The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(12)

When she gasped, he knew it was all over.

But she quickly dropped her gaze, and a soft pink blush spread over her cheeks.

Arthur nearly sighed with relief. The lass hadn’t recognized him. She was simply embarrassed to be caught staring.

His relief, however, was short-lived. The girl might not have denounced him as a spy, but she’d unwittingly done exactly what he’d hoped to avoid: brought him to her father’s attention.

“Which brother are you?” Lorn asked, his dark, beady eyes having missed none of the exchange.

Dugald answered for him. “My youngest. Sir Arthur, my lord. Beside him is my brother Sir Gillespie.”

Both men nodded, but Lorn was focused on him—like a cur with a meaty bone. “Sir Arthur ...” he murmured, as if trying to recall the name. “You were knighted by the king himself.”

Arthur met his enemy’s gaze for the first time, giving no hint of the hatred seething inside him. “Aye, my lord, King Edward knighted me after Methven.”

“De Valence—Pembroke—thinks much of you.”

Arthur bowed as if the praise pleased him, though it did anything but. Knowing, as he did, that the English commander’s praise had come at the expense of his friends. He did what he could to avoid battling Bruce’s men, but at times it was inevitable. To stay alive and to maintain his cover, he had no choice but to defend himself—sometimes to the death. It was the part of his mission he didn’t think about but that stayed with him nonetheless.

Lorn gave him a long look, before finally turning his gaze.

The next group of men stepped forward and Dugald led them away. But Arthur could feel the weight of eyes on his back the entire way. The girl’s, he thought, not Lorn’s. But neither was good for his mission.

One thing was certain: He needed to stay far away from the lass.

Anna MacDougall. His mouth hardened with distaste. Nothing killed a bit of unwanted lust like learning that the woman who’d fired his blood was the daughter of the man who’d killed his father.

Three

Anna wasn’t watching where she was going. She’d returned to the castle with barely time to bathe and change her gown for the feast. A feast that had been her idea as a way to welcome the baron, knights, and men-at-arms who’d answered her father’s call to Dunstaffnage.

With war hovering on their doorstep, a celebration might seem strange to some—such as her brother Alan, for example—but Anna knew how important it was to put aside the doom and gloom if only for one night. To remember what they were fighting for. To feel normal, if just for a little while—or what passed for normal in the midst of war.

Fortunately, her father agreed and thought the feast a fine idea. She suspected he was also anxious to show his men that he’d recovered fully from his illness. But whatever the reason, Anna couldn’t have been more excited. There would be decadent amounts of food and drink, music, a seannachie to regale the crowd with a history of the clan, and dancing. Dancing! It had been so long since she’d danced.

She and her sisters had spent hours deciding what to wear, planning every last detail.

And now she was late.

Not that she regretted it. Beth’s new baby was adorable, and Anna knew how much her recently widowed friend needed help. She felt a pang of sympathy for the child who would never know her father. There were so heartbreakingly many of them. Yet one more reason why she couldn’t wait for this blasted war to be over.

She heard the first chords of the harp and muttered one of her father’s favorite oaths under her breath. Darting out of the sunlight into the darkened entrance of the Hall, she ran headlong into a wall.

Or at least she thought it was a wall until it reached out and caught her from falling backward. Saving her, she suspected, from a hard landing on her bottom.

She gasped with surprise. First at the impact, and then at the heady sensation of being held in a rather strong and muscular—extremely muscular—pair of arms.

“Are you all right?”

Lord, what a voice! It wrapped around her as firmly as his embrace. Deep and rich, with just the right amount of huskiness. It was a voice to resonate from halls and hilltops. She might have listened more intently to this morning’s sermon if Father Gilbert had a voice like that.

“I’m fine,” she said dazedly. Actually she felt a little lightheaded. She looked up, blinking to clear the stars from her eyes, and gasped again.

It was the young knight she’d noticed a few days ago. The one who’d caught her staring at him. Sir Arthur Campbell.

Her cheeks fired. She didn’t know what had caught her attention that day, but she felt it all over again. The strange little spike in her pulse. The flash of warmth that spread over her skin. The nervous flutter in her stomach.

There was something different about him. A feeling she couldn’t quite describe. It was as if there were an undercurrent of intensity emanating from him.

He was undeniably handsome, although she hadn’t noticed it right away. Sir Arthur’s quiet, unassuming good looks were not as immediately apparent as his brother’s. His brother had the kind of bold good looks that were impossible not to notice.

Like that gorgeous man from the night at the church a year ago—the one who’d called off the attack when he’d recognized her “rescuer.” Even with the black smudges on his face, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a man so exceptionally well formed. But he was a rebel, so his appeal had tarnished quickly.