The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(65)

Standing aside the past two days, being forced to watch as another man wooed the woman who wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, was like a slow, agonizing descent into madness.

Arthur was waging a losing war. His attempt to remain indifferent—to focus on his mission—wasn’t working. All his training and years of battle experience hadn’t prepared him for this. Watching Anna with Hugh Ross was tearing him apart.

But tonight had pushed him over the edge. When he’d seen Ross cover her hand with his, Arthur had been inches away from storming over there and punching his fist through the other man’s teeth. To hell with subterfuge.

They’d been laughing together, damn it. Laughing.

Arthur had half-convinced himself she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Her wariness of the heralded knight hadn’t exactly been hard to see the past two days. But he’d underestimated her resolve—and Sir Hugh’s charm.

When Ross leaned closer to whisper in her ear, Arthur’s fists clenched. It wasn’t until he looked down and noticed his bloodless knuckles that he realized how hard he’d been squeezing his cup. Good thing it was made of wood or he might have crushed it.

He cursed, knowing he had to do something. He had to think of his mission. Sir Hugh wasn’t wasting any time—not that Arthur blamed him. If Arthur didn’t do something to prevent the alliance, it would be too late.

He tossed back the contents of his drink. The amber-colored uisge-beatha burned its way down his throat, but it did nothing to calm the restlessness raging inside him.

“What the hell is the matter with you, Campbell? You look like you want to kill someone.” Alan MacDougall’s gaze slid meaningfully to the dais. He knew exactly who Arthur wanted to kill. He leaned across the table. “Have care. I think our host has noticed your interest in my sister.”

Arthur didn’t embarrass himself by trying to deny it. Alan MacDougall might be the son of a cold-hearted despot, but he was no fool. “And you are here to order me to stand down?”

Too experienced to give anything away in his expression, the older warrior gave him a blank stare. “Do you want me to?”

Arthur’s jaw locked, his teeth clenching together. “You should,” he said in a rare moment of frankness. He would only bring her misery. If he were her brother, he would order him to Hades—and then send him there himself.

But if Anna’s brother thought there was anything odd about his reply, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled wryly. “I think it’s too late for that.”

Arthur took his eyes off Anna and Sir Hugh long enough to gaze at Alan sharply. He didn’t know what the hell Alan thought he knew, but he was wrong.

Wasn’t he?

Hell, he didn’t know anymore. His mission. Jealousy. His intense attraction to the lass. They’d all tangled together in a confusing mess. He tossed his cup back again.

Alan eyed his drink with amusement. “I thought you didn’t drink whisky.”

“I don’t,” Arthur said, motioning for the serving lass to refill his cup.

Alan had been watching him closer than he realized. It might have concerned him, if he hadn’t sensed something that shifted his attention back to the dais.

Every muscle went rigid as he watched Anna slip her hand into Ross’s. Rage surged through him as the other man leaned over to speak briefly to his father before leading her from the Hall.

Right before Hugh passed through the door, he glanced at Arthur. The taunting look in his eye made Arthur’s blood run cold.

Something akin to panic rose in his chest—which was ridiculous. He was an elite warrior. Detached. Controlled. His heart might be beating too fast, and he might not be able to think straight, but it damn well wasn’t panic.

But where the hell did she think she was going?

Ross—the lecherous whoreson—was obviously eager for the betrothal. Who knew what he would do to secure it? Didn’t Anna realize what could happen when she was alone with him? Arthur’s mind immediately went back to the barracks.

Ah, hell.

He managed to hold himself back for about thirty seconds before he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood to leave, but Alan stopped him by moving his leg around the edge of the table to block his exit. It wasn’t an accident.

At first Arthur thought he meant to stop him, but to his surprise the older warrior slowly adjusted his leg to allow him to pass. But not before giving him a warning. “If you do anything to hurt my sister, Campbell, I’ll have to kill you.”

Though he said it as calmly as if he were reporting on the weather, Arthur knew he meant every word.

Hell, if Alan MacDougall wasn’t his enemy and the son of a despot, he might actually like him.

He met the other man’s eyes and nodded, suspecting it was a promise he wasn’t going to be able to keep. To put an end to the betrothal and stop the alliance, hurting Anna had become inevitable.

Anna had expected Sir Hugh to take her outside to stroll around the barmkin, but instead he led her through the passageway to the donjon tower.

The Royal Castle of Auldearn had been built by William the Lion over a hundred years earlier. The donjon and adjoining Great Hall stood atop a large circular motte, surrounded by a wooden rampart. The stone wall around the bailey below provided an additional level of defense.

Compared to the noise of the Great Hall, quiet punctuated the torchlit corridor. Anna was uncomfortably conscious of how alone they were. Although the last echoes of daylight still sounded on the horizon, the stone tower was already dark. The flickering flames from the torchieres that lined the walls provided little reassurance.