The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(56)

“I’m sure,” she said firmly.

The certainty in her voice must have convinced him. Alan rode with her awhile longer, recalling previous journeys they’d made in the rare times of peace, but eventually he returned to his men.

They made good progress the first day, reaching as far as Loch Lochy before stopping for the night at an inn near the southern head of the loch. The small stone and thatched building looked ancient, and given its position near an old Roman road, Anna suspected it might be.

She was stiff and achy, feeling every hour of the long day in her legs, bottom, and back, and grateful for the roof and bed, no matter how crude. She washed and managed a few bites of fish stew and brown bread before collapsing into bed, her maidservant, Berta, snoring on a pallet beside her.

The second night, however, they were not so fortunate. Her bed this night would be a pallet in a small tent in the forest just south of Loch Ness.

It had been a long day, made longer by Arthur’s steady stream of scouting reports. To avoid potentially dangerous situations, such as open stretches of road or natural places for ambushes, at times they veered well off the road. Which meant that instead of the twenty-five miles they would have been on the road, they’d probably ridden thirty-five through the dense forests and rolling hills of Lochaber.

It seemed an overabundance of caution to her. So far they’d seen nothing out of the ordinary—villagers, fishermen, and an occasional party of travelers. If Bruce’s men were patrolling the roads, they hadn’t made themselves known.

Perhaps the extra miles were another way Sir Arthur had devised to torment her? As if his presence were not enough.

Not used to the long days riding, Anna’s legs shook as she knelt at the banks of the river to wash her hands. She lowered her face, hoping to shock away some of her tiredness, but the cold splash of water did little to refresh her.

She groaned, her bones and joints objecting, as she attempted to stand. Creaking like an old woman, she made it back up to her feet.

In no hurry to return to camp, she took a moment to savor the moment of solitude. Though the rest of the party was only a few dozen yards away, the dense canopy of trees and moss seemed to suck up sound. Occasionally, she could hear the faint sound of voices, but otherwise it was remarkably quiet and the most peace she’d had since arriving in the barmkin yesterday morning to find Sir Arthur Campbell ready to ride out with them.

Nearly two days of trying to force herself not to look at him had taken its toll. It was worse than she’d feared. Even though she’d ignored him, avoiding his gaze every time he looked in her direction, she was painfully aware of his every movement. The hole of longing that seemed to be burning in her chest was growing bigger. Heavier. Grinding away at her emotions, leaving her raw and tender.

She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Why did he have to be here?

Heaving a weary sigh, she turned from the soothing stream of water rushing over the rocks. Berta would send her brother after her in a panic if she didn’t return in the few minutes that she’d promised. Besides, it was getting dark.

She’d taken only a few steps into the forest when a man stepped out of the shadows to block her path.

Her pulse spiked in panic. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was smothered by recognition.

Her mouth slammed shut. Her pulse, however, remained frantic. “Don’t do that,” she snapped, gazing up into the handsome face of Sir Arthur. “You scared me to death.”

He hadn’t made a sound. How such a large man moved with such stealth, she didn’t know.

“Good,” he snapped back. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” she said with a tight smile. “I had you spying on me.”

She took supreme satisfaction from the tightening of his jaw. It was horrible of her to take such delight, but prying any kind of reaction from him seemed like a major achievement.

He gave her a long, penetrating look. “Something I’m sure you know all about.”

Now it was her jaw that felt tight.

He was standing too close. Though her brother and the rest of the men were only a shout away, this was far more alone with him than she wanted to be. Being any kind of alone with him was dangerous.

It made her remember things. Like kissing him and the taste of cloves. Or how the thick muscles of his naked chest had rippled in the candlelight. Or how the damp waves of his hair had curled against his neck. Or how he’d smelled. Like soap and—she inhaled—virile man.

He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his chin gave him a rugged, dangerous edge that—devil take him!—only added to his appeal.

Furious that he was getting to her after all that had happened, she tried to push past him. An exercise in futility if there ever was one. “There is no need for your concern,” she said. “I was just about to return.”

He grabbed her arm to stop her, as if the impenetrable blockade of his chest weren’t enough. “Next time you leave camp, do not do so without a guard—preferably me or your brother.”

Her cheeks burned, furious at his tone and his overbearing attitude. Sir Arthur Campbell, knight in her father’s service, overstepped his bounds. “You have no right to give me orders. The last time I looked, it was my brother—not you—who was in charge.”

His eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened around her arm. His voice was very low and his mouth ...