The Ranger (23 page)

Hell
.

He shifted to adjust himself. But the swell in his braies was hard and unrelenting.

This shouldn’t be so bloody difficult.
Focus. Do your job. Stay close enough to watch her, but don’t touch. Don’t let her get too close
.

Too many people were counting on him. He had to keep his eye on what really mattered: seeing Bruce secure on the throne and vanquishing those who would stand against him. Such as John of Lorn. This was his chance to see his enemy pay for what he’d done to his father.

Justice. Revenge. Righting a wrong. Blood for blood. It was what had driven him for as long as he could remember. He’d devoted his life to becoming the greatest warrior he could be, with one goal in mind: destroying Lorn.

Cold purpose had been his companion for fourteen years. The steely resolve to see a mission through to the end, no matter what the cost. Despite the wide differences in personality—from MacSorley’s irrepressible good humor, to Seton’s hotheadedness, to MacRuairi’s surliness—it was the one thing all the members of the Highland Guard had in common. But he’d never struggled so hard to hold on to it.

He took a step back, trying to clear the haze of desire that gripped him. But his body teemed with unspent lust. Lust that he was finding harder and harder to ignore. Walking around with his cock wedged to his stomach wasn’t doing much for his temper. His hand barely took the edge off.

When he didn’t answer right away, she said, “Well?”

Had he changed his mind? He shook his head. “Nay.”

Nothing had changed. She was still the daughter of the man he’d come to destroy. The only thing the future held for them was betrayal. He wouldn’t make it worse.

If she was disappointed by his response, she didn’t show it. If anything, she’d seemed to expect it. “Then why are you doing this? Why are you acting as if you care who I marry? You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to want me either, is that it?”

He muttered a curse, dragging his fingers through his hair. “It’s not like that.”

Actually, it was exactly like that. She’d nailed his problem squarely on the head. He was jealous, damn it. Even if he had no right to be. Even if he’d discouraged her. Even if there was no chance for them. The thought of her marrying another man sent him into fits of youthful jealousy.

She met his gaze. “Then explain it to me,” she said quietly. “How do you feel about me?”

Jesus
. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. Only she would ask such a question. Anna MacDougall didn’t have a shy and retiring bone in her body. Straightforward. Direct. No pretense.

God, she was amazing.

All the training in the world couldn’t stop him from shifting his feet. Not since his brothers had backed him against a ledge over a cliffside, taunting him to defend against their sword blows, had he felt this cornered. “It’s complicated,” he hedged.

Her eyes wouldn’t leave his face, searching for something that wasn’t there. “Complicated isn’t good enough.” She dropped her gaze. “I don’t want you here.” Her voice was as stiff as the set of her narrow shoulders.

He didn’t want to be there either, but he had no choice.

She lifted her eyes to his once more. The warmth had fled from their brilliant blue depths. “Please, just leave me alone.”

The soft plea in her voice tugged at his conscience, but it burned in his chest. She turned and walked away as regally as a queen.

For both their sakes he wished he could. But his mission had to come first. A few more weeks. He could make it through a few more weeks. He’d withstood far more dangerous challenges. All he had to do was shore up his defenses, batten down the hatches, and dig in for the final siege.

Something wasn’t right.

Arthur was scouting ahead of the rest of the group with two of MacDougall’s men when he felt it. The shift in the air. The cool shiver blowing across the back of his neck. The sudden alertness that set all of his nerve-endings on edge.

Danger
.

It was late on the third day of their journey. The day’s ride along the west bank of Loch Ness had taken longer than anticipated, due not to avoiding Bruce’s men but to a washed-out bridge at Invermoriston. Had Anna not been there, they might have attempted to cross the rushing waters, but instead they’d traveled another five miles out of their way to the next ford.

Thus, it was later than he would have liked as they neared the southern edge of Clunemore wood. From Clunemore they would turn east, leaving the road to steer well clear of the rebel-occupied Urquhart Castle.

For their last night, they planned to camp in the woods along the banks of Loch Meiklie. Tomorrow would be an even more grueling day, when the relatively flat road gave way to hills.

Though Arthur worked better alone, Alan MacDougall had insisted that two of his men accompany him in case he ran into trouble. He couldn’t tell Anna’s brother that the men would be more trouble than help without giving away his skills, so reluctantly he’d agreed.

At the first prickle of danger, he held up his hand for the men to stop. He jumped off his horse and knelt, placing his hand flat on the ground. The faint reverberation confirmed what he’d already sensed.

Richard, the larger of the two warriors and MacDougall’s usual scout, frowned. “What is it?”

Arthur lowered his voice. “Ride back. Tell your lord to get off the road immediately.”

Alex, who was training to be a scout, gave him an odd look from under the steel of his nasal helm. Unlike Arthur, Alan, and the handful of other knights who wore a fully visored helm, heavy mail, and surcoat, the MacDougall clansmen wore lighter armor and the padded leather
cotun
favored by Highlanders. The war coat made it easier to move around. Not for the first time, Arthur wished he could toss off his cumbersome knightly garb and do away with the pretense. The younger man looked around. “Why?”

Arthur’s mouth thinned. He stood and quickly remounted his horse. “There’s a large party of horsemen heading straight for us.”

Richard looked at him as if he were crazy. “I don’t hear anything.”

The fools were going to get them all killed. With no time for subtlety, Arthur grabbed the big man by the thick scruff of his neck. Lifting him a few inches off his saddle, he brought his face to his. “Do as I say, damn it. In another few minutes it will be too late. Do you want to see the lady killed for your stupidity?”

Shocked by the change that had come over Arthur, the man shook his head. When he started gasping, Arthur released him with a harsh shove.

“I’ll circle around and try to distract them.” Hopefully leading them north. “Tell Sir Alan to get off the road right away. To head east and ride as fast as he can. Leave the carts behind if necessary. I’ll meet you when I can at the loch.”

Suddenly, Richard’s thick head jerked to the north. The faint sound of pounding hooves floated toward them. He turned to Arthur, eyes wide with fear and suspicion. Unconsciously, he backed his horse away. “Christ’s bones, you’re right! I hear them.”

Arthur didn’t have time to worry about the other man’s unease.

“I’ll go with you,” Alex said.

“Nay,” Arthur said, in a voice that brokered no argument. “I go alone.”

It would be easier to evade capture. Besides, there was always a chance he would know someone. MacGregor, Gordon, and MacKay were supposed to be in the north.

“Go,” he said.

With no further argument, the men did as he bid.

Arthur didn’t waste any more time. Horse and man plunged through the trees, as he raced to get behind the approaching riders before they came up on the MacDougall party. Even with the warning, he knew it would take time to maneuver them to safety. Anna was a good rider, but her maidservant wasn’t. The carts would slow them down further. If there was one thing about women he knew, they didn’t like to leave their fine shoes and gowns behind.

At least she hadn’t insisted on bringing that damned pup of hers. He was tired of dodging piss on his toes.

Using the sound of the horses as a guide, he weaved through the trees, riding parallel to the men for a few, all-important seconds before darting toward them.

Now came the tricky part: getting close enough to draw them away, but not so close that he got captured.

He muttered a curse, as a gap in the trees gave him his first look at the riders. A war party, by the looks of it. There were more of them than he would have liked. At least a score of men armed to the teeth in dark-colored plaids, war coats blackened with pitch, and blackened helms—a means of blending into the night utilized by the Highland Guard, but adopted later by many of Bruce’s warriors.

Normally, the sight of such a formidable force wouldn’t give him a second thought. He’d been trained for worse. But these men knew the terrain and he didn’t. They would have the advantage. One wrong turn and he could end up trapped.

Still, he had advantages they did not: razor-sharp senses, speed, superior strength and training, and the ability to fade into the shadows.

Ahead of him, he saw a break in the trees. This was it. Clenching his jaw, he lowered his head and shot toward the clearing. Pretending he’d just noticed the men, he veered sharply off to the left as if he were trying to avoid being seen.

When he heard the cry go out, he knew they’d sighted him. He didn’t dare slow down to look behind him, waiting to see if they’d taken the bait. A fraction of a second’s delay could mean the difference between escape and capture.

But a moment later, hearing the thunder of hooves behind him, he smiled.

The hunt was on.

Anna tried not to think about how late it was getting. But as darkness descended and the moon rose high in the sky, it became harder and harder to convince herself that he was all right.

The fear that had been held at bay by the tumult of their effort to evade the enemy soldiers had returned full force once they’d reached safety. And with each hour that passed, and Arthur still hadn’t returned, it only grew worse.

He could torment her all he wanted; she didn’t care. Just let him come back safely.

She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders and told herself not to worry. Arthur would lead them on a merry chase, and it would take some time to make his way to them.

But would it take this long?

She bit her lip, trying to slow the rising sense of panic.

He wouldn’t get caught
.

But there were so many of them and only one of him.

He can’t be dead
.

She would know it if he was. Her heart clenched. Wouldn’t she?

“The stew is delicious, m’lady. Here.” Berta held out a spoon to her. “Try a bite. Just a little one,” she added, as if Anna were a five-year-old refusing to eat her turnips.

She still didn’t like them.

Anna shook her head, managing a small smile for her worried maidservant. “I’m not hungry.”

The older woman frowned, her soft brown eyes crinkling into a spray of fine lines at the edges. At barely a hair over five feet and as thin as a whip, Berta didn’t look very formidable. But in this case, looks deceived. She could be as stubborn and testy as an old goat. “You have to eat something. You’ll make yourself ill.”

She already was ill—with worry. The thought of food made her stomach turn. She bit back the bile that rose to the back of her throat. “I will,” she lied. “In a little while.”

Berta patted her hand, which rested on the mossy log between them. They had gathered around the fire with the rest of the men, but the camp was unusually quiet, the men subdued. They were all aware of the narrow escape they’d made earlier, and she wasn’t the only one wondering what had happened to the knight who’d given them the warning to do so.

“Starving yourself won’t bring him back any faster,” Berta said.

Anna’s thoughts were more transparent than she’d realized, but she was too worried to feign ignorance. “Do you think something has happened to him?”

Berta squeezed her hand and gave a sad shake of her head. “I don’t know, lassie-mine. I don’t know.”

Anna’s heart gave a sharp tug. It had to be bad if Berta wasn’t even going to lie to her.

They fell back into silence, Anna staring blindly into the flames of the fire and Berta finishing her stew.

Anna jumped at the sound of a twig cracking behind her. Heart in her throat, she turned around, expecting to see a mail-clad knight atop his horse.

She did, and for a second she thought it was Arthur.

But then her heart tumbled in disappointment. It was only her brother. Alan hopped down and tied the reins of his horse to a nearby tree. The grim expression on his face as he walked toward her filled her with panic. “Did you find something?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nay. There’s no sign of him.”

“Do you think ...” She couldn’t bear to say it.

Alan gave her a long look. “He should have returned by now.”

The truth hit like a hammer to the gut. Anguished tears sprang to her eyes. The first one had seeped from the corner of her eye when she heard a whistle pierce the night air.

“It’s the night sentry,” Alan said, before she could ask. “Someone’s approaching.”

The alert had caused something of a commotion. Though Anna had shot to her feet at once, so had everyone else. She heard the raucous cheer of excitement and relief go up before she caught sight of him.

A moment later, her heart leapt high in her chest when Arthur strode into the circle of light provided by the campfire. Her eyes raked over him for any sign of injury. But other than the weariness on his handsome face and the dirt and dust staining his mail, he looked hale. Perfectly hale.

The swell of emotion overwhelmed her. She took a step forward before she caught herself.

She fought the urge to go to him. To run into his arms, throw her arms around his neck, and sob out her relief on his dirty, grimy, mail-clad chest.

She had no right. No cause. They were not courting or betrothed. They were nothing to each other. Soon, she’d belong to another man.

He saw her then.

For one foolish moment she told herself he’d been looking for her.