The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(99)

It felt cowardly to leave without explanation. To let her discover the truth on her own. He wanted to prepare her. To tell her he loved her and hadn’t meant to hurt her.

To tell her he was sorry. To tell her he was hers if she still wanted him.

But he couldn’t. He would ride out tomorrow, letting her think he was one man, and when he returned, it would be as another. She would hate him.

Though he doubted there was a chance in hell for them, when it was all over he vowed to find her and try to explain. If she would listen.

It can’t be true. It can’t be true. Anna refused to believe it. But she couldn’t shake the doubt that had wormed its way into her gut and wouldn’t let go. Her plea of illness had not been feigned. Doubt was twisting—festering—inside her, making her weak with it.

All day long she’d sought the quiet refuge of her bedchamber, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t possible. That he couldn’t deceive her like that. But there were too many questions. Questions that couldn’t wait until morning. Tomorrow could be too late. Mary and Juliana had returned to their chamber a short while ago to inform her that the men were readying for war.

War. Fear twisted in her chest, the need to find him taking on a desperate edge.

Her gown was dusted with Squire’s hair and wrinkled from a day of lying on her bed, but she didn’t waste the time to change it. After splashing water on her face, rinsing her teeth, yanking a comb through her tangled hair, and asking her sisters to keep an eye on the puppy, she made her way to her father’s solar.

Expecting to find the men locked up in their war council, she was disappointed to see the open door. The sound of voices, however, drew her inside.

Her father stood beside Alan, leaning over a piece of parchment spread out on the table. He glanced up as she entered the room. “Ah, Anna, you are feeling better?”

“Aye, Father, much better.” She tried to hide her disappointment at finding them alone. Arthur must have already retired to the barracks for the night. What was she going to do? What excuse could she find for seeking him out this late?

“Is there something you needed?” Alan asked, watching her with a concerned look on his face. His gaze dropped to her hands, which she realized were twisting in her skirts. “You seem upset about something.”

If only he knew.

Oh God, he should know. Her stomach sank, realizing she should tell them both her suspicions.

But she couldn’t. Not until she was sure. Her father ...

It hurt her to admit that her father’s anger wasn’t always rational. She couldn’t be sure what he would do.

But she had to tell them something. “It’s the war. Mary told me the men are readying to leave tomorrow.”

“There’s no reason for you to worry, Anna. You, your mother, and sisters will be safe here.”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s worried about, Father,” Alan said with a wry smile.

He was right. Anxious to find Arthur, Anna started to back away. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She glanced down at the parchment on the table. “You are obviously busy, I’ll leave you—”

She stopped with a startled gasp. Her eyes landed on the piece of parchment. A piece of parchment she recognized. Although now that it was finished, it looked different. It no longer resembled a sketch. Now it looked like a map.

A map. What did this mean? If Arthur had been drawing a map for her father, why wouldn’t he have said something?

He’d been trying to hide it.

Heart drumming with inexplicable dread, she took a few steps closer. Trying to control the quivering in her voice, she said, “That’s an interesting map.” Her throat was too dry, her words coming out in a rasp. “Where did you get it?”

“Some of our men intercepted it off an enemy messenger,” Alan answered. He traced his finger over the finely etched lines. “It really is quite good. The detail is magnificent.”

All Anna heard was “enemy messenger.” The blood drained from her face, her worst fears seemingly confirmed.

He’s a spy.

“What do you know of it, daughter?”

Anna’s gaze snapped to her father’s. She opened her mouth to speak the words that would condemn him, but they froze in her throat.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. Not before she gave Arthur a chance to explain.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes, unable to meet his gaze.

Alan was looking at her strangely. “Are you sure you are all right, Annie? You don’t look so well.”

She didn’t feel so well. She felt dizzy. As if the room were spinning around her, or the floorboards had just been jerked out from beneath her feet. She swayed and then took a step to steady herself. “I-I think I’d better return to my room.”

Alan came forward, concern written on his face. “I’ll take you.”

“No.” She shook her head furiously, tears burning tight in her eyes. “It’s not necessary. I’m fine. Finish what you were doing.”

She fled before he could stop her.

Feeling as if she were suffocating, she quickly made for the barmkin. The cool night air slapped her with relief as soon as she opened the donjon door. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs and trying to even her quickening breath. She clutched the wooden railing at the top of the stairs like a lifeline, allowing the fresh air and the soothing canopy of the black, starless night to calm her racing heart, her racing breath, and most of all her racing head.