The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(37)



She expected the puppy to head for the Great Hall, but he made for the stairs that led to the courtyard instead.

With a sigh, she followed him outside. The cool sea breeze and descending mist cut right through her thin wool summer gown, making her wish she’d brought a plaid—although she hadn’t anticipated an evening promenade when she’d gone down to eat. It was dark, and except for the guards along the walls, the barmkin was deserted. Everyone would be inside eating.

So why wasn’t Sir Arthur?

Squire ran past the well in the center of the courtyard, past the kitchens to the northwest range. Apparently, the knight was in the barracks. The puppy stood by the door waiting for her.

It was quiet out there. Eerily so. And dark in that corner of the courtyard. The men had yet to light the torches near the entry.

She felt a prickle of apprehension as she approached, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea. Tracking him down to the barracks in the middle of the day was one thing, alone at night was another. The puppy seemed to be having second thoughts himself, because he’d stopped barking and was looking at her uncertainly.

“You got us into this,” she mumbled. “Too late to turn coward now.” Whether she was talking to the dog or herself she didn’t know.

She cracked open the door and peeked inside. Her eyes scanned the darkened room, lit only by the simmering embers of the peat fire on the opposite wall.

Squire, apparently having found his courage, darted past her feet into the empty room. She muttered another choice oath, tempted to leave him there, but instead followed him inside.

The door closed behind her with a slam that made her jump.

She forced her pulse to calm, not knowing why she was so jittery. “Squire,” she called in a hushed voice, though why she was whispering she didn’t know. No one was there.

The puppy ignored her and tore down to the far end of the long, narrow wooden building, jumping on the pallet that she knew must belong to Sir Arthur.

Her pulse spiked again as she drew near, seeing the pile of belongings strewn across the pallet. Wherever he’d gone, it wouldn’t be for long.

She bit her lip, debating. If she’d ever wanted a chance to learn about Sir Arthur Campbell, this was it. Pushing aside the prickle of guilt, she started to go through his things carefully, not knowing exactly what she was looking for. Aside from his mail, gamboissed chausses, a few extra sets of clothing, an extra plaid, and a silver brooch that she’d never seen before, there was little else—certainly nothing personal in nature. Knights traveled light; she didn’t know what she’d hoped to find. Something that might help unlock the mystery, perhaps.

Squire was digging at his mail shirt, trying to get to something underneath the pallet. She didn’t have time to investigate, however, because at that moment she heard a sound that stopped her blood cold.

The door opened and closed.

Footsteps. The glimmer of a candle.

Nails to the cross, he was back!

Guilt made her panic. Rather than stand there and think of a plausible explanation for being in the barracks, she snatched the puppy off the pallet and looked around for a place to hide. Seeing a large wooden post in the far corner, she ducked behind it just as the circle of light edged into view.

She seemed to have stopped breathing. Too late, she realized the foolishness of hiding. The dog could betray them at any time. But Squire seemed strangely attuned to her nervousness and had buried his head into the crook of her arm.

Sir Arthur set down the candle beside his pallet, giving her a clear view of what he was doing.

Her eyes widened when he tossed a drying cloth he had looped around his neck down on the bed. His hair and shirt were wet. Too late, she realized what he must have been doing and why his mail and belongings were strewn across his bed. He’d been bathing.

She smothered a startled gasp when he grabbed the edges of his wet shirt and yanked it over his head, tossing it down beside the drying cloth.

Her mouth went dry, taking in the rippling mass of muscles that covered him from waist to shoulders.

My God, he was incredible! Broad shoulders, lean waist, thickly built arms, and layer upon layer of muscle that stretched across his stomach. She’d never seen anyone so impossibly ... cut. He might have been chiseled from stone, his body as perfectly sculpted as a statue. Except that he was flesh and blood—warm flesh and blood.

She’d been right to suspect that he would bear the marks of his profession. Scars were liberally strewn across his belly and arms. A large gash across his side and an ugly-looking star-shaped one on his shoulder seemed to be the worst.

She frowned. Below the scar on his upper arm was a strange black mark. She peered in the darkness, unable to make out the design of what appeared to be a tattoo. Although she knew the marks weren’t unusual among warriors, she’d never seen one up close and was curious.

A little too curious. She leaned forward, and Squire seemed to take that as an invitation. He jumped out of her lap and raced for the half-naked knight.

When Arthur realized that he wasn’t alone, he was furious. When he realized who was there, and that she’d managed to sneak past his defenses, he was livid. No one had surprised him in years, and the fact that it was Lady Anna made it that much worse.

It seemed proof of just how badly the lass had distracted him. Her interference had already put him at risk, drawing too much attention to him. The lass had no idea of what she was meddling with. It was because of her that he was now a scout for Lorn, for Christ’s sake!

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