The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(71)

Wisely, Ross chose not to argue, but Arthur could see the rage in his eyes. He twisted harder, eliciting a grunt of pain from the spitting-angry knight.

“Why did you come back here?” Arthur asked.

“I heard a cry—”

“Bollocks,” Arthur cut him off. Unless Ross possessed senses akin to his, he hadn’t heard anything.

Ross eyed him murderously. Pained sweat seeped from his brow. “I saw you staring at her, and her trying too hard not to look back. I knew you’d follow us.”

Arthur swore. “So this was some kind of test?”

“I wasn’t going to be made a fool of. I’ll not marry a woman in love with another man. No matter how much I want to fu—”

Arthur twisted his arm harder. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t say it.”

Knowing he was damned close to breaking Ross’s arm, he pushed him harshly away. Ross was right about one thing—the less they had to explain, the better.

Ross exhaled, massaging the top of his arm and shoulder. But something in his eyes made Arthur wonder whether he’d just been tested again. Whether Ross’s crude remark had been uttered to elicit a reaction. If so, it had worked.

“You care for her,” Arthur said, realizing the truth. “This wasn’t just a political alliance to you.”

Ross didn’t respond by word or expression, but Arthur knew he was right. Hell, he almost felt sorry for the bastard. “But you know what brought her here?”

Having restored the feeling to his arm, Ross had turned to watching him suspiciously. “Aye. For support against Bruce. I hoped to win her hand without it.”

Arthur’s gaze shot to his, comprehension dawning. “Your father has no intention of sending men with or without the betrothal, does he?” Ross didn’t need to respond. Damn. Arthur felt like killing him all over. “You let her believe ...”

Ross shrugged.

Devious bastard. Hell, Arthur might have admired his determination if it wasn’t Anna he’d been manipulating.

“We’ll leave as soon as it can be arranged. After you inform Anna and Sir Alan of what you just told me.”

The other man scoffed. “And why in Hades would I do that?”

Arthur took a threatening step toward him. To Ross’s credit, he didn’t move. But Arthur could see the wariness in his eyes. “Because I don’t want to see her hurting any more than she already is. And despite what happened here, I don’t think you want that either.”

They looked at each other a moment, and then Ross nodded. Arthur started to leave.

“Campbell.” He turned, seeing Ross gripping his injured shoulder again. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

Arthur’s mouth curved wryly. “Do this right, and maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

Anna wiped her hands on her skirts and tried to calm the nausea threatening to rise in her stomach as she scanned the crowd of clansmen who’d gathered in the Great Hall to break their fast.

Unconsciously, she found herself looking for Arthur, as if seeing his face would give her some much-needed courage. When she didn’t find him seated among her brother’s men, she told herself not to worry. It was still early. He’d sent a serving lad to her room last night to tell her everything had been taken care of and not to worry.

Not to worry. As if such a thing were possible after what had happened. His thoughtful message might not have eased her restless night, but it was appreciated. At least she didn’t need to fear one of them dead or lying in a pit prison somewhere.

She took a deep breath, forced her shoulders back, her chin up, and stepped into the Hall.

Her leg buckled it was shaking so hard, and her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird against the cage of her ribs. Every instinct screamed to flee, but she forced her feet forward.

The blood of kings ran through her blood. She was a MacDougall, not a coward.

Though she’d wanted nothing more than to hide in her chamber, curled up in a ball, and pretend none of this had ever happened, it had. At the very least, she owed Sir Hugh an apology.

When she thought of what she’d done ...

Her stomach twisted. Shame washed over her. Not for succumbing to Arthur—she wasn’t ashamed of the passion that lay between them—but for failing her family and horribly misusing Sir Hugh in the process. He hadn’t deserved that. The proud knight had treated her with nothing but kindness. It wasn’t his fault she was in love with another.

Love. Even as she weighed the enormous gravity of what she’d done, a tiny ray of happiness peeked out from behind the clouds of despair. She loved him. And he cared for her—he must.

But that spot of joy in her heart only made her feel guiltier. In finding love, she’d failed her family. How could she ever forgive herself? She’d ruined everything. Her father and clan would stand alone against Robert Bruce. There would be no alliance after what Sir Hugh had witnessed last night.

Her cheeks heated at the memory—at what he must think of her.

Harlot. Whore.

She half-expected to hear the jeers as she crossed the Hall to her seat on the dais beside the man she’d wronged. But her entrance caused no unusual comment. The earl and countess greeted her with their normal pleasantries—as did their son, when she took her seat beside him.

She forced herself to eat, though each mouthful of food added to the queasiness tumbling around in her stomach. As the meal stretched on, her anxiety only grew worse.