The Ranger

by Monica McCarty

  It might not have been so bad, if the poor little thing didn’t get so excited that whenever he saw the knight he peed. The last time, he’d nearly done so on Sir Arthur’s foot.

  To say that the puppy was an annoyance to the knight was an understatement. Sir Arthur ignored him, shooed him away, and snapped at him, but no matter how hard he pushed him away, the puppy couldn’t get enough.

  Squire was a glutton for punishment.

  Anna knew the feeling. It seemed she and the pup both had a weakness for ruggedly handsome knights with wavy dark-brown hair, gold-flecked brown eyes, and dents in their chin.

  She was drawn to him. Perhaps like the puppy, she sensed that Sir Arthur needed someone. His distance she saw as loneliness, his remoteness as a shield that she was determined to pierce.

  Though exactly what she hoped to find, she didn’t know. And as the days passed with no cause for suspicion, her excuse for watching him began to wear thin. But if she wasn’t watching him for her father, for whom was she?

  It was a question that she asked herself as she made her way to the Great Hall for the evening meal. Her father would be expecting a report soon, and she would have to give it to him. She’d found nothing. The knight’s greatest offense was a propensity to keep to himself and a keen ability to ignore her.

  She knew it was time to put an end to her spying. But why was she so reluctant to let him go?

  Sir Arthur was nothing like the men who normally attracted her. But she could not deny she was attracted to him—deeply attracted. More than she’d ever been attracted to a man in her life. Almost enough to make her forget how wrong he was for her.

  Aye, it was time to put an end to this.

  She was about to exit the spiral stairwell of the donjon into the passageway that led to the Great Hall when a yapping ball of gray-and-black fur went speeding past her feet. Nearly tripping, she muttered an unladylike curse, realizing she must not have securely latched the door to the chamber she shared with her sisters and Squire had managed to escape again.

  But thankfully the closed door at the bottom of the stairwell had trapped him. When she caught up with the naughty little thing he was standing at the door, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

  She picked him up and he licked her face. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. “Let me guess, Sir Arthur?” He barked, seemingly in the affirmative, and she laughed. “You are a fool, little one. When are you going to accept that he doesn’t want you around?”

  The puppy whinged and cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her right.

  She sighed and shook her head. Perhaps she should listen to her own advice. “All right, all right, I’m sorry.” She put him down and opened the door. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She expected the puppy to head for the Great Hall, but he made for the stairs that led to the courtyard instead.

  With a sigh, she followed him outside. The cool sea breeze and descending mist cut right through her thin wool summer gown, making her wish she’d brought a plaid—although she hadn’t anticipated an evening promenade when she’d gone down to eat. It was dark, and except for the guards along the walls, the barmkin was deserted. Everyone would be inside eating.

  So why wasn’t Sir Arthur?

  Squire ran past the well in the center of the courtyard, past the kitchens to the northwest range. Apparently, the knight was in the barracks. The puppy stood by the door waiting for her.

  It was quiet out there. Eerily so. And dark in that corner of the courtyard. The men had yet to light the torches near the entry.

  She felt a prickle of apprehension as she approached, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea. Tracking him down to the barracks in the middle of the day was one thing, alone at night was another. The puppy seemed to be having second thoughts himself, because he’d stopped barking and was looking at her uncertainly.

  “You got us into this,” she mumbled. “Too late to turn coward now.” Whether she was talking to the dog or herself she didn’t know.

  She cracked open the door and peeked inside. Her eyes scanned the darkened room, lit only by the simmering embers of the peat fire on the opposite wall.

  Squire, apparently having found his courage, darted past her feet into the empty room. She muttered another choice oath, tempted to leave him there, but instead followed him inside.

  The door closed behind her with a slam that made her jump.

  She forced her pulse to calm, not knowing why she was so jittery. “Squire,” she called in a hushed voice, though why she was whispering she didn’t know. No one was there.

  The puppy ignored her and tore down to the far end of the long, narrow wooden building, jumping on the pallet that she knew must belong to Sir Arthur.

  Her pulse spiked again as she drew near, seeing the pile of belongings strewn across the pallet. Wherever he’d gone, it wouldn’t be for long.

  She bit her lip, debating. If she’d ever wanted a chance to learn about Sir Arthur Campbell, this was it. Pushing aside the prickle of guilt, she started to go through his things carefully, not knowing exactly what she was looking for. Aside from his mail, gamboissed chausses, a few extra sets of clothing, an extra plaid, and a silver brooch that she’d never seen before, there was little else—certainly nothing personal in nature. Knights traveled light; she didn’t know what she’d hoped to find. Something that might help unlock the mystery, perhaps.

  Squire was digging at his mail shirt, trying to get to something underneath the pallet. She didn’t have time to investigate, however, because at that moment she heard a sound that stopped her blood cold.

  The door opened and closed.

  Footsteps. The glimmer of a candle.

  Nails to the cross, he was back!

  Guilt made her panic. Rather than stand there and think of a plausible explanation for being in the barracks, she snatched the puppy off the pallet and looked around for a place to hide. Seeing a large wooden post in the far corner, she ducked behind it just as the circle of light edged into view.

  She seemed to have stopped breathing. Too late, she realized the foolishness of hiding. The dog could betray them at any time. But Squire seemed strangely attuned to her nervousness and had buried his head into the crook of her arm.

  Sir Arthur set down the candle beside his pallet, giving her a clear view of what he was doing.

  Her eyes widened when he tossed a drying cloth he had looped around his neck down on the bed. His hair and shirt were wet. Too late, she realized what he must have been doing and why his mail and belongings were strewn across his bed. He’d been bathing.

  She smothered a startled gasp when he grabbed the edges of his wet shirt and yanked it over his head, tossing it down beside the drying cloth.

  Her mouth went dry, taking in the rippling mass of muscles that covered him from waist to shoulders.

  My God, he was incredible! Broad shoulders, lean waist, thickly built arms, and layer upon layer of muscle that stretched across his stomach. She’d never seen anyone so impossibly … cut. He might have been chiseled from stone, his body as perfectly sculpted as a statue. Except that he was flesh and blood—warm flesh and blood.

  She’d been right to suspect that he would bear the marks of his profession. Scars were liberally strewn across his belly and arms. A large gash across his side and an ugly-looking star-shaped one on his shoulder seemed to be the worst.

  She frowned. Below the scar on his upper arm was a strange black mark. She peered in the darkness, unable to make out the design of what appeared to be a tattoo. Although she knew the marks weren’t unusual among warriors, she’d never seen one up close and was curious.

  A little too curious. She leaned forward, and Squire seemed to take that as an invitation. He jumped out of her lap and raced for the half-naked knight.

  When Arthur realized that he wasn’t alone, he was furious. When he realized who was there, and that she’d managed to sneak past his defenses, he was livid. No one had surprised him
in years, and the fact that it was Lady Anna made it that much worse.

  It seemed proof of just how badly the lass had distracted him. Her interference had already put him at risk, drawing too much attention to him. The lass had no idea of what she was meddling with. It was because of her that he was now a scout for Lorn, for Christ’s sake!

  He ignored the annoying pup jumping at his heels and stared into the darkness, letting her know she’d been discovered.

  A moment later, she stepped out from behind the post. “Sir Arthur,” she said brightly, but her hands twisting in her skirts gave her away. “What a surprise! Squire and I were just going for a walk and … uh, the door was open, and he must have wanted to see you because he came in here before I could stop him, and—”

  She stopped, gazing up at his face. Her cheeks paled before filling with a nervous flush.

  Until that moment, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  But the foolish lass didn’t have the good sense to look away or at least pretend not to notice; she stared—blatantly—and he could read exactly what she was thinking.

  Jesus.

  The air between them went hot. He could feel her awareness, not just in embarrassment but in something far more potent: arousal.

  She stooped to pick up the dog. “Y-y-you’re busy. We were just leaving—”

  “Stay,” he ordered the infernal beast, before it could jump into her arms. The mangy little blighter had better not try to piss on him again.

  Both Anna and the dog froze at the sound of his voice. And both of them looked at him with that blasted innocent expression on their faces. He didn’t know which one of them was more trouble.

  But it was the lass who concerned him now. He caught her arm and hauled her up against him. “What were you really doing here, Lady Anna?”

  “Nothing, I …” Her gaze dropped guiltily to the pile of things on his bed.

  His blood went cold. He glanced down to where he’d left the map, relieved to see that it was undisturbed. Some of his other things, however, looked askew.

  Suddenly it hit him. Was that what this was about? Had her interest in him merely been a pretext for spying? God’s blood, it made perfect sense now. Lorn had used his daughter to keep an eye on him. He’d laugh at the irony, if he weren’t so furious.

  “You were spying on me,” he said flatly. “Is that why you’ve been shadowing me since I arrived? Did your father ask you to watch me?”

  She gasped. A pink flush rose to her cheeks—guilt or outrage, he didn’t know. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She swallowed nervously. “I haven’t been shadowing you, and I certainly wasn’t spying.”

  She was lying. If she were a man she’d be dead right now for what she’d done. He could snap her neck with one hand. God, did she think this was some kind of game? If she were to somehow learn the truth …

  He was supposed to protect his cover at all costs, so he’d better damn well make sure that never happened. He could never hurt her.

  He inched her closer, feeling her tremble against him. Even through the mist of anger he could smell the soft, heady perfume of her skin. Desire closed around him like a vise.

  The lass had no idea of the danger she was in—and not just from her spying. She was completely at his mercy. She didn’t know how damned close he was to taking advantage of the situation. They were alone. In the candlelight. Her body was pressed against his naked chest and the bed was right there—ready for them to fall on. If he was inclined to use a bed. Right now the wall was looking good.

  His muscles tensed. Restraint was getting harder and harder to hold on to. “Then is there another reason I find you in my bed?”

  Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t in your bed,” she replied indignantly. “You weren’t here. Squire was anxious to see you and I was merely curious.” Her chin lifted. “Perhaps if you were more forthcoming, I wouldn’t be so curious.”

  Arthur was stunned. Had the chit actually managed to blame him for her nosing through his things? The adeptness of a woman’s logic would never cease to amaze him.

  “Did you appease your curiosity?”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “Nay.” Her gaze dropped to his arm. “Is that a tattoo on your arm?”

  It was a testament to his control that the curse that came to his head didn’t slip out of his mouth. The Lion Rampant on his arm was the one outward link he had to the Highland Guard, intended as both a bond between the warriors and a means of identification should the need ever arise. He kept it hidden to prevent questions and tried to bathe and change his underclothing when others weren’t around.

  The last thing he needed was for Anna MacDougall to see it.

  But she had. Knowing the harm had already been done, he said, “Aye. A remnant of my days as a squire.”

  “I’ve never seen one before.”

  Before she could examine it further—and, God forbid, touch him again as she looked as though she was about to do—he released her, leaned down, pulled a clean shirt from the pile of clothing, and jerked it over his head.

  Covering his nakedness should have eased some of the tension, but the innocent lass didn’t have the good sense to mask her disappointment, and his blood heated all over again.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said roughly.

  “Afraid I’ll trap you in a compromising situation, Sir Arthur?”

  He knew she was teasing, but he was in no mood for games. The lass put far too much store in his honor as a knight. He was a Highlander—he played by his own rules. And right now it was taking everything he had not to teach her a lesson about the limits of a man’s restraint.

  “Have care what you ask for, Lady Anna. You just might get it.” The intensity of his gaze left no doubt of his meaning. “It wasn’t me who showed up uninvited to your chamber.”

  The tiny pulse at her neck quickened, and a soft flush rose to her cheeks. But her eyes, her beautiful, deep blue eyes, still challenged. “You don’t want me, remember?”

  He stilled. Every instinct rose up hard inside him. He was one hair’s breadth away from proving her wrong.

  But something in his expression made her bravado falter, and she bid a hasty retreat. “Besides, it was Squire who wanted to come.” She bent down to pet the puppy, who was rolling around on his pallet. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

  The puppy barked playfully and started digging his head in the plaid.

  Oh hell. The blasted dog wasn’t playing; he was trying to get at something.

  “Off,” Arthur said, trying to shoo the troublesome mongrel away. But it was too late. She’d seen it.

  “What do you have there?” she said to the dog.

  Before Arthur could stop her, Anna pulled the corner of the small piece of parchment the puppy had uncovered from beneath his pallet.

  He cursed, wanting to rip it out of her hands, but he forced himself to feign nonchalance. How the hell was he going to explain a map of her father’s lands? He knew he’d better think of something.

  “It looks like a drawing.” She gazed up at him. “Did you do this?” He didn’t say anything. She looked at it again, her fingers tracing over the lines of ink etched by the quill. “It’s exquisite.”

  The admiration in her voice affected him more than he wanted it to. He remembered how much his mother had loved the chalk drawings he’d done for her as a boy. Once he’d started training, he no longer had time for such things. Then she’d died, and it no longer mattered.

  He shook off the memories. God’s blood, the lass had done it again. Distracted him. Instead of figuring out a way to save his skin, he was acting like that cursed beast of hers, lapping up her praise.

  “It’s nothing,” he said sharply.

  She looked at him, those far-too-observant eyes taking in more than he wanted her to. He betrayed nothing, his expression implacable, but somehow she sensed his discomfort.

  Fortunately, she misinterpreted it. “You need not be embarrassed,” she said with a
gentle smile, placing her hand on his arm.

  Why did she have to be so damned sweet and smile at him like that? His life was uncomplicated. Just the way he liked it. He didn’t want to be drawn to her. But her warmth and kindness were impossible to resist.

  “I think it’s wonderful. The way you captured the countryside … You have an artist’s eye for perspective and detail.”

  His chest tightened. With relief, he told himself. She obviously thought it only a sketch, and that he was embarrassed to have been caught engaging in such an unwarriorly pastime. He was damned lucky to have just started the map. Although that was why it wasn’t in his sporran, where it should have been. But if she turned it over …

  He’d be hard-pressed to find an excuse for the notes he’d made about the number of men, knights, horses, and the stores of weapons.

  He cursed his carelessness in not putting the document away properly before he’d gone to the loch. He’d thought to be undisturbed. But he should have known better. It seemed there was no place he could be free of her.

  His face was hard as he took a step toward her and held out his hand.

  She hesitated—obviously not eager to relinquish the map—and looked at it again, holding it up to the candle he’d placed on the table beside his bed. “What are these marks?”

  His stomach dropped, realizing she was seeing the shadow of the writing on the back. He caught her wrist in his hand before she could turn it over.

  “Leave it alone, Anna.”

  Leave me alone.

  She gazed up at him, their eyes locking in the flickering candlelight. “I can’t.” Her words seemed to shock her as much as they had him. A befuddled frown gathered between her brows. “Don’t you feel it?”

  He didn’t want to hear her, didn’t want to acknowledge what was impossible. She was Lorn’s daughter. They were on opposite sides. Damn her, he didn’t feel anything. “I thought I made myself clear on the ride back from the village.”