The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(11)

His quick-tempered, hotheaded brother replied with surprising equanimity. “Nay, my lord. My eldest three brothers fight with the rebels.” As Lorn well knew. “And your uncle,” Dugald added with just the right tinge of sarcasm.

Lorn’s mouth thinned; he obviously didn’t appreciate the reminder of his traitorous kinsman. “I remember your brother Neil,” he said, looking his brother straight in the eye. “He fought well at the battle of Red Ford.”

Red Ford. The battle between the MacDougalls and Campbells over their lands in Loch Awe. The battle where their father had been cut down in cold blood. By Lorn.

Lorn—the bastard—was baiting them. Dugald knew it. Arthur knew it. But only Arthur wanted to kill him for it. Dugald hadn’t seen what he had. The great Colin Mor Campbell had died like a warrior on the battlefield, but only Arthur had witnessed the treacherous manner in which he had been killed. It would have been his word against Lorn’s. Neil was right to have protected him. He would never have been believed.

“I suppose you would have been too young,” Lorn said offhandedly.

Dugald nodded. “I was a squire at the time with the MacNabs.”

His point was taken. The reminder of Dugald’s bond with the MacDougalls’ closest allies and neighboring clan was enough. Lorn seemed satisfied, and Arthur felt himself relax.

The hardest part was over. They’d passed initial scrutiny and had been accepted into the fold. With any luck, this would be the last time Lorn noticed him.

They were about to move away, when the door flew open and the sound of laughter floated across the room.

A girl’s laughter. Light and full of uncomplicated joy. It was a laugh unlike any he’d heard in a long time, and it filled him with a strange sense of longing.

He glanced over his shoulder, but with the crowd of soldiers filling the hall, he couldn’t see the source.

Suddenly the crowd parted like the Red Sea, creating an aisle down the middle of the room. The loud, boisterous din of men’s voices evaporated into stunned silence.

A moment later, two girls came rushing forward toward the dais. The first was one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen—a blond-haired rival to MacLeod’s wife. The circlet of gold and pale blue veil that she wore did not fully hide the riotous mass of white-blond curls that tumbled down her back. With her pale skin, perfectly formed features, and bright blue eyes, she looked like an angel.

He heard his brother suck in his breath and mutter something between a prayer and an oath. A sentiment Arthur understood completely.

But it was the second lass who drew his eye. There was something about her ...

She laughed again, tossing back her head and revealing long locks of golden-brown hair beneath a pale pink veil. His gaze fell on her face. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her big, deep-blue eyes bright with laughter. Had he ever been that happy about anything? That free?

It took him only an instant for recognition to hit.

His heart dropped like a stone. Dear God, it couldn’t be!

But it was she. The lass from the church.

He heard Lorn say, “Mary, Anna, you’ve returned.”

Arthur swore there was actual delight in the hardhearted bastard’s voice.

Both lasses ran forward, but Arthur had eyes for only one. She threw her arms around Lorn’s neck, planting a big kiss on his cheek.

“Father!” she said excitedly.

Father. Arthur felt as though a dirk had just lodged in his gut.

He’d saved Lorn’s daughter. If it weren’t such an unmitigated disaster, he might laugh at the bitter irony.

If she recognized him, his head would be hanging above the castle gate by nightfall. Dying didn’t bother him. But failure did.

He tried to motion to his brother to leave, wanting to get the hell out of there. But Dugald seemed in a trance, staring at Lady Mary MacDougall as if she’d just descended from the clouds.

Arthur had shifted his gaze from the women, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the second lass startle. For the first time, she seemed to look around the room and realize the number of eyes on them.

She bit her lip. It was an innocently erotic gesture that might have affected him before he realized she was Lorn’s daughter. Nonetheless, he adjusted his sword—the steel one.

“We’ve interrupted something.” She turned to the other lass, presumably her sister. “Come, Mary, we shall tell Father of our journey later.”

Lorn shook his head. “Nay, there’s no need. We’re almost finished here.”

Arthur stilled, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the lass’s gaze sweep over the crowd of soldiers, and then—bloody hell—return to him.

Instinctively, his hand tightened around the handle of his sword. A cold sweat slid down his spine.

This time there was no helm to shield his face, and he felt the intensity of her scrutiny full force. He stilled when a small furrow appeared between her brows.

For one long heartbeat he waited for her to unmask him. For her voice to ring out with the words that would condemn him to death ... and to failure.

But the furrow only deepened.

And then in one reckless moment he knew what he had to do. He had to be sure.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink as their eyes collided unhindered for the first time. Gazing into her eyes, as dark and deep a blue as the sea, he felt himself drowning. Lost, if only for an instant.