The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(17)

Without thinking, her gaze flickered to the back corner of the room, landing momentarily on Sir Arthur Campbell. It was long enough. Her observant brother took note. “Who were you looking at?”

“No one,” she said quickly.

Too quickly. Her brother’s eyes narrowed as he glanced in the direction where she’d looked. “Campbell?”

Drat her fair skin! She could feel the flush creep up her cheeks.

He looked surprised. “Sir Dugald? He’s a fine warrior.” He frowned. “A bit too popular with the lasses, though.”

She wasn’t about to correct him. It didn’t matter. She was a bit attracted to Sir Arthur, that was all. His indifference had only tweaked her womanly vanity.

“Careful, love. If he tries anything—”

Anna scooted him away. “I know just who to call. Now, why don’t you go over there and ask Morag to dance. She’s been casting glances at you all night.”

She expected an immediate refusal and was surprised to see instead a speculative glint in his eye.

“She has?” His gaze settled on the pretty young widow. He didn’t say anything more, but the flicker of interest gave Anna hope that her brother’s coma-like existence might be at an end. He’d mourned his wife deeply. Though his sadness was a testament to his love for her, he had not died with her.

She looked over the crowd for Thomas and held out at least another thirty seconds before glancing back toward the corner. She was just in time to see three young clanswomen—who happened to be pretty, buxom, and the most notorious flirts in the castle—approach the Campbells’ table.

Anna’s fingers clenched the soft velvet of her skirts. She felt a spike of something vaguely resembling irritation. Extreme irritation. It didn’t help that she knew it was irrational. Of course the girls were interested in them. Why shouldn’t they be? The newcomers were knights, handsome, and as far as Anna knew, unmarried. An irresistible combination to any young unmarried lass.

Nor was she surprised when the girls were quickly welcomed to join them. But when one of the women—Christian, the lovely raven-haired, blue-eyed daughter of her father’s henchman—sat beside Sir Arthur, Anna’s spine stiffened. The room seemed to grow even warmer. A hot flush rose to her cheeks, and her heartbeat took a sudden erratic jump. She told herself it was none of her business, but she couldn’t force herself to look away.

She needn’t have worried. After a few flirtatious advances went unappreciated—including coquettish smiles and a not-so-subtle dip forward to give Sir Arthur a good view of her ample bosom—Christian gave up and turned her attention to one of his companions.

Though Anna was more relieved than she wanted to admit, something about the interaction made her frown. Had she jumped to the wrong conclusion? Maybe it wasn’t her at all. Maybe Sir Arthur hadn’t meant to be rude, but was simply gruff like her father. Or shy around women, like her brother Ewen?

As much as she wanted to convince herself that was it—so she could forget about him—she couldn’t. Earlier he hadn’t acted shy at all. Actually he’d acted annoyed. A little angry, even. As if she were bothering him. Like a midge in summer or a recalcitrant pup under his heels.

She had slammed into him, of course, but it was an accident. And he certainly looked strong enough to weather a little jostling from a woman. Lord, he looked as if he could weather a blow from a sledgehammer!

She might not have noticed his size at first, but she was noticing now. Despite the loose, bulky fit of his wool tunic and relaxed posture, the man was built like a rock. All tight, steely hard muscle. Why, he’d barely even moved when she’d come barreling into him.

And when he’d held her in his arms, she’d felt an overwhelming sense of safety and security. As if nothing could possibly harm her with this big, powerful man holding her.

Before he dropped her, that is.

He pushed back from the table and bent over to say something to his brother Sir Dugald.

Her heart took a strange jump when Sir Arthur started to walk toward the door. He was leaving. Leaving! But it wasn’t even dark yet. The feast would go on for hours.

He couldn’t leave. He hadn’t even danced yet.

She glanced to her left, seeing Thomas threading his way back through the crowd, and then back to the young knight.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was striding purposefully toward the door. Not running, but not exactly walking, either.

He was only a few feet from the entry where she’d crashed into him earlier, when she cut in front of him.

He didn’t look happy to see her.

The forbidding glower on his face gave her a moment’s pause, but it was too late to turn back now. She’d always preferred the straightforward approach, though, she thought with a belated flush of embarrassment, it usually didn’t involve chasing after strange men.

She wasn’t chasing ... exactly. It was her duty to see that all their guests enjoyed themselves, wasn’t it? Moreover, she couldn’t shake the thought that she might have misjudged him.

Ignoring his expression, she smiled. “I hope I am not the cause of your early departure?”

If the lift of a brow was any indication, she’d managed to surprise him.

She smiled teasingly and explained, “I feared you might be nursing bruises from my clumsiness earlier.”