The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(14)

But other than a quick glance or two, he assiduously avoided looking at her. Restraint. Control. Discipline. These were the traits he prided himself on. They were what made him an elite warrior.

His pride took a blow, however, when the dancing started. One glance at her flushed cheeks and laughing eyes, and he’d been just as entranced as the rest of them. She was vivid and vivacious, brimming with youthful strength and vitality.

It sounded so damned trite, but her joy of life was written on her face. For a man who’d known nothing but death, destruction, and turmoil for as long as he could hold a sword, who’d lived in the shadows for years avoiding the attention she reveled in, who’d never experienced that kind of joy in his life, the light was nearly blinding.

He tried to focus on her imperfections. But alas, he could find no stray hairs or unsightly moles to mar the smoothness of her skin. Her nose was perhaps a little pert. Her mouth a bit wide. Her chin a tad pointed. But it all added up to adorable and sweet.

Despite his initial impression being exactly that, he told himself she was probably spoiled and haughty. Or calculating and cunning like her father.

He’d just about convinced himself when he saw her stumble. He was almost out of his seat before he caught himself. Her feet slid out from under her, and she landed with a hard thud on her bottom.

The music stopped, followed by a stunned silence.

From the horrified look on the young clansman’s face who stood behind her, Arthur figured it was his bump that had sent her sprawling.

Arthur waited for the tears or angry diatribe at the man who’d caused her embarrassment. He was to be disappointed.

Anna MacDougall took one look at herself on the floor and broke out into laughter. After her partner had helped her to her feet, he could see her teasing the horror from the young clansman’s face.

So much for spoiled and haughty. He picked up his goblet of ale and took a long swig, feeling the sudden urge for drink.

He could have watched her for hours. But he forced his gaze away, knowing he was playing with fire. He sure as hell didn’t want her to catch him looking at her.

Given who she was, his fascination with the chit angered him. He should be repulsed by her name alone. She was Lorn’s daughter, for Christ’s sake.

But when she’d tumbled in his arms earlier, repulsion was not what he’d felt at all.

He’d felt hard. Aroused. Hot.

He’d wanted to sink into that softness. Press her body closer to his. Feel the fullness of her br**sts on his chest and her hips on his cock. The intensity of his reaction had startled him, causing him to let go of her too quickly.

But lust, though annoying, was easily controlled. It was nothing compared to the danger her interest in him posed.

He’d been doing this long enough to know that the only thing he could count on with every mission was that something would go wrong. But fending off unwanted attention from a beautiful lass wasn’t the kind of problem he’d anticipated.

Arthur’s experience with women was limited to more primal relations. Although he was not as ridiculously fine of face as MacGregor—thank God—Arthur could attract far more female admirers if he wanted. But his demeanor did not encourage them. Which was how he preferred it.

Women in general were far more perceptive than men. Usually they sensed something different about him, and instinct warned them away.

Usually. But with Anna MacDougall he’d been forced to take harsher measures. His attempt to discourage her, however, hadn’t worked. Unless succeeding in making himself feel like an arse counted. Charm and gallantry might not come naturally to him—that was his brother’s domain—but neither did outright rudeness. His cold treatment of her didn’t sit well, even if it had been necessary.

He shook his head. What the hell was the matter with him? Anna MacDougall was the last lass in the world who should concern him. A few curt words was nothing compared to what he’d come here to do.

Her world was about to be destroyed.

Not that you’d know it by the jubilant smiles on the faces of the people around him. Didn’t they know that the tide had turned? That their most powerful allies—the Comyns and England—had deserted them? That Bruce would be coming as soon as the truce expired?

Hell, even his brother was acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he and his men laughing and jesting as loudly as the rest of them. Louder, perhaps.

“Don’t you like the ale, Sir Arthur?”

He turned to see Dugald’s squire beside him on the bench. “Well enough,” he said with a wry turn of his mouth. “Though perhaps not as much as my brother.”

The lad smiled. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I couldn’t help noticing the lady, sir.” Arthur didn’t need to look to know to whom he was motioning. “She’s been watching you. Perhaps you will ask her to dance?”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t lowered his voice enough—or Arthur’s brother wasn’t as drunk as he’d thought. Dugald interrupted loudly. “Don’t waste your time, Ned. My brother would rather dance with his sword than a young, marriageable lady.” The others laughed, not missing the ribald jest.

Though Dugald had finished eating, he still held the horn hilt of his eating knife in his hand. Arthur noticed the squire stiffen, his eyes widening anxiously, when Dugald started to toss the knife up in the air, catching it with one hand. Unconsciously, the lad started to rub his hands and inch forward on the bench.