The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(84)

“But what about the betrothal? Did that not change his mind?”

Anna felt the men’s eyes on her, sending a flood of heat to her cheeks. She kept her eyes downcast, not wanting her father to see her shame. Whether it would have made a difference or not, she’d failed in the task he’d set before her. She couldn’t bear to see his disappointment.

“There is no betrothal,” Alan explained. “It was agreed they did not suit.”

She hoped she was the only one to detect Alan’s carefully worded response.

“You mean he did not forgive you for refusing him the first time,” her father snapped at her.

She ventured a glance in his direction, seeing the fury on his face. Her heart lurched. It wasn’t good for him to be so upset. She wanted to say something but knew he’d be even more furious to be treated like an invalid before his men.

Anna didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to lie to him, but neither could she tell him the truth.

“I ...” she stumbled.

“Well,” her father said impatiently. “I thought you were going to persuade him.”

Her cheeks burned with shame. “I tried, but I’m afraid he, um, sensed that my feelings might have been engaged elsewhere.”

“What do you mean, ‘engaged elsewhere’?” Her father’s eyes narrowed, piercing like arrows. He knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. “Campbell,” he said flatly, answering his own question. He swore, his gaze unrelenting. “And how would he sense this? What did you do?”

She’d never seen her father so angry with her. For the first time, Anna was frightened by his rage. That she deserved it made it no less devastating.

What could she say?

Thankfully, Alan took pity on her. “The betrothal would not have mattered. Ross had already made up his mind. I’m afraid you have not heard the worst of it.”

Anna braced herself for her father’s reaction. She feared it could throw him into another fit of apoplexy.

Alan apparently decided that the truth was better not measured, but given in one unpleasant dose. “Ross is considering submission.”

Her father didn’t say a word. But like a slow-moving wave on the horizon careening toward shore, she watched the anger build to a frightening crescendo ready to crash. His fists clenched at his side, his face turned beet red, veins bulging at his brow, and his eyes blazed like the pits of hellfire.

She took a step toward him, but Alan put his hand out to stop her. He shook his head in warning.

When her father finally spoke, it was to utter a string of curses that would have put her mother on her knees doing penance for his blasphemous soul for weeks. He stormed around the small solar like a lion in a cage—even his men stood back and gave him plenty of room to rampage.

“Ross is a bloody fool,” he blasted angrily. “Bruce will never forgive him for what he’s done to the women. His sister and the countess were hung in a cage, for God’s sake. If he submits, he is signing his own writ of execution.” He paused long enough to bang the side of his fist on the table. “How can he think of bowing to that traitorous murderer? He cut down my kinsman before an altar.”

Anna didn’t dare point out that the sanctity of the church hardly seemed to matter to Ross. After all, he’d violated sanctuary to capture Bruce’s womenfolk.

Alan tried to calm him down. “The people are behind Bruce. He’s incited a patriotic fervor in the countryside not seen since Wallace. They think he is the savior, the second coming of King Arthur, who has freed them from the yoke of English tyranny. Ross is thinking of his people and the future of his clan. He is thinking of what’s best for Scotland.”

Anna tried to hide her shock. Fortunately her father was too angry to hear what he’d really said. But she’d heard the admonition in her brother’s voice, even if her father had not.

Did Alan agree with Ross? Did he believe Bruce was the best choice for Scotland? Dear Lord, what if her father was wrong?

Anna couldn’t believe she’d allowed the disloyal thought to take form. But the MacDougalls, once fervent patriots, had turned to the English rather than see Bruce take the throne. Was that what was best for Scotland?

“I will die before I see that murderer on the throne,” her father said, the rage in his eyes no longer burning, but cold as ice.

Anna felt much relief when she heard the unanimous murmurs of hearty agreement by his men. Her father knew what he was doing. He was one of the greatest men in Scotland. He had his faults, of course—what great man did not? But he would see them through.

Having reported on the most important part of their journey, Alan began to tell her father the rest, giving a short account of the trouble that had befallen them on the road.

He listened with growing concern, visibly paling when he heard of his heir’s near escape from death—twice. His eyes narrowed when Alan reported Anna’s suspicion of MacRuairi’s involvement, and then gleamed with excitement when he realized the connection with Bruce’s mysterious phantom guard.

“Good work,” he said to Anna, who beamed under the praise.

Alan gave Arthur’s version of the retreat, but it seemed to cause her father some trouble as well.

Finally, he came forward and took her hand. “You were not harmed, daughter?”

She shook her head, and he folded her in his big, bearish embrace, his anger seemingly forgotten.