The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(83)

His brows gathered together in a frown. What was she talking about?

“It’s hard to remain detached and observant with people you care about.” She gave him an understanding smile. “You can’t blame yourself for caring.”

But he did. What use were his vaunted skills if he couldn’t protect the people he cared about?

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

Why again did he feel as if she’d seen too much? “I didn’t want you to worry about another surprise attack.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I trust you.”

Arthur’s chest tightened to a burn. He wanted to warn her not to—that he didn’t deserve it, that he would only hurt her, that she gave her heart too easily, too blindly—but instead he nodded, and they started back toward camp.

He led her up the path from the burn. When they reached the edge of camp, she gave him a sidelong look out of the corner of her eye. “My uncle looked as if he recognized you.”

The observation caught him completely off guard. Something for which she seemed to have a particular talent. His step faltered. Not much, but he feared she’d noticed.

“Are you sure it was your uncle? It was dark. I couldn’t see him clearly behind the nasal helm, and he was much closer to me.”

Her nose wrinkled, the adorableness of the movement at odds with the threat she posed.

“I haven’t seen him in a number of years, but I’m fairly certain it was him. His eyes are”—she shivered—”unforgettable.” If he’d hoped to distract her from her original question, it didn’t work. “But he seemed to recognize you.”

“Did he?” he shrugged. “We may have crossed paths once before.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. But unfortunately, she did not allow the subject to drop. “So you don’t know him?”

He fought the instinctive flare of alarm. “Not personally.”

“He seemed upset to see you.”

The rapid fire of his heartbeat belied his outward calm. She was dangerously perceptive and treading too damned close to the truth.

“Upset? From what I know of Lachlan MacRuairi he’s an evil, foul-tempered bast—” He stopped himself, remembering his audience. “He was probably angry that I’d killed so many of his men.”

She seemed to accept his explanation, but her next question told him she was not satisfied. “Why did they retreat?”

He swore to himself, the flare of alarm growing louder. “As I said, your brother’s men had broken through. They were outnumbered.”

She frowned. “It didn’t seem that way. It seemed like they were winning.”

He forced a wry smile to his mouth. “Your brother was in danger,” he reminded her. “I think you were distracted.”

She looked up at him and gave him a half-smile. “Perhaps you are right. I was focused on my brother. I’ve yet to thank you for what you did.” A shadow crossed her face. “If you hadn’t stopped that man—”

“Don’t think about it, Anna; it’s over.”

She nodded and gave him another sidelong glance. “Nevertheless I am grateful. Alan is, too, even if he has an odd way of showing it.”

MacDougall was making no secret of his interest. Arthur had felt his eyes on them the entire time. He met his gaze and knew the “discussion” of the day before was not finished. “He has a right to his anger, Anna. What I did was wrong. All I can do is promise that it will never happen again.”

Her sharp intake of breath was like a stab to his chest. She looked shocked. Bewildered. As if she’d been expecting something else. “But—”

“They’re waiting for us,” he said to cut her off, indicating the men readying the horses. He couldn’t take another conversation like yesterday’s. “It’s time to go.”

He spoke the words to himself as much as to her.

Blind spot. Weak spot. No matter what he called it, his feelings where Anna was concerned had become a liability.

He’d let her get too close, and now his cover and his mission were hanging by a thread. Time was running out.

Eighteen

Two uneventful days later Anna rode through the gate of Dunstaffnage Castle. One of the guardsmen had ridden ahead, so they were expected. She could tell by the barely concealed anger on her father’s face that he knew their journey had ended in failure.

She’d hoped for a good night of sleep before having to face her father’s questions, but the lateness of the hour did not forestall their report. She and Alan barely had time to wash the dirt from their hands and eat a small meal before they were ushered into the lord’s solar.

He stood in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back, the important members of his meinie flanked behind him. From their universally grim expressions, Anna felt as if she’d just walked into a burial cairn. As no one was seated, she and Alan came to an awkward stop before him. She felt not unlike a child called to answer for some egregious prank gone wrong.

The door had barely closed behind them before her father spoke. Attacked, really. “Ross refused.”

It wasn’t a question. Hearing the accusation in his voice, she wanted to explain, but it was not her place.

Alan answered for them. “Aye. Ross’s response to our request for an alliance was the same as before. He said Bruce would be marching toward him as well, and he couldn’t spare any more men.”