She groaned, her bones and joints objecting, as she attempted to stand. Creaking like an old woman, she made it back up to her feet.
In no hurry to return to camp, she took a moment to savor the moment of solitude. Though the rest of the party was only a few dozen yards away, the dense canopy of trees and moss seemed to suck up sound. Occasionally, she could hear the faint sound of voices, but otherwise it was remarkably quiet and the most peace she’d had since arriving in the barmkin yesterday morning to find Sir Arthur Campbell ready to ride out with them.
Nearly two days of trying to force herself not to look at him had taken its toll. It was worse than she’d feared. Even though she’d ignored him, avoiding his gaze every time he looked in her direction, she was painfully aware of his every movement. The hole of longing that seemed to be burning in her chest was growing bigger. Heavier. Grinding away at her emotions, leaving her raw and tender.
She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Why did he have to be here?
Heaving a weary sigh, she turned from the soothing stream of water rushing over the rocks. Berta would send her brother after her in a panic if she didn’t return in the few minutes that she’d promised. Besides, it was getting dark.
She’d taken only a few steps into the forest when a man stepped out of the shadows to block her path.
Her pulse spiked in panic. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was smothered by recognition.
Her mouth slammed shut. Her pulse, however, remained frantic. “Don’t do that,” she snapped, gazing up into the handsome face of Sir Arthur. “You scared me to death.”
He hadn’t made a sound. How such a large man moved with such stealth, she didn’t know.
“Good,” he snapped back. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she said with a tight smile. “I had you spying on me.”
She took supreme satisfaction from the tightening of his jaw. It was horrible of her to take such delight, but prying any kind of reaction from him seemed like a major achievement.
He gave her a long, penetrating look. “Something I’m sure you know all about.”
Now it was her jaw that felt tight.
He was standing too close. Though her brother and the rest of the men were only a shout away, this was far more alone with him than she wanted to be. Being any kind of alone with him was dangerous.
It made her remember things. Like kissing him and the taste of cloves. Or how the thick muscles of his naked chest had rippled in the candlelight. Or how the damp waves of his hair had curled against his neck. Or how he’d smelled. Like soap and—she inhaled—virile man.
He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his chin gave him a rugged, dangerous edge that—devil take him!—only added to his appeal.
Furious that he was getting to her after all that had happened, she tried to push past him. An exercise in futility if there ever was one. “There is no need for your concern,” she said. “I was just about to return.”
He grabbed her arm to stop her, as if the impenetrable blockade of his chest weren’t enough. “Next time you leave camp, do not do so without a guard—preferably me or your brother.”
Her cheeks burned, furious at his tone and his overbearing attitude. Sir Arthur Campbell, knight in her father’s service, overstepped his bounds. “You have no right to give me orders. The last time I looked, it was my brother—not you—who was in charge.”
His eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened around her arm. His voice was very low and his mouth …
She gasped. His mouth was low as well. Perilously so. Achingly close to hers. If she stood up on her tiptoes, she might even be able to reach it with her own.
God, she wanted to. Desperately she wanted to. Heat flooded inside her, concentrating in her breasts and between her legs. Her nipples tightened, aching for the heated friction of his hard chest.
Her body’s betrayal was humiliating. He had no right to make her feel like this. Not after his cruel rejection. Not after he’d left and proved that he was the man she’d first thought him. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
“Do not challenge me in this, Anna. If you’d like me to get your brother involved, I will. I was trying to save you from the embarrassment of being treated like a child, but I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”
Something in his voice made her skin prickle with alarm. “What is it? Are the rebels near? Did you see something?”
A shadow crossed over his eyes. He shook his head. “Not so far.”
“But you sense something.”
His gaze shot to hers, dark with suspicion, as if he thought she was trying to trap him into admitting she’d been right about the abilities he’d displayed before.
He seemed poised to deny it, but then he shrugged, dropping his hand from her arm. “Aye, I feel danger. And you should, too. Don’t be fooled into thinking they aren’t out there just because we haven’t seen them.”
Chastened by what she sensed was genuine concern, she nodded. “I will do as you ask.”
Both of them knew he hadn’t asked, but he seemed satisfied enough by her agreement not to quibble with semantics.
She knew she should walk away, but something made her ask, “Why are you here, Sir Arthur? Why did you insist on joining our party?”
He looked away. Her question had discomfited him. Good.
He squared his jaw. “I thought your brother could use my help.”
“And I thought you didn’t like scouting.”
A wry, enigmatic smile curved his mouth. “It’s not as bad as I feared.”
Her eyes scanned his face, but she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “And that’s the only reason? Because you wanted to help my brother?”
He looked down at her. The intensity of his gaze penetrated with all the subtlety of a bolt of lightning. She could see the tic pulsing below his jaw. He was restraining himself, but from what?
“Since you wouldn’t listen to my warning, I had no other choice but to come and ensure you reach your destination safely.”
Safely delivered into the arms of another man. “I’m sure Sir Hugh will appreciate your service.”
He tensed, his eyes sparking like wildfire. For a moment she thought he was going to push her up against the tree and kiss her.
But he didn’t. Instead he clenched his fists and stared down at her angrily.
It wasn’t disappointment she felt, it wasn’t, she told herself. But it didn’t work.
“Don’t push me, Anna.”
But she was past warnings. “Don’t push you? How could I push you when you don’t care? You made yourself quite clear that night in the barracks. You were the one who told me to stay away, remember? Not the other way around.”
“I remember.”
The huskiness in his voice told her that wasn’t all he remembered. Her skin started to heat and tighten. The memories crackled between them like a breath of air on embers, flaring, ready to catch fire.
Anna didn’t understand why he was doing this. Frustration welled up inside her. “Have you changed your mind?”
At another time Arthur would have admired her challenge. Anna’s frankness and openness were part of what made her unique. But not right now. He didn’t want to think about changing his mind. It was taking everything he had just to keep his hands off her.
Why couldn’t she be shy and retiring? That he could handle.
He knew he was acting like an arse, but two days of being near her, of watching her turn away to avoid his gaze, of her acting like he was nothing more than a hired sword, had stretched his restraint to the breaking point. He couldn’t take another evening of watching her flit around the campsite, laughing and smiling with the men. Smiles that were conspicuously absent in his direction.
He liked it on the periphery, damn it. But from his familiar position on the edge of the campsite, away from the camaraderie of the fire, he found himself longing for the warmth of one of those s
miles. Some of that laughter. Some of that light.
He’d wanted to force her to acknowledge him. But all he’d done was stir up things that didn’t need stirring.
Such as the overwhelming desire to push her up against that tree and ravish her. He could almost feel her arms circling his neck, her leg wrapped around his hip, as he sank into her, slow and deep. Her soft little body stretched against his. All those seductive curves melting against him. The erotic bead of her nipples raking his chest.
Hell.
He shifted to adjust himself. But the swell in his braies was hard and unrelenting.
This shouldn’t be so bloody difficult. Focus. Do your job. Stay close enough to watch her, but don’t touch. Don’t let her get too close.
Too many people were counting on him. He had to keep his eye on what really mattered: seeing Bruce secure on the throne and vanquishing those who would stand against him. Such as John of Lorn. This was his chance to see his enemy pay for what he’d done to his father.
Justice. Revenge. Righting a wrong. Blood for blood. It was what had driven him for as long as he could remember. He’d devoted his life to becoming the greatest warrior he could be, with one goal in mind: destroying Lorn.
Cold purpose had been his companion for fourteen years. The steely resolve to see a mission through to the end, no matter what the cost. Despite the wide differences in personality—from MacSorley’s irrepressible good humor, to Seton’s hotheadedness, to MacRuairi’s surliness—it was the one thing all the members of the Highland Guard had in common. But he’d never struggled so hard to hold on to it.
He took a step back, trying to clear the haze of desire that gripped him. But his body teemed with unspent lust. Lust that he was finding harder and harder to ignore. Walking around with his cock wedged to his stomach wasn’t doing much for his temper. His hand barely took the edge off.
When he didn’t answer right away, she said, “Well?”
Had he changed his mind? He shook his head. “Nay.”
Nothing had changed. She was still the daughter of the man he’d come to destroy. The only thing the future held for them was betrayal. He wouldn’t make it worse.
If she was disappointed by his response, she didn’t show it. If anything, she’d seemed to expect it. “Then why are you doing this? Why are you acting as if you care who I marry? You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to want me either, is that it?”
He muttered a curse, dragging his fingers through his hair. “It’s not like that.”
Actually, it was exactly like that. She’d nailed his problem squarely on the head. He was jealous, damn it. Even if he had no right to be. Even if he’d discouraged her. Even if there was no chance for them. The thought of her marrying another man sent him into fits of youthful jealousy.
She met his gaze. “Then explain it to me,” she said quietly. “How do you feel about me?”
Jesus. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. Only she would ask such a question. Anna MacDougall didn’t have a shy and retiring bone in her body. Straightforward. Direct. No pretense.
God, she was amazing.
All the training in the world couldn’t stop him from shifting his feet. Not since his brothers had backed him against a ledge over a cliffside, taunting him to defend against their sword blows, had he felt this cornered. “It’s complicated,” he hedged.
Her eyes wouldn’t leave his face, searching for something that wasn’t there. “Complicated isn’t good enough.” She dropped her gaze. “I don’t want you here.” Her voice was as stiff as the set of her narrow shoulders.
He didn’t want to be there either, but he had no choice.
She lifted her eyes to his once more. The warmth had fled from their brilliant blue depths. “Please, just leave me alone.”
The soft plea in her voice tugged at his conscience, but it burned in his chest. She turned and walked away as regally as a queen.
For both their sakes he wished he could. But his mission had to come first. A few more weeks. He could make it through a few more weeks. He’d withstood far more dangerous challenges. All he had to do was shore up his defenses, batten down the hatches, and dig in for the final siege.
Thirteen
Something wasn’t right.
Arthur was scouting ahead of the rest of the group with two of MacDougall’s men when he felt it. The shift in the air. The cool shiver blowing across the back of his neck. The sudden alertness that set all of his nerve-endings on edge.
Danger.
It was late on the third day of their journey. The day’s ride along the west bank of Loch Ness had taken longer than anticipated, due not to avoiding Bruce’s men but to a washed-out bridge at Invermoriston. Had Anna not been there, they might have attempted to cross the rushing waters, but instead they’d traveled another five miles out of their way to the next ford.
Thus, it was later than he would have liked as they neared the southern edge of Clunemore wood. From Clunemore they would turn east, leaving the road to steer well clear of the rebel-occupied Urquhart Castle.
For their last night, they planned to camp in the woods along the banks of Loch Meiklie. Tomorrow would be an even more grueling day, when the relatively flat road gave way to hills.
Though Arthur worked better alone, Alan MacDougall had insisted that two of his men accompany him in case he ran into trouble. He couldn’t tell Anna’s brother that the men would be more trouble than help without giving away his skills, so reluctantly he’d agreed.
At the first prickle of danger, he held up his hand for the men to stop. He jumped off his horse and knelt, placing his hand flat on the ground. The faint reverberation confirmed what he’d already sensed.
Richard, the larger of the two warriors and MacDougall’s usual scout, frowned. “What is it?”
Arthur lowered his voice. “Ride back. Tell your lord to get off the road immediately.”
Alex, who was training to be a scout, gave him an odd look from under the steel of his nasal helm. Unlike Arthur, Alan, and the handful of other knights who wore a fully visored helm, heavy mail, and surcoat, the MacDougall clansmen wore lighter armor and the padded leather cotun favored by Highlanders. The war coat made it easier to move around. Not for the first time, Arthur wished he could toss off his cumbersome knightly garb and do away with the pretense. The younger man looked around. “Why?”
Arthur’s mouth thinned. He stood and quickly remounted his horse. “There’s a large party of horsemen heading straight for us.”
Richard looked at him as if he were crazy. “I don’t hear anything.”
The fools were going to get them all killed. With no time for subtlety, Arthur grabbed the big man by the thick scruff of his neck. Lifting him a few inches off his saddle, he brought his face to his. “Do as I say, damn it. In another few minutes it will be too late. Do you want to see the lady killed for your stupidity?”
Shocked by the change that had come over Arthur, the man shook his head. When he started gasping, Arthur released him with a harsh shove.
“I’ll circle around and try to distract them.” Hopefully leading them north. “Tell Sir Alan to get off the road right away. To head east and ride as fast as he can. Leave the carts behind if necessary. I’ll meet you when I can at the loch.”
Suddenly, Richard’s thick head jerked to the north. The faint sound of pounding hooves floated toward them. He turned to Arthur, eyes wide with fear and suspicion. Unconsciously, he backed his horse away. “Christ’s bones, you’re right! I hear them.”
Arthur didn’t have time to worry about the other man’s unease.
“I’ll go with you,” Alex said.
“Nay,” Arthur said, in a voice that brokered no argument. “I go alone.”
It would be easier to evade capture. Besides, there was always a chance he would know someone. MacGregor, Gordon, and MacKay were supposed to be in the north.
“Go,” he said.
With no further argument, the men did as
he bid.
Arthur didn’t waste any more time. Horse and man plunged through the trees, as he raced to get behind the approaching riders before they came up on the MacDougall party. Even with the warning, he knew it would take time to maneuver them to safety. Anna was a good rider, but her maidservant wasn’t. The carts would slow them down further. If there was one thing about women he knew, they didn’t like to leave their fine shoes and gowns behind.
At least she hadn’t insisted on bringing that damned pup of hers. He was tired of dodging piss on his toes.
Using the sound of the horses as a guide, he weaved through the trees, riding parallel to the men for a few, all-important seconds before darting toward them.
Now came the tricky part: getting close enough to draw them away, but not so close that he got captured.
He muttered a curse, as a gap in the trees gave him his first look at the riders. A war party, by the looks of it. There were more of them than he would have liked. At least a score of men armed to the teeth in dark-colored plaids, war coats blackened with pitch, and blackened helms—a means of blending into the night utilized by the Highland Guard, but adopted later by many of Bruce’s warriors.
Normally, the sight of such a formidable force wouldn’t give him a second thought. He’d been trained for worse. But these men knew the terrain and he didn’t. They would have the advantage. One wrong turn and he could end up trapped.
Still, he had advantages they did not: razor-sharp senses, speed, superior strength and training, and the ability to fade into the shadows.
Ahead of him, he saw a break in the trees. This was it. Clenching his jaw, he lowered his head and shot toward the clearing. Pretending he’d just noticed the men, he veered sharply off to the left as if he were trying to avoid being seen.
When he heard the cry go out, he knew they’d sighted him. He didn’t dare slow down to look behind him, waiting to see if they’d taken the bait. A fraction of a second’s delay could mean the difference between escape and capture.
But a moment later, hearing the thunder of hooves behind him, he smiled.
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