The Ranger

by Monica McCarty

  She’d asked for the one thing he could not give. He couldn’t put aside his honor and loyalty—even for her.

  His face turned to granite. “I took an oath, Anna, pledging my sword to Bruce.” And to the Highland Guard. “To go against that would be to go against my conscience and everything I believe in. Despite what you may have cause to believe, I am a man of honor.”

  Duty, loyalty, and honor were what had brought him to this point.

  “But this isn’t just about honor, is it?” she challenged. “It’s about revenge. You want to see my father destroyed.”

  His jaw hardened. “I want justice.”

  Her big eyes gazed up at him, luminous and pleading, eating into his conscience. She put her hand on his arm, but it might as well be fisted around his heart. “He’s my father, Arthur.”

  He felt his insides squeeze. Her soft plea penetrated more than it should. How did she do this to him? Twist him up in knots with the urge to do anything to please her.

  But he couldn’t. Not this.

  For fourteen years his life had centered on one thing: righting a wrong. He’d been waiting too long to meet Lorn face-to-face across the battlefield. He could no more deny his vow for justice for his father than he could deny his feelings for her.

  “Do you think I don’t know he’s your father? Do you think I haven’t spent every day of the last two months wishing differently? I didn’t want this, damn it.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. “I think you made that clear. Your feelings for me are an inconvenience.”

  His fists clenched. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “There’s no need to explain. Believe me, I understand.” The bitterness in her tone made her feelings clear. She stood up from the bench and walked a few steps into the courtyard, staring aimlessly out into the darkness. “Go,” she said tonelessly. “Leave before I change my mind.”

  He couldn’t believe it—she was going to let him go. For a moment, he felt the flicker of hope. It had to mean she still loved him. She was putting him before her family by letting him go. And he had to go. He didn’t want to leave her like this, but he had to get word to the king.

  He came up by her side, took her elbow, and gently turned her to face him. She looked so young and fragile in the moonlight, her face a pale oval of alabaster. “I swear to you I will return as soon as I am able.”

  She shook her head, not breaking her trancelike gaze. “You made your choice. If you leave now, I don’t want you to come back.” Finally, she looked at him. Her gaze never wavered. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  The finality in her voice cut like a blade.

  “You don’t mean that.” She couldn’t mean it. It was her anger speaking. But the stubborn set of her chin sent a flash of panic surging through his veins. He knew that look. He pulled her hard against him, knowing he had to make her see sense. “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

  She gasped at the contact. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” She pried at his chest, trying to wrench free.

  But her struggle only increased his sense of panic. He had to make her see. How could she deny this? Didn’t she feel the energy snapping between them? The heat? They were meant to be together.

  He was out of words and out of time. So he kissed her, capturing her mouth with his in a fierce, desperate embrace. She stilled—no longer struggling, but going limp in his arms.

  No. Damn it, no.

  Her lack of response only increased his sense of urgency. He kissed her harder, deeper, forcing her lips apart, searching for something that he feared was slipping through his fingers.

  Her lips were warm and soft, and tasted like honey, but it was all wrong.

  She doesn’t want this.

  He stopped.

  What the hell am I doing?

  He released her with a curse, staring at her in horror. He’d never done anything like that in his life. The thought of losing her was making him lose his mind.

  “God, Anna, I’m sorry.” His voice was rough and uneven from the harshness of his breath.

  He deserved the way she was looking at him—as if he were scum beneath her heel. “I never thought you were a brute. But it seems you are well placed with your usurping king. You just take what you want.”

  “Anna, I—”

  “Just go,” she said bitterly. “The best thing you can do is go. You’ve done enough damage already.” Her eyes met his, challenging. “You didn’t honestly think I could ever forgive you for this, did you?”

  It was a confirmation of his worst fears. He’d been a fool. He’d let his emotions color his perception of reality. Because he wanted her so badly, he’d let himself believe a future could be possible. But there had never been a chance for them. She would never forgive what duty, honor, and loyalty demanded he do.

  His gaze locked on hers, searching for any sign of weakness, but her eyes met his, cold and unflinching. The lack of tears, of anger, of emotion, left no doubt. It was over. God, it was really over.

  He’d always known this moment might come, but he’d never expected to feel such helplessness and despair. He’d never expected it to hurt like this. He felt as if he were being ripped to shreds inside and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  “I love you, Anna. I will always love you. Nothing will ever change that. I hope one day you will understand that I never meant to hurt you.”

  Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch her cheek one more time. But she jerked away from him as if he were a leper, and his hand fell to his side.

  “Goodbye,” he said, and then with one last look that he would have to hold on to for a lifetime, he turned and walked away.

  He would never forget how she looked at that moment. Small. Alone. Achingly beautiful, with her long golden hair tumbling around her shoulders in shimmering waves and her delicate features cast in the opalescent glow of the shadow of the moonlight.

  So fragile she could shatter like glass.

  But resolved. Painfully resolved.

  His chest felt as if it were on fire, the burning intensifying with every step. He felt as though he were walking through the fires of hell, the weight of each footfall sheer agony. He couldn’t quiet the sensation that it was wrong to leave her like this. That if he didn’t do something right now it would be too late. He made it halfway to the stables before he turned around.

  But it was too late. She was already gone.

  He glanced to the top of the stairs leading to the donjon tower, catching a glimpse of golden hair streaming out behind her like a banner before disappearing behind the door.

  When it closed, it seemed as if something inside him had closed as well. For good. It was a part of him that should never have been opened in the first place.

  This was what he got for letting himself get involved. He was meant to be alone. He should never have forgotten that.

  He tried to ignore the emptiness burning in his chest. He had to stop thinking about her. He needed to focus on the task at hand. But images of her face kept flashing through his mind. Haunting him. Distracting him.

  He entered the stables, quickly readying his horse. Volunteering for the night patrol was proving doubly fortuitous—not only would it serve as an excuse for him to get out of the castle, but it also meant he didn’t have to waste time returning to the barracks. His important belongings he had on him: his mail and his weaponry. The extra clothing and few personal items he could leave behind.

  His plan had changed. He needed to leave for good now—even if it meant Lorn learned his plan had been compromised. Anna learning the truth had left him no options. He could not risk the chance that she would change her mind.

  He spent no more than five minutes in the stables. All he could think about was getting out of there and putting distance between them. It was better this way, he told himself. He’d been fine on his own before; he’d be fine again.

  He didn’t make it out of the stables. His senses alerted him
, but not in time. Once again his emotions had distracted him. Though this time it wouldn’t have made any difference.

  He opened the stable door to find himself surrounded. John of Lorn and his son Alan beside him were flanked by at least two dozen guardsmen with swords drawn.

  Arthur’s jaw clenched against the gut-stabbing pain. He couldn’t believe it. Anna had given him up.

  Perhaps he should have expected it, but he hadn’t thought her capable. He’d underestimated her love for her father and overestimated her love for him.

  It shouldn’t feel like so much of a betrayal.

  But it did.

  Lorn lifted an indolent brow. “Going somewhere, Campbell?”

  “Aye,” Arthur said casually—as if he didn’t have armed men surrounding him. “I’m joining the team on the night’s patrol.” He glanced around meaningfully, not having to feign his outrage. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Lorn smiled, though his expression held no humor. “I’m afraid you are going to be detained for a bit. There are a few matters we need to clear up.”

  Arthur took a step forward. He heard the slink and clatter of mail as the guardsmen around him responded to the perceived threat, lifting their swords and closing in tighter around him.

  But it wasn’t necessary. He was trapped. He might be able to fight his way through two dozen men circled around him with swords poised at his neck, but the gate was already locked for the night. He wouldn’t be able to get past it before the entire castle was roused.

  There was no way out.

  His gaze flickered to Alan, but he would get no help from that direction. His gaze was as hard and unrelenting as his father’s, albeit without the glitter of steely malevolence.

  Every instinct urged him to fight. To pull his sword from its scabbard and take a few of Lorn’s men with him. But he forced himself to stay calm. Not to do anything foolish. His mission had to come first. If there was a chance in hell that he could escape to warn Bruce, he had to take it. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. He couldn’t be sure how much she’d told them.

  “Can it wait?” he said. “The men are waiting for me.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Lorn said. With a wave of his hand, two of his strongest men stepped forward to grab Arthur by the arms. “Take him to the guard room. Search him.”

  Ah hell. There would be no talking his way out of this.

  He’d forgotten about the note. The message he’d planned to leave in the cave for the king tonight. A small slip of paper folded in his sporran with three words that would seal his fate: Attack, 14th, Brander.

  Although perhaps his fate had been sealed two months ago. The moment he’d come face-to-face with the girl he’d rescued in an ill-fated attack. The girl who could unmask him.

  With a fierce battle cry that tore through the night, Arthur let instinct take over. Bàs roimh Gèill—Death before Surrender. He fought like a wildman, taking five men down before he fell beneath the pommel of Alan MacDougall’s sword.

  As blackness closed over him, he knew it wasn’t over yet. And it was about to get worse.

  They wanted him alive.

  Twenty-three

  Her heart shouldn’t feel as if it were breaking.

  Anna wanted him to go. He’d lied to her. Betrayed her. Used her. He wanted to destroy everything that was important to her. How could he think there would ever be a chance for them?

  He’d even tried to turn their passion against her. As if a kiss could make her forget what he’d done. She’d hated him at that moment. Hated him for sullying something that was beautiful and pure.

  She told herself this was what she wanted. But when he’d turned his back on her and walked away, the ice in her heart started to crack.

  He was leaving. Leaving.

  She would never see him again.

  Oh God. She held herself stone still, not daring to move, but her insides started to shudder. She felt as if she were a thin pane of glass being battered by a violent storm of emotions. On the surface strong, but in reality fragile. One hard blow and she would shatter into thousands of tiny pieces.

  After what he’d done, she shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t hurt so much. The pain. The burning. The despair. The feeling that her heart was being ripped out of her. The intensity of emotion seemed like weakness. She was strong. Where was her pride? She was a MacDougall.

  But right now all she felt like was a girl who was watching the man she loved walk away from her forever.

  Unable to bear it a moment longer—and fearing what he would see if he turned around—she ran. Ran as fast as she ever had up the stairs, until she reached the safety of her chamber. There, careful not to wake her sleeping sisters, she collapsed on her bed, pulled the covers over her head, and crumpled like a poppet of rags. Only then did she let her emotions break through in silent sobs that seemed wrenched from her soul.

  Sensing her distress, Squire curled up beside her. She hugged the puppy to her, the warm, furry ball of unconditional love her loyal companion during the long, miserable night.

  I love you.

  She couldn’t get the words out of her head. He’d sounded so sincere. But he’d lied about everything else, so how could she believe him? Even if it was true, it shouldn’t matter.

  Over and over she replayed what had happened in her mind, recalling every word of his explanation—justification—whatever it was he was trying to make.

  It was bad enough that they were on opposite sides of a war, but did he honestly expect her to understand that he had to destroy her clan? Kill her father, the man she admired most in the world? All for some kind of revenge?

  Justice, he’d called it.

  She didn’t want to listen to his explanations or understand his reasons. Nor did she believe the horrible lies he’d spouted about her father for one moment. Her father could never have killed a man so dishonorably.

  He’ll do anything to win. She pulled the pillow tighter around her ears, wanting the feathers to block it out.

  Ask him, Arthur had challenged.

  She didn’t need to ask him; she knew the truth.

  But Arthur had been so certain about what he’d seen …

  Anna slid out of her bed as the first rays of dawn spilled across the floor. After hurrying through her morning ablutions, she slipped past her sisters on her way out of the chamber.

  She knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to prove Arthur wrong. Then she’d be able to put this behind her and stop the miserable aching in her heart.

  The trestle tables had yet to be set out, and some of the men were still stirring from their pallets in the Great Hall, as she rushed to her father’s solar. Though it was not yet an hour past dawn, she knew her father would be up. He barely slept when readying for battle.

  She heard his voice as she neared the entry. “I don’t care how long it takes, I want to know the names.”

  “I don’t know how much more he can—”

  Alan stopped abruptly, seeing her enter the room. One look at his face and she knew something was wrong.

  Her father was seated behind the table, his henchman, the captain of his guard, and her brother Alan standing before him. His gaze narrowed angrily upon seeing her. The others seemed to look away, almost as if they were avoiding meeting her gaze.

  Thinking her father’s anger was because of her interruption, she bid a hasty retreat. “I’m sorry. I will return when you are done.”

  “Nay,” her father said. “I want to talk to you. We’re finished here.” To Alan he said, “No more excuses. Get me what I want. Whatever it takes.”

  Alan’s mouth fell in a thin line, but he nodded. Anna felt a prickle of unease when he left the room without a word or even a glance.

  She took a seat on the bench opposite her father, folding her hands in her lap. The intensity of his gaze was making her vaguely uncomfortable. He was angry, and it wasn’t about the interruption.

  “If you have something to tell me, yo
u are too late.”

  Her heart sank. “T-tell you?”

  He pulled a folded piece of paper from his sporran and tossed it on the table before her. A chill swept across the back of her neck when she recognized the map. “Aye,” he said. “Like where you’d seen this before.”

  Shame flooded her cheeks. How had he found out?

  He answered her question for her. “Your reaction. Looking for him right away confirmed the source.”

  Had her father been watching them the whole time? Nay, maybe in the courtyard, but he couldn’t have seen them in the garden—it wasn’t visible from the Hall. Yet he’d obviously seen enough.

  “I expected better from you, Anna.”

  She bowed her head, his disappointment cutting sharply. She had no excuse. She wanted to say she hadn’t been sure, but she had. The moment she’d seen the map, she’d known he was a spy. “I’m sorry, Father. I wanted to give him a chance to explain.”

  Her father’s voice was as biting as a whip. “And did he ‘explain’ to your satisfaction?”

  She shook her head. Though she knew she had a duty to tell him everything, the words were still difficult to say. Arthur was gone, she reminded herself. “He is loyal to Bruce.” She paused, peering up at him cautiously. “He said that Bruce has won the hearts of the people. That he is Scotland’s best chance to be free of English tyranny for good. And that we are going to lose and should submit.”

  Her father’s face turned red with rage. “And you believed him? Arthur Campbell would have said anything to gain your sympathy. You foolish girl, he was using you to escape. We will never submit and we will not lose.”

  She wondered at his certainty and bit her lip, hesitating to mention the rest. Her father was angry enough with her. But she had to put this behind her. “He claims that he was there when you killed his father and saw the whole thing.”

  The slight flicker in his gaze could have been anything, but her heart stopped.

  “That’s impossible,” he dismissed. “I don’t know what he saw, but Colin Mor and I had fallen away from the group. We were alone when we fought. In any event, I have never denied that he fell by my sword. Or that my victory for our clan was the cause of the Campbells losing their lands around Loch Awe. If Arthur Campbell harbors vengeance for that, it cannot be helped—but it is no excuse.”