The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(72)

The brief good humor she’d glimpsed in Sir Hugh yesterday was—not surprisingly—gone. He sat stiffly beside her, too proud and engrained with knightly chivalry to completely ignore her, but coming close. She was grateful for the presence of Hugh’s sister on his other side, and Ross’s henchman beside her, to break up the awkward periods of silence.

Anna knew she had to say something but didn’t know how to broach the subject in so public a setting. She was still waiting for the right opportunity, when Sir Hugh rose from the table and excused himself.

“Wait!” She flushed, feeling a few eyes turn in her direction and realizing she’d spoken a touch too loudly.

Sir Hugh glanced down at her, giving her his full attention for the first time. He waited for her to finish while she tried not to squirm.

“I ...” She said the first thing that came to her, wishing she’d done this earlier, when other people weren’t so obviously listening. “It’s a lovely morning. If you aren’t too busy, I thought you might show me around the castle as you promised.”

He’d made no such promise, and it would serve her right if he said as much, showing her pretense to get him alone as exactly that.

His eyes held her, and for a moment, she thought he meant to deny her. But his knightly sensibilities apparently won out. He bowed and extended his hand. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

As she’d done a few short but significant hours before, she allowed him to lead her out of the hall. If he was aware of the speculative whispers that followed them, he didn’t show it.

This time when they reached the end of the corridor, he led her outside into the yard. There were plenty of people bustling about—soldiers practicing and guarding the gates, servants attending to their duties, and a steady stream of clansmen passing through the gate—but no one paid them too much attention.

“Is there anything in particular you would like to see?” he asked.

She gave him a sidelong glance from under the veil of her lashes, hearing the dryness in his voice. He knew it had been an excuse—and a weak one at that. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I needed to talk to you.” She stopped and looked at him fully. “I must apologize for what happened last night.”

His mouth hardened, and her nerve faltered.

But she had to do this. Her clenched fingers bit into her palms. She couldn’t manage a deep breath, so she burst out, “I can offer no excuses, other than to say how dreadfully sorry I am.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and then nodded. She thought he would turn and leave her there, but surprisingly he led her to a quiet spot along the rampart, overlooking the bailey and the town of Nairn beyond.

It was windy, and she had to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. But after the long night of darkness, the bright sunshine on her face was rejuvenating.

“Do you love him?”

Anna startled. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Sir Hugh didn’t seem like a man to hold much value or give much credence to romantic love. He seemed far too cold and practical for that.

But he deserved the truth. “Aye,” she said softly.

“But you would have married me to secure additional men for your father?”

When he put it like that it suddenly seemed wrong, though marriage and duty went hand in hand—it was love that didn’t matter. “Aye.” The desperateness of the situation rose in her chest. She pleaded with him, trying to make him understand. “Don’t you see? The only way to fight the rebels is for us to stand together. If our clans join forces, we can defeat the usurper. Alone we risk defeat.”

If her words held any sway, he did not show it. His expression remained stern and implacable, as he studied her face.

It was strange. Now that there was no hope of a betrothal between them, her fear and nervousness seemed to have vanished.

“You can absolve yourself of guilt, Lady Anna.”

She blinked at him questioningly, shielding the sun with her hand to see him more clearly.

His mouth twisted in an odd grimace. “My father had no intention of sending men to Lorn.”

She gasped in surprise. “But the betrothal. You let me believe ...”

He shrugged unrepentantly.

A spike of anger cut through her guilt. “And when did you plan to tell me this?”

“You would have found out soon enough.”

“After we announced our betrothal?”

He met the accusation in her eyes without flinching. “Perhaps.”

“But why?”

He seemed to purposefully misunderstand her question. “We don’t have men to spare. Bruce will be coming after us as well, and when he does ...” His voice drifted off in the wind. “King Robert has grown too powerful. Our allies have deserted us. The Comyns, the MacDowells, the English. My father has much too much to lose.”

He gazed back over the wall to the mini-kingdom below.

It was a telling movement, and she sucked in her breath at the significance. Too much to lose. His father wouldn’t risk it. “Nay,” she said, stepping back. “You can’t! Your father can’t submit. Bruce will kill him for what your father did to his wife and daughter.”

She spoke without thought, and she could tell that the reminder of what his father had done in violating sanctuary and turning Bruce’s womenfolk over to the English was not something Sir Hugh wanted to be reminded of. For the first time, she caught something resembling shame on his proud features.