The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(29)

The death of her husband had only hardened Beth’s resolve. Like Anna, she would do what she could to help defeat King Hood and put an end to the war.

Anna hoped Sir Arthur would get bored with their chatter and find something else to do, but he seemed content to sit by the door with Robby and wait. Watching her with that too-intense, too-perceptive, golden-eyed gaze of his. It was almost as if he knew she was up to something.

She could see the older children kicking a ball around outside through the two small openings in the stone. The wooden shutters had been pulled back to allow the fresh summer air to breeze through the long single-room building. Suddenly, the play stopped, and she had her opportunity.

She looked at Sir Arthur over the head of the sleeping baby nestled in her arms. “It looks like the children’s ball is stuck on the roof of the barn again. Would you mind—”

“I’ll get it,” Robby said, jumping up as if he’d been waiting for any excuse to leave. She had to bite back a smile at his eagerness. Perhaps she’d gone a little overboard in asking Beth to describe—in detail—Cate’s recent digestive problems, including the rainbow of colors that ended up on her cloths.

Right result, wrong man.

“I suppose we should be getting on.” She stood up, intending to give the sleeping child back to Beth.

But then she had another idea and had to fight back the smile that rose to her lips. She knew just how to distract him.

“I almost forgot,” she said to Beth. “I’ve brought you some tarts.”

“And I have some fresh sugared buns for you as well,” Beth said, catching on.

Before he realized what she intended, Anna placed the sleeping baby in Sir Arthur’s lap and picked up her basket.

The look on his face was full of such abject horror, it took everything she had not to burst out into laughter. His expression was almost worth the trouble he’d caused her. Almost.

He immediately tried to hand the baby back to her. “I don’t know anything—”

“There’s nothing to it,” Anna said sweetly. “Just keep your arm under her head like that and she’ll be fine.”

He, on the other hand, looked decidedly ill.

All the jostling had caused the baby to stir, and she started to emit a series of little grunts and cries.

The fierce knight who looked as though he could single-handedly take down an army gazed up at Anna, begging for mercy.

Despite her amusement, there was something oddly arresting about the sight of the tall, muscular warrior cradling the tiny infant in his arms, awkwardly but with a gentleness that made her heart take a funny little skip.

Their eyes met, and something strange passed between them. A primal awareness of the attraction sizzling between them. An acknowledgment of the possibility that between a man and a woman such blessings might come. What would it be like to see him holding their child?

Embarrassed by the fanciful direction of her thoughts, Anna dropped her gaze. Envisioning possible offspring with a man she barely knew was definitely something new for her.

“Rock her a little,” she encouraged, feeling a bit sorry for him. “She likes that. We won’t be long.”

And with that she followed Beth to the far end of the room, where the kitchen stood.

And Cate, bless the wee angel, did her part. Her soft cries and progressively louder wails covered up their quick exchange.

By the time Beth returned to claim her baby, Sir Arthur looked as if he’d just been dragged through hell behind Satan’s chariot.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said as they were leaving the small cottage.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked as though he very much wanted to throttle her. Dragging a reaction from him was certainly proving enjoyable.

Anna said goodbye to the children, promising to return soon. Robby had brought the horses, and it wasn’t long before they were on their way.

She knew she should try to use the opportunity to learn more about him, but she was tired from her long day at the village, and, if she were truthful, not in the mood to be rejected.

That strange moment at Beth’s had made her feel ... vulnerable. She didn’t want to think of him that way. She didn’t want her heart to wander. She was merely keeping an eye on him for her father, not pursuing him in truth.

They rode single-file for the first few miles, but when the road widened, Sir Arthur dropped back from his position in the lead and pulled alongside her.

She was surprised when he spoke. Initiating conversation? This was a first.

“Why do you do it?” She looked at him uncertainly, and he explained, “Surround yourself with such ...” He struggled to find the word. “Things.”

“You mean the fruits of war?” she challenged.

She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t know how to speak of what he’d seen. Warriors focused on the glory, on the honor of the battlefield, not on what happened when it went wrong. Missing limbs and fatherless children weren’t something a man wanted to go into battle thinking about. She understood blocking out such thoughts was necessary, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t the reality.

“I thought you didn’t like it, yet ...” He shrugged.

“I hate war,” she said harshly. “And I can’t wait for it to be over, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to do my part. This is what I can do. If a few songs and stories, or holding a child for a while so her mother can have a moment of peace, bring a few moments of cheer, then that’s what I’ll do.”