There would be hell to pay when Bruce learned MacRuairi had been unmasked.
It shouldn’t have happened, damn it. Anger and guilt coiled mercilessly inside him. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in Anna, so twisted with emotion, he would have sensed the attack. Those men wouldn’t have been killed, and Anna wouldn’t have been put in danger. Christ, she could have been killed. All because he’d failed to control his emotions and had gotten too close.
He walked back into camp just as the men not on guard were starting to stir. He glanced at Anna’s tent, seeing the coated linen flaps still closed.
Good. Let her sleep
. She’d earned it. He’d checked on her often during the night, assuring himself that she was all right. He knew how shaken she’d been by the attack, but he’d been battling his own demons and in no condition to comfort her—even if it had been his place to do so.
By the time he’d returned from seeing to the horses, however, he noticed the flap was opened. A quick scan around the camp made him frown. A moment later, however, he spied her speaking with her brother, who was engaged with some of her men. The exasperated look on her face was so normal, he heaved a sigh of relief, not wanting to acknowledge how worried he’d been.
Her gaze landed on him. She hesitated, but then started to march across the leaf- and moss-strewn ground toward him. He noticed she carried a bundle of cloth in her arms.
She stopped before him, tilting her pale face to his. His chest squeezed. Sleep, it seemed, had eluded her as well.
“Since it is your rule, and my brother is busy, I’m afraid you will have to accompany me.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Did you not make me promise not to leave camp without you or my brother?”
His mouth twitched, the first smile in what felt like years. “Aye.”
“I need to go to the burn to wash.”
The river was within easy sight of the camp, but he didn’t argue, realizing how much the attack must have unsettled her. He bowed with a mocking flourish of his hand. “After you.”
She didn’t appear anxious to talk, which was fine by him. He waited by a tree, pretending not to watch, while she went through her morning ablutions.
After tidying her hair with a damp comb and cleaning her teeth with powder from a vial that she rubbed on a small square of linen, she dipped a fresh linen cloth in the river. She’d brought a sliver of soap, which she rubbed on the cloth, and then proceeded to wash her face, chest, hands, and arms.
It was one of the most erotic sights he’d ever beheld.
When she dipped the cloth between her breasts, it was too much. He turned away, furious that something so mundane could arouse him. But with the sun streaming through the trees, catching the golden strands of hair, and the rivulets of water cascading down her face and chest, she looked beautiful, sweet, and utterly entrancing. A ray of light in the darkness. And all he could think about was how close he’d come to heaven—and how badly he wanted to touch her again.
God, had he learned nothing from what happened last night?
He focused on their surroundings with almost exaggerated intensity, keening his senses toward anything out of the ordinary.
But his gaze drifted back. She’d finished and walked toward him, the sun illuminating her from behind. He sucked in his breath. But that didn’t prevent him from getting a mind-numbing whiff of her sweet feminine fragrance: freshly washed skin tinged with rose petals.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said tightly.
“You look as if you are in pain.” Her eyes flew to his. “Is it your face?” She reached up to cup his bruised chin. Every muscle in his body jumped at the contact. “Did my foolish brother break something?” Jesus, her hands were soft. Velvety fingers caressed the hard line of his flexed jaw. “Look at all those bruises. It must hurt.” Her thumb slid toward his mouth. “Your lip is split.”
It did hurt. The innocently erotic gesture sent a rush of blood low in his groin and fired his blood with heat. He had to force himself not to take her finger in his mouth and suck.
She had no idea what she was doing to him. Or how hard it was for him to keep his hands off her.
She gazed up at him with wide-eyed concern. A little kitten in the jaws of a wolf. “Does it hurt very badly?”
“It’s not my face.” He gave her a hot look that told her exactly the source of his pain. He was as hard as a spike.
A soft pink stained her cheeks. If that wasn’t bad enough, she proceeded to nibble on her soft bottom lip. “Oh. I didn’t realize—”
“We should get back. Your brother will wish to leave soon.”
She nodded, and he thought he saw her shiver. “I shall not be sad to leave this place.”
He couldn’t stop himself. He tipped her chin, looking deep into her big, blue eyes. “You are all right?”
She tried to smile, but her mouth wobbled. “Nay, but I will manage.”
He dropped his hand; his mouth fell in a straight line. “What happened last night will not be repeated.”
Her delicately arched brows furrowed. “How can you be so certain?”
“Because I won’t let it.”
Her eyes searched his face, and then widened with understanding. “Good God, that’s why you are upset. You blame yourself for what happened. But that’s ridiculous. You couldn’t have known—”
“Yes, I should have. Had I not been so distracted, I would have.”
“So I’m to blame?”
“Of course not.”
“You aren’t perfect, Arthur. You’re human; you make mistakes.”
He didn’t respond, his jaw clenching so tightly his teeth hurt.
“Is that what you think?” she asked softly. “Have your senses never failed you before?”
Once
. He pushed aside the memory. “We should get back.”
He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. “Won’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Does it have something to do with your father?”
He glanced at her sharply. How in Hades had she figured that out?
She read his surprise. “When you spoke of his death before, I sensed there was something you were leaving out.”
There was a hell of a lot he’d left out. Namely her father’s part in the foul deed.
She was waiting for him to respond. He wasn’t much for discussing the past, but if the look on her face was any indication, it meant a lot to her. “There isn’t much to tell. It was my first battle. My father had brought me alone to prove myself. I was so worried about impressing him that I missed the signs of the attack.” But that wasn’t the worst part. “I watched him die.”
Her face filled with sympathy. “God, I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible. But you were only a lad; you couldn’t have done anything to help him.”
“I should have warned him.” Had he not been so upset, so scared, he would have seen the signs. Then, just as last night, emotion had gotten in the way. “I was distracted.”
Her frown barely had time to form before her eyes lit with sudden comprehension. “You loved him.”
He shrugged, the subject making him uneasy. “It didn’t do him any good.”
“Even Achilles had a weak spot, Arthur.”
His brows gathered together in a frown. What was she talking about?
“It’s hard to remain detached and observant with people you care about.” She gave him an understanding smile. “You can’t blame yourself for caring.”
But he did. What use were his vaunted skills if he couldn’t protect the people he cared about?
“Thank you for telling me,” she said.
Why again did he feel as if she’d seen too much? “I didn’t want you to worry about another surprise attack.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I trust you.”
Arthur’s chest tightened to a burn. He wanted to warn her not to—that he didn’t deserve it, that he would only hurt her, that she gave her heart too easily, too blindly—but instead he nodded, and they started back toward camp.
He led her up the path from the burn. When they reached the edge of camp, she gave him a sidelong look out of the corner of her eye. “My uncle looked as if he recognized you.”
The observation caught him completely off guard. Something for which she seemed to have a particular talent. His step faltered. Not much, but he feared she’d noticed.
“Are you sure it was your uncle? It was dark. I couldn’t see him clearly behind the nasal helm, and he was much closer to me.”
Her nose wrinkled, the adorableness of the movement at odds with the threat she posed.
“I haven’t seen him in a number of years, but I’m fairly certain it was him. His eyes are”—she shivered—”unforgettable.” If he’d hoped to distract her from her original question, it didn’t work. “But he seemed to recognize you.”
“Did he?” he shrugged. “We may have crossed paths once before.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. But unfortunately, she did not allow the subject to drop. “So you don’t know him?”
He fought the instinctive flare of alarm. “Not personally.”
“He seemed upset to see you.”
The rapid fire of his heartbeat belied his outward calm. She was dangerously perceptive and treading too damned close to the truth.
“Upset? From what I know of Lachlan MacRuairi he’s an evil, foul-tempered bast—” He stopped himself, remembering his audience. “He was probably angry that I’d killed so many of his men.”
She seemed to accept his explanation, but her next question told him she was not satisfied. “Why did they retreat?”
He swore to himself, the flare of alarm growing louder. “As I said, your brother’s men had broken through. They were outnumbered.”
She frowned. “It didn’t seem that way. It seemed like they were winning.”
He forced a wry smile to his mouth. “Your brother was in danger,” he reminded her. “I think you were distracted.”
She looked up at him and gave him a half-smile. “Perhaps you are right. I was focused on my brother. I’ve yet to thank you for what you did.” A shadow crossed her face. “If you hadn’t stopped that man—”
“Don’t think about it, Anna; it’s over.”
She nodded and gave him another sidelong glance. “Nevertheless I am grateful. Alan is, too, even if he has an odd way of showing it.”
MacDougall was making no secret of his interest. Arthur had felt his eyes on them the entire time. He met his gaze and knew the “discussion” of the day before was not finished. “He has a right to his anger, Anna. What I did was wrong. All I can do is promise that it will never happen again.”
Her sharp intake of breath was like a stab to his chest. She looked shocked. Bewildered. As if she’d been expecting something else. “But—”
“They’re waiting for us,” he said to cut her off, indicating the men readying the horses. He couldn’t take another conversation like yesterday’s. “It’s time to go.”
He spoke the words to himself as much as to her.
Blind spot. Weak spot. No matter what he called it, his feelings where Anna was concerned had become a liability.
He’d let her get too close, and now his cover and his mission were hanging by a thread. Time was running out.
Two uneventful days later Anna rode through the gate of Dunstaffnage Castle. One of the guardsmen had ridden ahead, so they were expected. She could tell by the barely concealed anger on her father’s face that he knew their journey had ended in failure.
She’d hoped for a good night of sleep before having to face her father’s questions, but the lateness of the hour did not forestall their report. She and Alan barely had time to wash the dirt from their hands and eat a small meal before they were ushered into the lord’s solar.
He stood in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back, the important members of his
meinie
flanked behind him. From their universally grim expressions, Anna felt as if she’d just walked into a burial cairn. As no one was seated, she and Alan came to an awkward stop before him. She felt not unlike a child called to answer for some egregious prank gone wrong.
The door had barely closed behind them before her father spoke. Attacked, really. “Ross refused.”
It wasn’t a question. Hearing the accusation in his voice, she wanted to explain, but it was not her place.
Alan answered for them. “Aye. Ross’s response to our request for an alliance was the same as before. He said Bruce would be marching toward him as well, and he couldn’t spare any more men.”
“But what about the betrothal? Did that not change his mind?”
Anna felt the men’s eyes on her, sending a flood of heat to her cheeks. She kept her eyes downcast, not wanting her father to see her shame. Whether it would have made a difference or not, she’d failed in the task he’d set before her. She couldn’t bear to see his disappointment.
“There is no betrothal,” Alan explained. “It was agreed they did not suit.”
She hoped she was the only one to detect Alan’s carefully worded response.
“You mean he did not forgive you for refusing him the first time,” her father snapped at her.
She ventured a glance in his direction, seeing the fury on his face. Her heart lurched. It wasn’t good for him to be so upset. She wanted to say something but knew he’d be even more furious to be treated like an invalid before his men.
Anna didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to lie to him, but neither could she tell him the truth.
“I ...” she stumbled.
“Well,” her father said impatiently. “I thought you were going to persuade him.”
Her cheeks burned with shame. “I tried, but I’m afraid he, um, sensed that my feelings might have been engaged elsewhere.”
“What do you mean, ‘engaged elsewhere’?” Her father’s eyes narrowed, piercing like arrows. He knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. “Campbell,” he said flatly, answering his own question. He swore, his gaze unrelenting. “And how would he sense this? What did you do?”
She’d never seen her father so angry with her. For the first time, Anna was frightened by his rage. That she deserved it made it no less devastating.
What could she say?
Thankfully, Alan took pity on her. “The betrothal would not have mattered. Ross had already made up his mind. I’m afraid you have not heard the worst of it.”