie-love. Some men don’t want to be loved.”

She frowned. “That’s not true, Mary. Everyone wants to be loved.”

A wistful smile turned her sister’s perfect mouth. “You love too much, little sister. But some people don’t want that kind of closeness. Some people are better off alone.”

Anna didn’t want to believe it. But her sister’s words haunted her throughout the next day as she waited for her opportunity to speak with him.

He rode out early in the morning, returned in time for the midday meal, and afterward joined his brothers and the rest of the men for their afternoon training in the yard. With battle drawing near, training had intensified. Taking advantage of the long daylight hours of midsummer, the warriors didn’t finish until past eight o’clock. The evening meal was brief, as were the evening prayers.

She was tempted to follow him when she saw him heading for the loch, but her mother pulled her aside to help her sort out a discrepancy in the household accounts, and by the time she’d finished, he’d already returned and was locked away in a meeting with the high-ranking knights and warriors of her father’s
meinie
in what had become the nightly war council.

She waited for him in a small mural chamber built into the wall of the stairwell, knowing he would have to walk by on his way to the barracks. It was usually a place she sat to read a book, but hidden from view by a velvet hanging, it was slightly more private than waiting in the Hall crowded with sleeping clansmen. She’d brought a candle to read by, but as the night drew on, her eyes grew tired, and she put it aside.

When the men finally started to emerge from her father’s solar, it must have been close to midnight. Arthur was one of the last to leave, but eventually she saw him coming down the corridor with his brothers. She pushed back the curtain as he drew near and trod down the few steps to wait for him.

His brother said something, and Arthur glanced over and saw her, his expression more resolved than surprised.

He walked toward her as his brothers pushed open the door to the
barmkin
.

“You shouldn’t have waited up,” he said.

She frowned. “Did you forget that we’d arranged to meet?”

“Nay.” He sighed. “I did not forget.”

More men were starting down the corridor. “Come,” she said, ducking into a small room used to store the lord’s wine. They wouldn’t be disturbed in there.

The rich, fruity aroma hit her as soon as she opened the door, intensifying when she closed it behind them. After placing her candle on one of the barrels, she turned around to face him. The stone storeroom was small, and—she realized with a flush—intimate. Very intimate.

He stood stone still by the doorway, his expression hard and tight in the flickering candlelight. She glanced down to his side, surprised to see his fists clenched.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said tightly.

“Why not?”

He gave her a hard look. “Do you remember what happened last time we were alone in a small room?”

She flushed; being this close to him she remembered quite well. His warmth surrounded her, and her skin tingled with awareness of the intimacies they’d shared.

But that wasn’t why she’d brought him here. “This will only take a few minutes. I need to know ...” She looked up at him, searching his taut, handsome face. “I need you to tell me if you want this betrothal.”

Her frankness no longer surprised him. “Anna,” he hedged. “It’s complicated.”

“So you’ve said before. What are you hiding, Arthur? What is it that you won’t tell me?”

“There are things—” He stopped and gave her a harsh look. “I am not the man you think I am.”

“I know exactly the type of man you are.”

“You don’t know everything.”

She heard the warning. “Then tell me.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “I know what’s important. And I know that I love you.”

Her words seemed to pain him. He reached down to cradle her cheek in his hand. The sadness in his expression clutched at her heart. “You might think that now, but soon you will change your mind.”

His patronizing tone and cryptic warnings infuriated her. “I won’t,” she said fiercely, clenching her fists against the urge to shout—or burst into tears. She took a deep, calming breath and said, “It’s really very simple, Arthur. Do you want to marry me or not?”