The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(52)

How could she not have noticed him at first, when now it seemed she could notice no one else? The proud young knight with his dark good looks was the most handsome in the room. And undoubtedly the strongest. Her cheeks heated. One look at his tall, broad-shouldered form and the memories of his naked chest came rushing back. Every sculpted muscle. Every rigid band. Every lean ounce of flesh.

She tried to ignore him, but she could feel his eyes on her as she ate. Or tried to eat. But her mouth was too dry, and the food tasted bland and chalky.

He watched her with a dark intensity that made her want to flee. Which she did at the first opportunity.

Hurrying from the Great Hall with as much ambivalence as she could muster, she ran up the stairs to her tower chamber and started tearing through her ambry, looking for her riding cloak.

She needed to get out of there.

One day. She had to avoid him for only one day, and then she would be gone. They were scheduled to leave for Auldearn Castle, the royal stronghold held by the Earl of Ross in the north, the next morning.

Why couldn’t he have stayed away until she was gone? It would have made it so much easier.

She dug frantically through the piles of wool and silk hanging in the ambry, not caring about the mess she was making in her eagerness to escape.

Where was it?

She was about to forget the morning chill and leave anyway, when she realized that her maidservant had probably already packed the cloak in her trunk for her journey. She flipped open the wooden lid and let out a sigh of relief when she saw the gray, blue, and green checked wool folded at the top.

Quickly tossing it around her shoulders, she gathered Squire in her arms—fearing the puppy would run straight for the prodigal knight—and hurried back down the stairs.

She peeked out from behind the door to make sure the barmkin was clear before exiting. She didn’t want to take any chances of running into him. She knew she was being ridiculous. Sir Arthur had done everything possible to avoid her. But something in the way he was watching her during the meal urged caution.

Crossing the yard, she headed for the stables. Once safely inside, she released the squirming dog from her arms and sent the stable lad to fetch Robby while she readied her horse.

Anna didn’t have any destination in mind, just as long as it was outside the castle. The massive stone fortification with its great barmkin walls suddenly felt too small.

Having finished, she bent down to scoop up Squire again when the door opened. The puppy burst out into an excited flurry of yips and yelps, and shot out of her grasp like an arrow.

“Damn!” The oath slipped between her lips before she could catch it back.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

If Squire’s reaction hadn’t told her, her body’s would have. The air shifted. Her skin prickled. Her senses flared. The room suddenly felt hot. And the faint hint of male spice seemed to filter through the pungent, earthy smells of the stable.

She closed her eyes, said a prayer for strength, and then slowly stood to face him.

Their eyes met. The jolt of awareness cracked through her like a whip. The shock never seemed to lessen. Her breath hitched and the sharp flash of tightness wrapped around her chest, squeezing. She felt a poignant moment of longing rise inside her, before she quickly—harshly—tamped it down.

He didn’t mean anything to her. Not anymore. Not after what happened in the barracks. Not after he’d left at the first opportunity.

He’d showed her how wrong he was for her. She should believe him.

She schooled her features into an impassive mask, calling on every ounce of royal blood that flowed in her veins. She was the descendant of kings, including great-granddaughter six times over of the mighty Somerled. She gave a short nod of her head, and said coolly, “Sir Arthur, I see you have returned.”

Her attempt at imperiousness was somewhat ruined by the soft tremble in her voice. It was one thing to pretend not to be affected by him in a crowded Hall; it was quite another in a small stable. Alone. With him looking at her so ... intensely. Angrily.

His face was red—except for the lines around his mouth and his throbbing temple. Those, unfortunately, were white.

Her heart fluttered nervously. Where was Iain? The stable boy should be back by now.

He must have read her thoughts. His gaze darkened, which, as it was already forbidding enough, only unnerved her further. He had no reason to be angry at her.

“The lad’s not coming. I told him I would take you wherever you need to go.”

Good God, no! She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. Or be near him, for that matter.

She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by the danger she sensed emanating from him. She’d done nothing wrong. But she hoped he couldn’t see her hands shaking. “That won’t be necessary.”

He took a step closer, and she had to force herself to stand still. But her pulse jumped in her throat.

And he saw it. The smile that curved his lips made her feel like a mouse in a cat’s eye. “I’m afraid it will. If you leave the castle, I’m going with you.” His gaze swept over her in a way that made her skin flush with heat. “I think you’ve forgotten something.”

Thoroughly discombobulated by the heat rushing through her veins, she stammered, “W-what?”

His eyes locked on hers. “Your basket.” She froze, her eyes widening. He couldn’t possibly know ...