The Ranger

by Monica McCarty

  Anna said goodbye to the children, promising to return soon. Robby had brought the horses, and it wasn’t long before they were on their way.

  She knew she should try to use the opportunity to learn more about him, but she was tired from her long day at the village, and, if she were truthful, not in the mood to be rejected.

  That strange moment at Beth’s had made her feel … vulnerable. She didn’t want to think of him that way. She didn’t want her heart to wander. She was merely keeping an eye on him for her father, not pursuing him in truth.

  They rode single-file for the first few miles, but when the road widened, Sir Arthur dropped back from his position in the lead and pulled alongside her.

  She was surprised when he spoke. Initiating conversation? This was a first.

  “Why do you do it?” She looked at him uncertainly, and he explained, “Surround yourself with such …” He struggled to find the word. “Things.”

  “You mean the fruits of war?” she challenged.

  She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t know how to speak of what he’d seen. Warriors focused on the glory, on the honor of the battlefield, not on what happened when it went wrong. Missing limbs and fatherless children weren’t something a man wanted to go into battle thinking about. She understood blocking out such thoughts was necessary, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t the reality.

  “I thought you didn’t like it, yet …” He shrugged.

  “I hate war,” she said harshly. “And I can’t wait for it to be over, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to do my part. This is what I can do. If a few songs and stories, or holding a child for a while so her mother can have a moment of peace, bring a few moments of cheer, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  He gave her a hard, assessing look. “You have a soft heart.” It didn’t sound as if he thought that was a good thing. “The soldier was not deserving of your time. He’s killing himself with drink.”

  She heard the disgust in his voice. She suspected he thought the man weak. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “But Malcolm fought for my father with honor and loyalty for years. Does he not deserve a few moments of my time for his sacrifice?”

  “It’s his duty.”

  “As this is mine.”

  “You make it your duty.”

  This time it was she who shrugged.

  He frowned at her again. “You’re exhausted.”

  She realized she must be getting used to those forbidding looks, because she merely laughed. “I am.”

  “What were you and your friend whispering about?”

  The sudden change of topic caught her off guard. She startled but composed herself quickly. “Women’s things.”

  “What kind of women’s things?”

  Her eyes twinkled as she gave him a pointed look. “Do you really want to know?” she dared.

  He turned away quickly. “Perhaps not.”

  My God, he’s blushing! She hadn’t thought it possible. But the tiny chip in his steely facade only added to his appeal. It was charming. He was charming. Not in the gallant, sweep-her-off-her-feet manner of a courtier, but in a far more subtle way. It was as if he’d just lifted the curtain a little and shown her a part of himself that he did not often reveal. The hint of boyishness was so unexpected, and that charmed her.

  The knot in her chest clenched a little tighter.

  Anna knew she was in trouble. Sir Arthur intrigued her, and that was dangerous. It was better to think of him as just a simple warrior, the type of man she could understand—and dismiss. She didn’t want to learn things about him. She didn’t want to see a different side of him. She didn’t want to be curious. And she didn’t want to be so blasted attracted to him.

  She had her life all planned out. When the war was over, her father would find her a good man to marry. They would have a house full of children, hopefully in the Highlands close to her family, and they would live a life of peace and happy quiet. She wouldn’t need to worry about everything she knew, everything she loved, being destroyed. Stability. That was what she wanted.

  He might have surprised her, but it didn’t change one fundamental problem: Sir Arthur was a warrior. A man who looked like he’d been born with a sword in his hand—and would die the same way. He could never give her what she wanted.

  For Anna knew that a man who was always looking at the door as though he wanted to leave would inevitably walk through it.

  Arthur didn’t like what he was learning about Anna MacDougall. It was far easier to dismiss her as a naive, pampered princess, living in a fantasy world, with little understanding of what was going on around her.

  But that wasn’t the case at all. She knew what was happening around her, maybe even better than he did. Like most warriors, Arthur distanced himself from the repercussions of war. He didn’t want to think about what happened afterward. Seeing war through her eyes …

  The death. The devastation. Men without limbs dulling the pain with drink. Women left to fend for themselves. Children without fathers. The reality.

  He frowned. How many times had he passed by these things and not seen them? Ridden by a burned-out castle or farm and never thought about the people who lived there?

  He’d been fighting almost his entire life, but all of a sudden he felt exhausted.

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  The directness of the question disarmed him—though perhaps it shouldn’t have. Anna didn’t shy away from anything. Open and outgoing, she spoke her mind with the confidence that came only from a lifetime of being loved, cherished, and encouraged. It was one of the things that was so unusual—and so entrancing—about her.

  He hesitated, not sure how to respond. “I don’t dislike you.” From her expression he could tell that she didn’t believe him. “It’s as I told you before, I’m here to do a job. I don’t have time for anything else.”

  “Is it because of the feud?”

  He tensed, not liking where this was going. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with anybody—especially not her. “The feud has been over for many years.”

  “So it’s all in the past? You aren’t angry about your land or the castle on Loch Awe.”

  He checked the reflexive surge in his pulse. He was angry. But not at her. “That land would have belonged to my brother Neil—not me. It would have been forfeit after Methven. King Edward recompensed us for the loss and has rewarded my brothers and myself for our loyalty.”

  “Then is it because of your father?”

  He stilled. Christ. It must be a MacDougall trait to instinctively aim for the gullet. Though intended kindly, her words eviscerated. “My father died in battle.”

  “At my father’s hand,” she said quietly. “It would be understandable if you hated me for it.”

  He wished he could. But Anna was not to blame for the sins of her father. “I don’t hate you.” Far from it. He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. “What happened is in the past.”

  He could feel her gaze on him, but he kept his face straight ahead. “Why are you really here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you want?”

  Justice. Revenge. In this case, they were the same thing. “What most knights fight for: land and reward.”

  In his case, Bruce had promised to restore Innis Chonnel to his brother and had dangled the promise of a rich bride for Arthur—the richest in the Highlands, Christina MacRuairi, Lady of the Isles.

  “And nothing else?”

  “An end to the war.”

  “Then we want the same thing.”

  She didn’t know how wrong she was. An end to the war for him would see Bruce on the throne and the MacDougalls destroyed.

  He gave her a sidelong glance. She was so beautiful she made his chest hurt. But that beauty had deceived him. He’d seen the innocent freshness of her face and sweetness of her smile, but not the strength. For a man who prided himself on perception and observation, it was disconcerting to have b
een so wrong.

  In light of what he’d seen today, her actions over the past two weeks—the feast, the games—took on a different cast. Perhaps it wasn’t fantasy, but a means of protection: doing what she could to preserve a way of life that was tumbling down around her ears.

  Though he admired her, he was also sorry for her. She was fighting a losing battle. And there was a fragility to her strength that made him wonder whether she knew it as well.

  He wished he could protect her. Which was both ironic and ridiculous, given that he was here to destroy that which she was trying so desperately to hold on to.

  He was surprised how much it bothered him.

  Whether he liked it or not, Anna MacDougall was the enemy.

  Seven

  They rode in silence for a few miles before Arthur spoke again. “There’s a burn ahead where we can stop to water the horses and have a bite to eat if you are hungry.” He inhaled the caramel scent of butter and sugar. “The smell of those buns is making me hungry.”

  He thought her cheeks paled a little, but perhaps it was the fading light. “Please, don’t stop on my account. The horses will be fine until we—”

  She stopped, peering through the trees to the bank of the small river ahead. “What are those boys doing?”

  Arthur heard a muffled, frantic barking. From the thrashing bag slung over one of the boys’ shoulders, he could guess. “Come,” he said. “We’ll stop at the next burn.”

  Her eyes narrowed and then widened in horror when she realized what was happening. “No!” she shouted, galloping forward as the boys started to lower the bag into the water. “Stop!”

  The lads, ranging from about ten to fifteen, looked up in stunned awe as she approached. Arthur could only imagine their incredulity at seeing a nymph spring from the forest like a crusading Valkyrie.

  “What do you have in that bag?” she asked as they stared up at her dumbly.

  The eldest boy found his tongue first. “ ’Tis only a pup, m’lady. The sickly runt of the litter.”

  The little cry of despair in her throat tugged strangely in Arthur’s chest.

  “Let me see him,” she demanded.

  One of the younger boys said, “You don’t want him, m’lady. His own mother don’t want him. He’ll starve if we don’t get rid of ’im.”

  She made another one of those cries and the pain in his chest sharpened. Arthur feared he’d do just about anything never to hear that sound again.

  “Show the lady,” he said sternly.

  The boys started to shuffle their feet as if they’d been caught doing something wrong, although they’d only meant to do the pup a kindness.

  The eldest boy dropped the bag on the ground and loosened the tie. He folded back the edge of the bag, revealing the skinniest, ugliest puppy Arthur had ever seen.

  “He’s adorable!” Anna exclaimed, jumping from her horse before either Arthur or Robby could help her.

  The boys gazed at her as if she were daft.

  She kneeled down and scooped the pathetic-looking ball of matted gray-and-black fur in her arms. “The poor little thing is terrified.” She looked up to Arthur for sympathy. “Look how badly he’s shaking.”

  Arthur could see right away that the young deerhound did not have long for this world. He was small and painfully thin. His mother had probably refused to feed him since he’d been born.

  “The lads are saving the pup from a far worse death,” he said gently. “He won’t survive.”

  Anna narrowed her eyes and pursed her mouth, giving him a glimpse of stubbornness that he suspected could be every bit as formidable as his own.

  “I’ll take him.”

  Her generous heart was preventing her from seeing reality. “How will you feed him?”

  She lifted her chin, giving him a glare that chastised him for daring to talk about realities. “I’ll think of something.”

  He heard the determination in her voice and knew she wouldn’t be dissuaded. For someone who looked as threatening as a kitten, she could certainly be stubborn.

  “He’s not worth it, my lady,” one of the boys said. “He’ll never make a good hound. If you want a dog, you can have one of his brothers.”

  As if he knew he’d found his champion, the pup burrowed his head into her arm. She shook her head and smiled. “I don’t want another one, I want him.”

  I want him. Her words resonated. Hell, for a second he’d almost envied a damned dog.

  The lad shrugged as if to say What can you do? Clearly, he thought the lady was foolish, but she was the lord’s granddaughter so he wouldn’t argue with her.

  Arthur took one look at her cooing gently to the dog in her arms and wanted to agree—mostly because he didn’t want to see her go through the frustration of trying to nurse the creature back to life—but he couldn’t.

  A long time ago he’d been that runt.

  Odd that he was even thinking about it. He never thought about the past. The struggles of his boyhood had made him the warrior he was today. He’d worked harder. Trained harder. Taken the abilities that had set him apart and honed them into something extraordinary. He’d forged his own destiny. He might not have been born a warrior, but he’d made himself one of the best.

  It had been his focus for so long, he hadn’t thought of anything else.

  But it hadn’t always been so.

  Arthur watched her fuss over the small, pathetic creature in her arms and felt a stirring of … something.

  He turned harshly away, irritated by the twinges of sentiment provoked by the lass’s compassion. She was the enemy, he reminded himself. But it rang hollow even to his own ears.

  Sir Arthur had retreated back into his shield of silence and indifference, but Anna was too busy trying to soothe the squirming ball of dark fur in her arms to notice. Well, perhaps she’d noticed, but she was busy. The pup seemed to have realized he’d escaped danger, and his terrified shaking had turned to whimpers of hunger.

  They were only a few miles away from the castle when she asked to stop. She had to try to feed him; his pathetic little cries were tearing at her heart.

  Though the sun would not set for at least a half hour, deep inside the thick forest that sat to the east of Dunstaffnage it was dark already. She didn’t like the forest at night and was suddenly grateful for Sir Arthur’s insistence on accompanying her.

  He and Robby saw to the horses while she saw to her new charge. She’d wrapped the pup in the plaid she’d brought in case the summer evening drew chill and used it to make a little bed for him as she went about trying to fashion something for him to eat. Pulling off her thin leather glove and tying it at the wrist, she filled it with water from the stream. She wished she had milk, but water would have to do for now. Using a needle from her basket, she poked a hole in one of the fingertips. Then, after tearing a few pieces of bread from one of the rolls, she turned back to the pup.

  Bollocks! She muttered one of Alan’s favorite oaths. The little scamp had wandered off. Lying the glove and pieces of bread down in the blanket, she gazed around frantically.

  There. She smiled. He hadn’t wandered far, she could see him just beyond a big tree.

  She called to him but he ran from her, obviously still frightened. His little paws scooted through the leaves and dirt like wooden pegs. But he was too weak to go far, and Anna caught up to him after a few minutes.

  Scooping him up in her arms, she cradled him against her chest. “Naughty little boy,” she cooed. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t you want to eat?”

  He licked the tip of her nose in answer, and she giggled.

  “Then I’d better get you back.” She looked around, realizing that she’d gone farther than she thought. She hurried her step, anxious to return to the stream, trying not to notice that the shadows were growing darker and more menacing as the forest closed in around her.

  Her heart jumped when Sir Arthur suddenly stepped out in front of her. Dear Lord, he’d come out of nowhere! She hadn’t heard a so
und.

  “Where the hell did you go?” he demanded.

  Anna’s eyes widened. The coarse language even more than the glint in his eye surprised her. He looked concerned. Worried. Definitely not indifferent. It was the same way he’d looked when he’d caught her. She’d almost convinced herself that she’d been imagining it.

  She nuzzled the puppy in her arms, planting a soft kiss on his head. “I put him down to get some food and he wandered off.”

  To her surprise, he reached down and stroked the puppy under his chin. The unconscious gentleness made her heart catch.

  His touch on her would be just as gentle, and the sharp pang of yearning that hit stunned her. She’d never craved a man’s touch before. But she wanted to feel those big battle-scarred, callused hands on her skin. Her face. Her neck. And …

  Her breasts.

  Heat rose to her cheeks. Saints preserve her, where had that come from?

  Their eyes caught, but she quickly looked away, fearing he would read her wanton thoughts.

  “Next time let me know where you are going,” he said roughly. There was something tight and husky in his voice that she didn’t understand. “It isn’t safe—”

  He stopped suddenly and stilled as if he’d heard something. Anna listened, but didn’t hear a sound. Indeed, it was oddly quiet.

  She clutched his arm, instinctively moving closer to him. “What is it?”

  “We need to get back to the horses. It’s the puppy.”

  He pulled at his sword and tucked her against him. Despite the sudden hammering of her heart, she felt safe. Protected. And something else. He felt familiar.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked breathlessly, trying to keep up with him. “What do you mean, ‘It’s the puppy’?”

  He didn’t answer her, but pushed her along faster. “Hurry, they’re coming.”

  “What’s coming?” Her voice betrayed her fear. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Wolves.”

  She gasped, looking around wildly. “I don’t see …” She pulled the puppy closer to her chest. “I won’t leave him.”