The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(77)

He hardened his jaw, and his heart. “You see what you want to see, Anna—not reality.” The war. Her father. Him. She was blind to the faults of those she professed to love. “But little girls who believe in faerie tales only grow up disappointed.”

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Don’t try to push me away.”

It’s what he did. What he always did. Even if for the first time he didn’t want to, it was what he needed to do. For her own good.

He grabbed her arm, intending to shake some damned sense into her, but it was a mistake. Touching her only made the emotions firing inside him hotter. Louder. More twisted and out of control.

“Then don’t act like a naive postulate. We’re in the middle of a damned war. Bruce is about to bring the full force of his army down on top of you, but you want to plan for the future. There is no future, Anna. Only today. Hell, you might not have a home next month.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her. “Do you think I don’t know that?” A sob strangled in her throat. Her beautiful blue eyes blurred with tears, stoking the fires burning in his chest. “Why do you think I went to Ross? I know what’s at stake. But I couldn’t do it. Because of you.”

“Your father should never have asked it of you,” he snapped.

Her stricken expression made him wish to call his words back. She had a girl’s vision of her father—the perfect knight who could do no wrong. One more illusion he would help destroy.

“He didn’t ask it of me. It was my idea. You talk of war and uncertainty, but I can tell you one thing that’s certain. If you never take a risk, if you always push people away, you’ll be guaranteed to be alone. Is that what you want?”

His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth hurt. “Yes.” Damn her.

“Good, because that’s exactly what you’ll be.” The tears fell on her cheeks. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you’re a coward, Arthur Campbell.”

Anger rushed through him in a fiery blast. He wasn’t a coward. He was trying to do the right thing. But she wouldn’t let him. She kept pushing and pulling him, making him crazy with feelings that didn’t belong to him. He couldn’t think straight. All he wanted to do was drag her into his arms and kiss her until the hammering in his head—in his chest—stopped.

He might have done just that, but he didn’t have the chance.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Arthur jerked around, his head still spinning, as Alan MacDougall strode into the clearing.

Arthur swore. He’d been too wrapped up in Anna and hadn’t heard a damned thing.

What the hell was the matter with him? He was out of control. He needed to get a rein on his emotions. His senses were dull and fuzzy. He was too distracted. Too twisted up in knots. He’d felt like this only once before—the day his father died. He was losing his edge.

So much so that he wasn’t ready for what came next.

“Let go of her,” Alan boomed, tearing Anna out of his arms at the same time his fist came slamming toward his jaw.

Arthur’s head snapped back as he took the full force of the blow. His head exploded in pain. A white flash blinded him.

Anna cried out in horror. “Alan, please, it’s not what you think!”

But her brother wasn’t listening. Proving his efficiency with both fists, another blow caught Arthur from the other side. Then the stomach. Then his ribs.

“I told you to fix it, damn it. Not make her cry. What the hell did you do to her?”

Arthur didn’t try to defend himself. Not because he couldn’t—MacDougall might have a smith’s hammer for an arm, but Arthur had learned enough tricks from the best hand-to-hand warrior in the Highlands to have him on his back in a few seconds. He didn’t fight back because he deserved it. Hell, he deserved far worse for what he would do.

“Stop! Stop!” Anna sobbed, her voice teetering on hysteria. “You’re hurting him.”

Alan dragged him up by the collar, shoving him hard against a tree. “What did you do?” His gaze shot to his sister’s. “One of you had better tell me what the hell is going on.”

Neither of them responded.

Alan looked back and forth between them, his face fired hot with anger. “Don’t take me for a bloody fool! Don’t think I believe for one minute that Ross suddenly decided to cry off!” He looked at Anna, his hand still grasped tight around Arthur’s throat. “What happened at Auldearn? Did this bastard touch you, Anna?” His hand squeezed. “Did he touch you?” He jammed Arthur harder. “Did he?”

Arthur felt the noose tightening around his throat, and it wasn’t MacDougall’s hand. Nay, he knew that he was going to be called to answer for what had happened—or nearly happened—at Auldearn.

“Let go of him!” He heard the panic in Anna’s voice. She tried to pull on her brother’s arm to no avail. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

Actually, it was probably exactly what he thought.

“You bloody bastard,” MacDougall said, jamming his head farther into the tree. “I’ll kill you for this.”

Arthur did not doubt his intent—or his ability. But he couldn’t let him do that. He was just about to free himself, when he heard a small pop followed by a soft whirling sound.