The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(13)

Strange that she’d thought of that night again. It was the second time this week. She thought she’d put that terrifying episode behind her and had stopped looking at every man as if he could be the one. The man who was both a traitor and her savior. Ranger. What kind of name was that? Rangers were men who roamed across the countryside to protect and instill law and order—hardly fitting for a spy.

Or was it? From her account and description of that night, her father suspected the two men might have been part of Bruce’s secret band of phantom warriors. Part bogeyman, part mythological hero, the warriors had sent waves of terror through the English and their Scottish allies.

Right now all she could think about was the man holding her. He smelled divine. Warm and soapy from the bath he must have just taken. His dark hair was still damp, curling in loose waves at his neck and forehead. He’d shaved, although she could still see the shadow of his beard along his strong, chiseled jawline.

Chiseled described him well. All hard angles and rough cuts. Blatantly masculine in a way that had never appealed to her before. She preferred men more refined in manner and appearance.

She didn’t usually look at warriors. They reminded her too much of war.

But he was undeniably a warrior. Build like a siege engine, if the steely muscles in his arms were any indication. Funny that she hadn’t noticed how tall and muscular he was the first time she’d seen him. But then again, with all that mail and armor, knights pretty much all looked the same to her.

Anna wasn’t particularly short for a woman, but she had to crank her head back to look up at him. Heavens, he must be at least four inches over six feet! And his shoulders were nearly as wide as the entry into the hall.

Their eyes met.

She felt a shock reverberate through her. She’d never seen eyes that color before. Amber with flecks of gold. Not brown, as she’d thought. And framed by ridiculously long, soft lashes to inspire envy in any woman’s heart.

She saw the flicker of recognition before he released her.

Dropped her, actually. So suddenly that she avoided that hard landing on her bottom by only the narrowest and most ungainly of margins. She stumbled back, waved her arms like some kind of clucking chicken, and—thankfully—managed to find her balance.

So much for impressing him with her grace. Not that his expression indicated the slightest chance of impressing him.

A young man had never looked at her with such ... blatant indifference. Good thing she wasn’t vain. Or at least she hadn’t thought she was, but she had to admit feeling a little sting of something right now.

Realizing she was looking up at him like some moonstruck girl right out of the convent, she quickly lowered her gaze. He couldn’t have made his disinterest more plain. He’d nearly dropped her, for heaven’s sake! Maybe he’d missed the gallantry part of knight’s training.

Trying to muster some semblance of composure, she smiled and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”

He gave her a long look that seemed to hold a hint of arrogant impatience. “Obviously.”

Her smile fell. She furrowed her brow, not sure what to say next. Awkward moments were uncharted seas for her. Apparently, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. “I was late,” she explained.

He stepped back to allow her to move past him. “Then don’t let me detain you any further.”

Though he kept his voice neutral and there was nothing wrong with his words on the surface, she felt the distinct nip of coldness.

He doesn’t like me.

Suddenly feeling like a fool, Anna hurried past him. What did she care if he liked her or not? A warrior was the very last type of man to interest her. She’d had enough war to last her a lifetime. Peace. Quiet. A happy home and a husband whose conversation didn’t revolve around war and weaponry. Children. That’s what her future held.

Right before getting swallowed up by the large crowd swarming the Great Hall, she chanced a glance over her shoulder.

His gaze flickered away. But he’d been watching her.

Arthur was counting the minutes until he could leave.

He wasn’t much for feasts and drunken celebrations under normal circumstances, but thanks to Anna MacDougall, he was finding it difficult even to pretend to relax and enjoy himself.

He was the one who watched and observed, not the other way around. He didn’t need keen awareness or razor-sharp senses to feel her eyes on him. He was seated in the back corner of the hall, about as far away from the dais as possible, but he might as well have been right beside her, so intently did he feel her scrutiny. Feminine interest, and something far more dangerous—curiosity. And he didn’t like it.

Why wouldn’t she stop looking at him? And worse, why was he finding it so damned hard not to look back?

She was pretty—beautiful even. But beautiful women weren’t such a rarity that he should be struggling to ignore her. He wasn’t having any trouble keeping his gaze from her sister Mary, and she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

But something about Anna MacDougall drew the eye. Even in a room full of hundreds of celebrating clansmen with plenty of attractive young lasses vying for attention, she sparkled like a diamond among glass.

Beauty wasn’t it—or all of it, at least. Her appeal went deeper. It wasn’t only male gazes that followed her; women watched her, too. There was something infectious about her laugh, endearing in her smile, captivating about the twinkle in her deep-blue eyes, and delightfully naughty in her dimples. Dimples. Of course she had to have dimples. What adorable sprite did not?