Ross instinctively tried to free himself, but his movements only increased the twisting—and thus the pain—in his arm.
“Close enough,” he bit out, his voice tight with pain. “I’ll kill you for this! Let go of me.”
“Not until we reach an understanding about what happened here. I don’t want the lass hurt. She is not to blame.”
Wisely, Ross chose not to argue, but Arthur could see the rage in his eyes. He twisted harder, eliciting a grunt of pain from the spitting-angry knight.
“Why did you come back here?” Arthur asked.
“I heard a cry—”
“Bollocks,” Arthur cut him off. Unless Ross possessed senses akin to his, he hadn’t heard anything.
Ross eyed him murderously. Pained sweat seeped from his brow. “I saw you staring at her, and her trying too hard not to look back. I knew you’d follow us.”
Arthur swore. “So this was some kind of test?”
“I wasn’t going to be made a fool of. I’ll not marry a woman in love with another man. No matter how much I want to fu—”
Arthur twisted his arm harder. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t say it.”
Knowing he was damned close to breaking Ross’s arm, he pushed him harshly away. Ross was right about one thing—the less they had to explain, the better.
Ross exhaled, massaging the top of his arm and shoulder. But something in his eyes made Arthur wonder whether he’d just been tested again. Whether Ross’s crude remark had been uttered to elicit a reaction. If so, it had worked.
“You care for her,” Arthur said, realizing the truth. “This wasn’t just a political alliance to you.”
Ross didn’t respond by word or expression, but Arthur knew he was right. Hell, he almost felt sorry for the bastard. “But you know what brought her here?”
Having restored the feeling to his arm, Ross had turned to watching him suspiciously. “Aye. For support against Bruce. I hoped to win her hand without it.”
Arthur’s gaze shot to his, comprehension dawning. “Your father has no intention of sending men with or without the betrothal, does he?” Ross didn’t need to respond.
Damn
. Arthur felt like killing him all over. “You let her believe ...”
Ross shrugged.
Devious bastard. Hell, Arthur might have admired his determination if it wasn’t Anna he’d been manipulating.
“We’ll leave as soon as it can be arranged. After you inform Anna and Sir Alan of what you just told me.”
The other man scoffed. “And why in Hades would I do that?”
Arthur took a threatening step toward him. To Ross’s credit, he didn’t move. But Arthur could see the wariness in his eyes. “Because I don’t want to see her hurting any more than she already is. And despite what happened here, I don’t think you want that either.”
They looked at each other a moment, and then Ross nodded. Arthur started to leave.
“Campbell.” He turned, seeing Ross gripping his injured shoulder again. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
Arthur’s mouth curved wryly. “Do this right, and maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
Anna wiped her hands on her skirts and tried to calm the nausea threatening to rise in her stomach as she scanned the crowd of clansmen who’d gathered in the Great Hall to break their fast.
Unconsciously, she found herself looking for Arthur, as if seeing his face would give her some much-needed courage. When she didn’t find him seated among her brother’s men, she told herself not to worry. It was still early. He’d sent a serving lad to her room last night to tell her everything had been taken care of and not to worry.
Not to worry
. As if such a thing were possible after what had happened. His thoughtful message might not have eased her restless night, but it was appreciated. At least she didn’t need to fear one of them dead or lying in a pit prison somewhere.
She took a deep breath, forced her shoulders back, her chin up, and stepped into the Hall.
Her leg buckled it was shaking so hard, and her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird against the cage of her ribs. Every instinct screamed to flee, but she forced her feet forward.
The blood of kings ran through her blood. She was a MacDougall, not a coward.
Though she’d wanted nothing more than to hide in her chamber, curled up in a ball, and pretend none of this had ever happened, it had. At the very least, she owed Sir Hugh an apology.
When she thought of what she’d done ...
Her stomach twisted. Shame washed over her. Not for succumbing to Arthur—she wasn’t ashamed of the passion that lay between them—but for failing her family and horribly misusing Sir Hugh in the process. He hadn’t deserved that. The proud knight had treated her with nothing but kindness. It wasn’t his fault she was in love with another.
Love
. Even as she weighed the enormous gravity of what she’d done, a tiny ray of happiness peeked out from behind the clouds of despair. She loved him. And he cared for her—he must.
But that spot of joy in her heart only made her feel guiltier. In finding love, she’d failed her family. How could she ever forgive herself? She’d ruined everything. Her father and clan would stand alone against Robert Bruce. There would be no alliance after what Sir Hugh had witnessed last night.
Her cheeks heated at the memory—at what he must think of her.
Harlot. Whore
.
She half-expected to hear the jeers as she crossed the Hall to her seat on the dais beside the man she’d wronged. But her entrance caused no unusual comment. The earl and countess greeted her with their normal pleasantries—as did their son, when she took her seat beside him.
She forced herself to eat, though each mouthful of food added to the queasiness tumbling around in her stomach. As the meal stretched on, her anxiety only grew worse.
The brief good humor she’d glimpsed in Sir Hugh yesterday was—not surprisingly—gone. He sat stiffly beside her, too proud and engrained with knightly chivalry to completely ignore her, but coming close. She was grateful for the presence of Hugh’s sister on his other side, and Ross’s henchman beside her, to break up the awkward periods of silence.
Anna knew she had to say something but didn’t know how to broach the subject in so public a setting. She was still waiting for the right opportunity, when Sir Hugh rose from the table and excused himself.
“Wait!” She flushed, feeling a few eyes turn in her direction and realizing she’d spoken a touch too loudly.
Sir Hugh glanced down at her, giving her his full attention for the first time. He waited for her to finish while she tried not to squirm.
“I ...” She said the first thing that came to her, wishing she’d done this earlier, when other people weren’t so obviously listening. “It’s a lovely morning. If you aren’t too busy, I thought you might show me around the castle as you promised.”
He’d made no such promise, and it would serve her right if he said as much, showing her pretense to get him alone as exactly that.
His eyes held her, and for a moment, she thought he meant to deny her. But his knightly sensibilities apparently won out. He bowed and extended his hand. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”
As she’d done a few short but significant hours before, she allowed him to lead her out of the hall. If he was aware of the speculative whispers that followed them, he didn’t show it.
This time when they reached the end of the corridor, he led her outside into the yard. There were plenty of people bustling about—soldiers practicing and guarding the gates, servants attending to their duties, and a steady stream of clansmen passing through the gate—but no one paid them too much attention.
“Is there anything in particular you would like to see?” he asked.
She gave him a sidelong glance from under the veil of her lashes, hearing the dryness in his voice. He knew it had been an excuse—and a weak one at that. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I needed to talk to you.” She stopped and looked at him fully. “I must apologize for what happened last night.”
His mouth hardened, and her nerve faltered.
But she had to do this. Her clenched fingers bit into her palms. She couldn’t manage a deep breath, so she burst out, “I can offer no excuses, other than to say how dreadfully sorry I am.”
He held her gaze for a moment, and then nodded. She thought he would turn and leave her there, but surprisingly he led her to a quiet spot along the rampart, overlooking the bailey and the town of Nairn beyond.
It was windy, and she had to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. But after the long night of darkness, the bright sunshine on her face was rejuvenating.
“Do you love him?”
Anna startled. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Sir Hugh didn’t seem like a man to hold much value or give much credence to romantic love. He seemed far too cold and practical for that.
But he deserved the truth. “Aye,” she said softly.
“But you would have married me to secure additional men for your father?”
When he put it like that it suddenly seemed wrong, though marriage and duty went hand in hand—it was love that didn’t matter. “Aye.” The desperateness of the situation rose in her chest. She pleaded with him, trying to make him understand. “Don’t you see? The only way to fight the rebels is for us to stand together. If our clans join forces, we can defeat the usurper. Alone we risk defeat.”
If her words held any sway, he did not show it. His expression remained stern and implacable, as he studied her face.
It was strange. Now that there was no hope of a betrothal between them, her fear and nervousness seemed to have vanished.
“You can absolve yourself of guilt, Lady Anna.”
She blinked at him questioningly, shielding the sun with her hand to see him more clearly.
His mouth twisted in an odd grimace. “My father had no intention of sending men to Lorn.”
She gasped in surprise. “But the betrothal. You let me believe ...”
He shrugged unrepentantly.
A spike of anger cut through her guilt. “And when did you plan to tell me this?”
“You would have found out soon enough.”
“
After
we announced our betrothal?”
He met the accusation in her eyes without flinching. “Perhaps.”
“But why?”
He seemed to purposefully misunderstand her question. “We don’t have men to spare. Bruce will be coming after us as well, and when he does ...” His voice drifted off in the wind. “King Robert has grown too powerful. Our allies have deserted us. The Comyns, the MacDowells, the English. My father has much too much to lose.”
He gazed back over the wall to the mini-kingdom below.
It was a telling movement, and she sucked in her breath at the significance. Too much to lose. His father wouldn’t risk it. “Nay,” she said, stepping back. “You can’t! Your father can’t submit. Bruce will kill him for what your father did to his wife and daughter.”
She spoke without thought, and she could tell that the reminder of what his father had done in violating sanctuary and turning Bruce’s womenfolk over to the English was not something Sir Hugh wanted to be reminded of. For the first time, she caught something resembling shame on his proud features.
“Bruce has vowed to forgive all the nobles who were against him, if they submit.”
“And you believe the word of a traitor? Surely, you cannot think King Hood will forgive your father and the rebellious men of Ross and Moray? The fires have barely died from the ‘harrying of Buchan.’ ”
He did not argue with her. But his jaw was clenched tight as he said, “What choice do we have? The tide has turned toward Bruce. The people think he is a hero—a warrior king who defeated the English. Submitting may be the only way to survive. My father is willing to die if it means our clan will continue.”
Anna’s mind spun. Never, in all her imaginings, had she expected Ross to submit.
What did this mean for her clan? Would her father do the same?
Nay. Her father would never submit. And for the first time, Anna realized what that might cost them.
Sobered by what Sir Hugh had confided, Anna felt little relief in knowing that her conduct had not been to blame. “Thank you for telling me,” she said.
He gave her a long look. “What will you do?”
“Fight,” she answered. Even alone. What else could they do?
“You will marry Campbell?”
Her cheeks heated. After what had happened last night it was natural to assume ... But there hadn’t been much of a chance to discuss the future.
He seemed to understand her silence. “How well do you know him?”
The hint of warning in his voice roused the little voice in the back of her head that she’d sought to quiet. “Sir Arthur arrived at Dunstaffnage last month with his brother to answer my father’s call for knights and men-at-arms.”
It seemed to confirm something for him. “There’s something strange about him. Something off. He’s not what he appears.”
Anna sprang immediately to his defense, thinking Sir Hugh must be picking up on Arthur’s unusual abilities. “He’s just quiet,” she said. “He likes to keep to himself.”
Sir Hugh looked at her appraisingly, as if he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded.
She was relieved when he told her he would explain things to her brother and parents, making no mention of the compromising situation in which he’d found her, agreeing simply that they didn’t suit.
By the time he’d led her back to the tower, Anna was feeling much relieved. With some of her guilt assuaged, she allowed a little bit of the happiness she’d felt in discovering that the man she loved cared about her to return. She couldn’t wait to see him—and talk to him.
Surprisingly, given the intimacies they’d shared, she wasn’t embarrassed. Even now, after all that had happened, it seemed
right
.
She was just about to take her first step up the stairs that led from the yard to the tower, when she glanced to the left and glimpsed Sir Arthur coming out of the barracks.
Her heart jumped. She smiled and instinctively took a step toward him, but then stopped in her tracks. He wore his armor and it was obvious he was getting ready for practice, but she could make out enough of his face beneath the visor of his helm.