The Ranger (41 page)

After what he’d done, she shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t hurt so much. The pain. The burning. The despair. The feeling that her heart was being ripped out of her. The intensity of emotion seemed like weakness. She was strong. Where was her pride? She was a MacDougall.

But right now all she felt like was a girl who was watching the man she loved walk away from her forever.

Unable to bear it a moment longer—and fearing what he would see if he turned around—she ran. Ran as fast as she ever had up the stairs, until she reached the safety of her chamber. There, careful not to wake her sleeping sisters, she collapsed on her bed, pulled the covers over her head, and crumpled like a poppet of rags. Only then did she let her emotions break through in silent sobs that seemed wrenched from her soul.

Sensing her distress, Squire curled up beside her. She hugged the puppy to her, the warm, furry ball of unconditional love her loyal companion during the long, miserable night.

I love you
.

She couldn’t get the words out of her head. He’d sounded so sincere. But he’d lied about everything else, so how could she believe him? Even if it was true, it shouldn’t matter.

Over and over she replayed what had happened in her mind, recalling every word of his explanation—justification—whatever it was he was trying to make.

It was bad enough that they were on opposite sides of a war, but did he honestly expect her to understand that he had to destroy her clan? Kill her father, the man she admired most in the world? All for some kind of revenge?

Justice, he’d called it.

She didn’t want to listen to his explanations or understand his reasons. Nor did she believe the horrible lies he’d spouted about her father for one moment. Her father could never have killed a man so dishonorably.

He’ll do anything to win
. She pulled the pillow tighter around her ears, wanting the feathers to block it out.

Ask him
, Arthur had challenged.

She didn’t need to ask him; she knew the truth.

But Arthur had been so certain about what he’d seen ...

Anna slid out of her bed as the first rays of dawn spilled across the floor. After hurrying through her morning ablutions, she slipped past her sisters on her way out of the chamber.

She knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to prove Arthur wrong. Then she’d be able to put this behind her and stop the miserable aching in her heart.

The trestle tables had yet to be set out, and some of the men were still stirring from their pallets in the Great Hall, as she rushed to her father’s solar. Though it was not yet an hour past dawn, she knew her father would be up. He barely slept when readying for battle.

She heard his voice as she neared the entry. “I don’t care how long it takes, I want to know the names.”

“I don’t know how much more he can—”

Alan stopped abruptly, seeing her enter the room. One look at his face and she knew something was wrong.

Her father was seated behind the table, his henchman, the captain of his guard, and her brother Alan standing before him. His gaze narrowed angrily upon seeing her. The others seemed to look away, almost as if they were avoiding meeting her gaze.

Thinking her father’s anger was because of her interruption, she bid a hasty retreat. “I’m sorry. I will return when you are done.”

“Nay,” her father said. “I want to talk to you. We’re finished here.” To Alan he said, “No more excuses. Get me what I want. Whatever it takes.”

Alan’s mouth fell in a thin line, but he nodded. Anna felt a prickle of unease when he left the room without a word or even a glance.

She took a seat on the bench opposite her father, folding her hands in her lap. The intensity of his gaze was making her vaguely uncomfortable. He was angry, and it wasn’t about the interruption.

“If you have something to tell me, you are too late.”

Her heart sank. “T-tell you?”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his sporran and tossed it on the table before her. A chill swept across the back of her neck when she recognized the map. “Aye,” he said. “Like where you’d seen this before.”

Shame flooded her cheeks. How had he found out?

He answered her question for her. “Your reaction. Looking for him right away confirmed the source.”

Had her father been watching them the whole time? Nay, maybe in the courtyard, but he couldn’t have seen them in the garden—it wasn’t visible from the Hall. Yet he’d obviously seen enough.

“I expected better from you, Anna.”

She bowed her head, his disappointment cutting sharply. She had no excuse. She wanted to say she hadn’t been sure, but she had. The moment she’d seen the map, she’d known he was a spy. “I’m sorry, Father. I wanted to give him a chance to explain.”

Her father’s voice was as biting as a whip. “And did he ‘explain’ to your satisfaction?”

She shook her head. Though she knew she had a duty to tell him everything, the words were still difficult to say. Arthur was gone, she reminded herself. “He is loyal to Bruce.” She paused, peering up at him cautiously. “He said that Bruce has won the hearts of the people. That he is Scotland’s best chance to be free of English tyranny for good. And that we are going to lose and should submit.”

Her father’s face turned red with rage. “And you believed him? Arthur Campbell would have said anything to gain your sympathy. You foolish girl, he was using you to escape. We will never submit and we will
not
lose.”

She wondered at his certainty and bit her lip, hesitating to mention the rest. Her father was angry enough with her. But she had to put this behind her. “He claims that he was there when you killed his father and saw the whole thing.”

The slight flicker in his gaze could have been anything, but her heart stopped.

“That’s impossible,” he dismissed. “I don’t know what he saw, but Colin Mor and I had fallen away from the group. We were alone when we fought. In any event, I have never denied that he fell by my sword. Or that my victory for our clan was the cause of the Campbells losing their lands around Loch Awe. If Arthur Campbell harbors vengeance for that, it cannot be helped—but it is no excuse.”

She forced herself to look at him, though she hated herself for repeating Arthur’s accusation. “He said that his father had you at the point of his sword, offered you surrender, that you accepted, but then killed him when he turned away.”

This time the flicker in his eyes could not be misinterpreted. Nor the tightening in his jaw or the white lines around his mouth. He was angry.

Angry, but not outraged the way he should have been.

The blood drained from her face.
Oh God, it’s true
.

The horror in her expression seemed to annoy him. “It was a long time ago. I did what I had to do. Colin Mor was growing too powerful. Encroaching on our lands. He had to be stopped.”

Anna felt as if she were looking at a familiar stranger, seeing the real man for the first time. He was still the father she loved, but he was no longer a man who could do no wrong. A man whom she did not question. He was no longer a god. Nay, he was frighteningly human. Flawed and capable of making mistakes. Big mistakes. Hideous mistakes.

Arthur was right. There was nothing her father wouldn’t do to win. Even the good of the clan would not stop him.

“You have little cause to judge, daughter. You who would let a traitor to your clan walk free.” His voice grew so hard it shook. “Do you know what kind of harm he could have done?”

He was right. She’d chosen to let Arthur go free, even knowing he could harm her clan, because she could not bear the thought of being the instrument of his death. “I didn’t want to see him hurt. I ... I care for him.” She stopped. Suddenly, the tense he’d used struck her. Her heart pounded. “ ’Could have’?” she asked.

Her father’s mouth was clamped tight, the whiteness of his lips stark against his ruddy, angered face. “You are fortunate that I was able to mitigate a disaster. My men surrounded Campbell when he tried to leave last night. He carried a message with him that proved his guilt.” His eyes flared dangerously. “A message that would have ruined everything.”

Anna couldn’t breathe as horror pounded her. Fear laced around her heart and squeezed. “What have you done with him?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

Tears burned the back of her throat. Her eyes. Panic seized her lungs. She could barely get the words out. “Please, Father, just tell me ... is he alive?”

He didn’t answer right away, but watched her with a cold, assessing gaze. “For now,” he said. “I have some questions for him.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling with an overwhelming sense of relief. “What will you do with him?”

He eyed her impatiently. Clearly, he didn’t like her questions. “That depends on him.”

“Please, I must see him.” She needed to make sure he was all right.

He looked outraged by the request. “So you can let him go again? I don’t think so.” He clenched his mouth angrily. “It would serve no purpose. The man is dangerous and can’t be trusted.”

“Arthur would never hurt me,” she said automatically, then realized it was the truth. He loved her. Deep down she’d known it. It didn’t change anything in the past, but perhaps it could the future. Her heart squeezed. If he had a future. “Please?”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, his dark-eyed gaze hard and unyielding. “Arthur Campbell is no longer your concern. You have done enough damage already. How can I be sure that you will not try to find some way to help him?”

The protest died in her throat. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure either. The fear that clutched her heart when she thought of Arthur imprisoned made her realize that her feelings for him were not so easy to put aside.

“I did not expect this from you, Anna.” The disappointment in his voice cut to the bone. Worse, she knew it was deserved. But she felt trapped—caught between two men she loved. He dismissed her with a harsh wave of his hand. “You will be ready to leave within the hour.”

She sucked in her breath. “Leave? But where?”

“Your brother Ewen is marching ahead of the army with a large force of men to bolster our defenses at Innis Chonnel; you will go with him. Once we have sent King Hood to the devil, you will visit my cousin the Bishop of Argyll on Lismore. There, you will have time to think about what you have done—and where your loyalty lies.”

Anna nodded, her tears coming harder. Clearly he didn’t trust her and wanted her gone from the castle while he was away.

She knew she’d gotten off lightly. Her father’s punishment could have been much more severe. But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Arthur not knowing what was to become of him.

“Please, I’ll do anything you ask. Just promise me you won’t kill him while I am gone.” She choked on a sob. “I love him.”

“Enough! You are trying my patience, Anna. Your tender feelings for the man have made you forget your duty. Only the knowledge that I might bear some of the responsibility for asking you to watch the man has spared you from a far greater punishment. Arthur Campbell is a spy. He knew the risk he took when he chose to betray us. He’s going to get exactly what he deserves.”

Arthur no longer felt a thing. He’d passed the point of pain hours ago. He’d been beaten, whipped, and had every finger in his hand broken by the thumbscrew. But he could taste the blood. The sickly, metallic scent filled his mouth and nose as if he were drowning in it.

His head hung forward, his hair—wet and caked with blood and sweat—shielding his gaze from the men around him. There’d been as many as a dozen to subdue him at some points throughout the night. Now, as the sunlight pierced the narrow arrow slits of the guard room, there were only three.

He was chained to a chair, but restraint wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t a threat to anyone anymore. His right arm had been twisted so hard it had popped out of the socket. His left hand hung useless at his side, every finger crushed one by one in excruciating slowness.

To think he’d laughed when he’d first seen the device. The small steel vise looked so unthreatening—certainly nothing that would compel him to tell them what they wanted.

But he’d quickly learned how something simple could exact terrifying amounts of pain. More pain than he’d ever imagined. He’d been one screw turn from telling them everything they wanted to know. He would have told them anything to make it stop.

“Damn you, Campbell, just tell them what they want to know.”

Arthur eyed Alan MacDougall through the clumpy veil of sodden hair. Anna’s brother stood near the door as if he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, his face strained and bloodless. It almost looked as if he were the one being tortured. Lorn’s heir did not have the stomach for this.

But his henchman did. Arthur had the feeling the sadistic bastard could go on like this for days.

Arthur could no longer speak, but he made a croaking sound and moved his head in a partial shake. Nay. Not yet. He wouldn’t tell them yet. But he no longer said never.

His head snapped back as the bastard hit him again with his chain-wrapped sledgehammer of a fist.

“Their names,” he demanded. “Who are the men who fight in the secret guard?”

Arthur no longer bothered to feign ignorance. They didn’t believe him. Anna had unknowingly doomed him. Lorn was certain that he knew at least one member of the infamous “phantom” guard because of what had happened in Ayr a year ago when he’d come to her rescue and the recent attack.

He couldn’t blame her for that. Nor, it seemed, could he blame her for turning him in. Sometime during the night—in between the beatings and the whip—he’d realized from the questions being pelted at him that he’d probably been wrong. If she had betrayed him, she hadn’t told them much.

He sensed the bastard’s fist going back again—a black spot on the edge of his consciousness. Instinctively, he braced himself for the blow, though he knew it wouldn’t help. From his size and the power of his punch, the henchman could have come from a long line of blacksmiths.

A knock on the door, however, gave him a moment’s reprieve when Lorn’s henchman was called away.