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.
Their eyes met. She felt the force of it in her chest. Reverberating. Pounding. Squeezing with longing.
If he’d turned away from her then, coldly dismissing her, she might have been able to face her future with a steady heart. But instead, sensing her desperation, he gave her a short nod. I’m fine.
It was a small chip, but a chip nonetheless, and an acknowledgment of the connection between them. There was something special between them; he could no longer deny it. She mattered.
With one last look, he turned away and strode forward to meet her brother.
Anna’s emotions were reeling. She listened with half an ear while he gave his report, too caught up in what had just happened to focus on anything else.
Bruce’s men. A large war party. The number drew her attention. She gasped. Twenty-five men? He should be dead.
Arthur had led them a few miles north of Urquhart Castle before attempting to head east. The outlaws proved hard to lose, however, and he’d been forced to abandon his horse and make his way to them on foot. Anna suspected there was much he was leaving out.
Alan thanked him for the service he’d done them all, before sitting him down and ordering food and drink.
Her brother spoke with him awhile longer, in low tones that she could not hear, before leaving Arthur to his meal—alone.
Anna nibbled on an oatcake and piece of dried beef, lingering as most of the men had done.
As the night drew on, however, something began to trouble her. The camp had livened with his return—the men were clearly relieved that he’d evaded capture—but there wasn’t the celebration that she’d expected. She frowned. And there was something strange going on. Other than her brother, no one else had gone near him. Instead of the backslaps, crude jests, and toasts that would usually be called for, she noticed more than one of the men casting him uneasy glances.
Arthur didn’t seem to notice. He finished his food, finished the skin of ale that had been brought him, and retreated to the solitude of the forest.
She watched him go, feeling the overwhelming urge to do something. She looked around at her clansmen. What was wrong with them? Why were they acting like this?
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she excused herself and went to find her brother. He was speaking with some of his men, but seeing her approach, he dismissed them.
“I thought you’d be relieved,” Alan said.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand what he was talking about. “I am.”
“Then why the frown, little one?”
“Why are the men acting like this? Why don’t they thank him? Why are they avoiding him?”
A wry smile turned his mouth. “Are you sure it’s not the other way around, sister? Campbell isn’t exactly known for his sociability. He likes to keep to himself.”
He was right, but there was something more this time. The men were uneasy—almost fearful. When she said as much to her brother, he sighed and shook his head. “Something happened today when the men were scouting. Richard told me about it and probably some of the other men as well. Apparently, Campbell heard the riders well before there was any sign of them. Richard said it was unnatural.”
Any delight she might have felt in having her own suspicions confirmed after what had happened with the wolves paled in comparison to the fury that stormed through her.
Outrage flooded her cheeks with heat. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t they realize that he saved us all? They should be grateful, not casting wild aspersions.”
“I agree, but you know how superstitious Highlanders can be.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“Nay, it doesn’t. I’ll speak with Richard and try to put an end to it.”
Anna drew herself up to her full hand over five feet. “See that you do or I will speak to him myself. I won’t see Sir Arthur shunned for helping us. God’s wounds, Alan! Without that ‘unnatural’ ability we might all be dead.”
Alan gave her a long look, and what he saw there seemed to worry him. He frowned, and rather than admonish her coarse language, he simply nodded his head.
She started to walk away, intent on finding Arthur. Her brother must have guessed her destination.
He called out. “We’ll arrive at Auldearn tomorrow evening, Anna.”
She turned and gave him a quizzical look, puzzled by the non sequitur. “Aye.”
“If you mean to go through with the betrothal, perhaps it would be best if you left him alone.”
She hesitated, hearing the truth in her brother’s words. But she couldn’t. The men’s actions had raised every protective instinct in her body. She had to thank him, even if they would not.
She found him by the loch, seated on a low boulder. He’d bathed. His hair was damp and he wore a simple linen shirt and tunic with his leather chausses. He was bent over, oiling his mail with a cloth, and his expression in profile seemed unusually somber.
She knew he’d heard her, but he didn’t turn around. As she moved closer, she could see what he was cleaning.
Her stomach dropped to her feet. Blood.
Without thinking, she rushed forward, kneeled beside him, and put her hand on his arm. “You’re hurt.”
His gaze lifted to hers, catching in the moonlight. “It’s not mine,” he said.
Relief crashed through her. She exhaled deeply. Though his expression betrayed nothing, she heard a strange emotion in his voice. He almost sounded as if he regretted it. That the death of one of their enemies might have bothered him.
Perhaps it wasn’t as easy for warriors to kill as she’d assumed. At least it wasn’t for him. The realization made him seem somehow more human. More vulnerable.
Sir Arthur Campbell vulnerable? The thought would have made her laugh a few weeks ago.
“You had no choice,” she said softly.
He held her gaze for a moment longer before dropping it to the hand that rested on his arm.
Immediately she became conscious of the intimacy of the warm, hard skin flexing beneath her palm, and she hastily snatched it away. But it didn’t stop the urge to curl up against him and rest her cheek on that broad shield.
He resumed his task in removing the bloodstains from the small, interlocking pieces of steel.
She sat beside him on a lower rock, watching him for a few minutes in silence.
“Why are you here, Anna?”
“I wanted to thank you for what you did today.”
He gave a short shrug, not lifting his gaze from his task. “I was only doing my job. It’s why I’m here.”
She bit her lip, recalling her anger at his interference and skepticism at his motives. “It seems you were right,” she admitted. “I’m grateful for your presence on our journey. We all are.” Her mouth thinned with annoyance. “Though some of the men might have an odd way of showing it.”
His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. “What are they saying?”
“That you sensed the riders coming before it was possible to do so.”
He cocked a brow, amused by her attempt to soften the blow. “I’m sure that’s not all they said.”
Her cheeks burned, ashamed for the superstitions of her clansmen. “It’s true, isn’t it? It’s like what happened with the wolves, and when I stumbled off the cliff. You know things before they are going to happen.”
She pleaded with her eyes for him not to lie to her. Not again. He was quiet for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“It’s not like that,” he said finally. “It’s more a feeling. My senses are sharper than normal, that’s all.”
“Sharper?” she repeated. “They’re extraordinary.” Her praise only seemed to make him more uncomfortable. “I don’t understand why the men don’t see it. You saved us all.”
He gazed up at her sharply. “Leave it be, Anna. It means nothing.”
The fact that he actually seemed to mean it made it that much worse. “How can you say that? Doesn’t it bother you? They should be thanking you for what you’ve done and praising your extraordinary abilities, not acting like children afeared of goblins under the bed or ghosts in the ambry.”
Her outrage on his behalf didn’t seem to be appreciated. Once again she sensed that the conversation made him uncomfortable. He gave her a hard look. “It doesn’t bother me, and I don’t need you making things more difficult by championing my cause. I don’t want you saying anything about whatever it is they thought they saw. Let it go and it will die a natural death. Prolong it and you will only make it worse.”
He spoke from experience.
Anna pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to argue. It wasn’t right, and the injustice of it raised every protective bone in her body.
It bothered him. It had to, no matter how nonchalant he seemed. The fact that he’d grown so accustomed to people’s subtle cruelty—that he expected it—only made it worse.
Her heart squeezed. How many times had he been rejected or shunned to become so callous and indifferent?
Was that why he pushed people away?
Suddenly, his remoteness and separateness seemed more a cloak to loneliness. He’d been doing it so long, he’d actually convinced himself he liked to be alone.
Her heart went out to him. She was so lucky to have her family; she hated to think of anyone alone.
“Anna?” he said, his gaze leveling on her in the moonlight. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts? “Promise me you won’t say anything.”
She scowled, but nodded.
He stood up. After dropping the slinky mail over his head, he donned a clean tabard and started to strap on his numerous weapons. Though there was something intimate about watching him dress, she didn’t feel embarrassed. Rather, it felt natural. As if she could watch him ready himself for war forever.
The thought should have horrified her. Instead it filled her with a strong sense of yearning, of longing for something hovering just beyond her reach. His quiet solidness called to her. It made her think of a future. That maybe he wasn’t wrong, but exactly right.
A stable warrior. It seemed contradictory. But maybe she’d gotten it all wrong.
“What will you do when the war is over?” she asked.
She wondered if he’d ever given a thought to doing something with his drawing, perhaps? Or would he just be looking for the next battle to fight?
The question took him aback. Arthur paused in the middle of fastening his sword belt. In truth, he hadn’t given it much thought. War had consumed his life for so long. All he knew how to do was fight. First alongside his brother Neil, and later as a member of the Highland Guard. He was a professional soldier. One of the best in the world. It was all he knew how to do.
But was it what he wanted? Was it what he would do if given a choice?
Once his father had justice, once Bruce was secure on the throne, once he’d achieved his goals, what would he do then?
Land and a rich bride were to be his reward. It should be enough.
But as he stared at the woman who’d so staunchly defended him moments ago, who thought him extraordinary, not eerie, whose heart was too big for her own good, he wondered whether it would be.
He felt a strange heaviness in his chest, looking at her tiny upturned face bathed in soft shadows and moonlight. Knowing it was impossible didn’t stop him from wanting her.
But he’d already revealed too much. He’d grown so accustomed to lying about his abilities, it had been strange to admit the truth out loud. Strange, but also a relief. He’d kept himself apart for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to feel close to someone.
He was a damned fool.
His only excuse was that she’d caught him in a moment of weakness. The blood he’d been cleaning from his mail was that of the two men he’d been forced to kill to defend himself.
Protect your cover at all costs. Protect the mission.
God, sometimes he hated what he had to do.
He finished securing his weaponry before he answered. “I would think that depends on the outcome.”
Even in the semidarkness he could see her pale, but she recovered quickly. “There is only one possible outcome. You don’t know my father—he will not lose.”
Arthur stiffened. He knew that better than anyone. That was why he was here.
“King Hood and the rebels will be subdued and brought to justice.”
Though she sounded like a good, loyal MacDougall soldier, beneath the bravado he sensed her fragility. Anna was holding on tightly to illusions that were beginning to show cracks. But she had to know the direness of the situation or they wouldn’t be here.
“And yet you go to Ross to barter yourself for additional men.”
Her back straightened, her eyes flashing bright in the moonlight. “It’s not like that.”
It was exactly like that. And it was his job to ensure it didn’t happen.
He didn’t want to be cruel, but she needed to face reality. The pendulum had swung away from the MacDougalls; Bruce was winning this war. “What if you fail, Anna? What if Ross won’t agree to send men? What then?”
“My father will think of something.” She sounded so desperate, he almost reached out to comfort her before he caught himself. “Why are you talking like this?” she demanded. “You sound like a rebel. Why are you here if you don’t believe we will win?”
He swore silently. She was right. And soon she would know just how right.
His stomach twisted; he thought of what she would think when she learned the truth. He wished he could somehow soften the blow. “That’s exactly why I am here, Anna. Belief in a cause. Belief that the right side will win. But it doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will. I don’t want to see you hurt.” He paused, going back to her original question. “When the war is over, I’ve been promised lands and other rewards. That should keep me busy enough.”
The Ranger Page 19