The Ranger

by Monica McCarty

  He cupped her chin, shaking his head. “Nay, love, but I promise that will change. No more lies. No more secrets.” He smiled crookedly. “You know the most dangerous of them, anyway.”

  That he was part of Bruce’s secret army. “Why do they call you Ranger?”

  There was a moment of awkwardness when he looked around the room for somewhere to sit and realized there was only the bed. But he sat down on the edge, indicating for her to sit beside him. She noticed that he was careful to keep a few inches between them as he explained.

  He’d been forced to leave training before the others to take his place as a spy. The decision to use war names had been made in his absence. Some of the names had been taken from jokes among the men, and others—like his—were derived from their skills.

  “So I was right,” she beamed. “I thought you would make a perfect scout.”

  He laughed. “Aye, though I wasn’t happy about it. I was trying to hide my abilities, but you seemed to have other ideas.”

  She was beginning to have other ideas now. She leaned a little closer to him, letting her breasts brush against his arm. “What will happen next?”

  He seemed to be holding himself very still. “Right now, I think I’d better leave. I shouldn’t be here alone with you like this. Not without a priest.”

  She laughed, and put her hand on his thigh. The heavy muscles flexed under her palm. “I don’t think I want a priest here with us.”

  His jaw clenched—actually, most of the muscles in his body seemed clenched. “I meant until after we are married.”

  “I rather think it’s too late to stand on ceremony, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t come up here to—” He stopped. “Damn it, Anna, stop that.” He covered her hand with his, stopping her exploratory little dip down his thigh. “I’m trying to do this right.”

  “Do you mean you didn’t do it right before?” She blinked with exaggerated innocence.

  He gave her a scolding look. “You know that’s not what I meant. It was bloody damned well perfect.”

  No more teasing. When she looked up at him again, she did so with all the love in her heart. “Please, Arthur, I need to feel that way again.”

  She needed the closeness. Needed the connection. Needed to know that everything was going to be all right.

  Her eyes flew open. “Unless you aren’t able. I forgot—”

  He stopped her with a searing kiss that tore through her soul. “I’m able, damn it.”

  And he proceeded to show her in painstaking detail just how able he was. Slowly, deeply, and tenderly, with all the love that was in his heart. And when the last shudders of pleasure had faded from her body, when he held her naked body to his bruised and battered one, Anna knew that in the arms of this strong, steady warrior she’d finally found her peace.

  Epilogue

  Dunstaffnage Castle, October 10, 1308

  Peace felt good—for Scotland and for Anna. Less than two months after her father’s defeat at Brander, Bruce had won the battle for Scotland’s nobles. Her grandfather, Alexander MacDougall, had submitted after a short siege of Dunstaffnage Castle, and the Earl of Ross had submitted a few days ago.

  That Bruce had allowed Ross to live, forgoing punishing the man responsible for the capture and ongoing imprisonment of his wife, daughter, sister, and the Countess of Buchan, was a testament to his desire to see Scotland—and its nobles—united.

  For the good of Scotland. Anna had to admit the philosophy impressed her. The man himself …

  Well, she was trying to keep an open mind. Years of allegiance did not switch in a matter of weeks. But what Bruce had planned for today would do much to change her mind. She knew how much it would mean to Arthur.

  Her gaze swept over the Great Hall, across the sea of celebrating clansmen. Some were familiar, but most were strangers. It would take time, but Anna vowed she would know them all.

  This would be her home. For his loyalty and service to Bruce, Arthur had been made keeper of Dunstaffnage Castle. His next mission, too, would keep him close. He’d be spending the next few months surveying the entirety of Lorn and Argyll and mapping his findings.

  Arthur slid his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Are you happy, my love?”

  She lifted her gaze to the man seated beside her at the dais, the man who only this morning had become her husband. Tears of joy filled her eyes as she looked upon his handsome features, which bore only faint traces of his ordeal. “Aye, how could I not be? You’ve finally made an honest woman of me, and perhaps I shall be able to look Father Gilbert in the eye again.”

  He laughed. The deep, rich sound, so much freer now, still had the power to send tingles of warmth skittering all over her. “I told you I should have left earlier.”

  Her lips turned down in a pout. “I was cold.”

  “I offered to put another blanket on the bed before I went.”

  “I didn’t want another blanket,” she said with the same stubbornness that had gotten her in trouble in the first place. She’d wanted him.

  She’d grown used to sleeping beside him at Innis Chonnel, and it had been difficult the past month when she’d returned to Dunstaffnage. Sneaking around wasn’t nearly as warm and cozy. And of course, the biggest problem with sneaking around was the potential for discovery—which was exactly what had happened last week when Father Gilbert caught Arthur leaving her room.

  He gave her a long, heated look. “You won’t need any blankets tonight.”

  Despite the fact that her innocence had been lost many times—and in many illuminating ways—over the past two months, she blushed.

  He bent closer. “Do you think they’ll notice if we leave now?”

  The soft whisper of his breath in her ear made her shiver. But it was his hand moving possessively—determinedly—down her thigh that sent soft bolts of heat pulsing between her legs.

  The brush of his finger reminded her of his tongue. And if she remembered his tongue, she would have to remember his mouth. And if she remembered his mouth, she would remember the way he’d woken her this morning—her wedding day, the irreverent brigand!—and made her weep with pleasure.

  And then she’d remember how she’d paid him back for the devilry by teasing him with her tongue. She’d remember the delicious salty taste of him. The velvety-soft column of hot flesh sliding deep and deeper into her mouth. How she’d milked him hard, drawing him with the suction of her mouth and circling the plump, heavy head with her tongue, until he was begging for release. How he’d finally lost control, holding her head to him as he pulsed deep in her mouth, his deep guttural cries of release ringing in her ears.

  Her body melted with the sweet warmth of arousal. Suddenly, she startled, remembering where they were.

  She swatted his hand away, hoping no one had been watching. Her eyes were half-lidded, for pity’s sake! She was supposed to be keeping him distracted, not the other way around. “We can’t leave. Not until—” She stopped, realizing she’d almost said too much. “We’re the guests of honor.”

  He frowned, looking down to the end of the table where there were a few empty seats.

  Nails to the cross! Her pulse spiked with panic. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed; there was nothing the too-observant man didn’t notice.

  She grabbed his hand. “Come, we should dance.”

  He frowned, not moving. “Is something wrong, Anna? You’re acting odd.”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course not. I just wish to dance.”

  A wry smile turned his mouth. “I’m afraid you’ll need to give me a few minutes.”

  “Why …?” He glanced down to his lap and her cheeks heated, seeing the heavy bulge. It seemed she hadn’t been the only one remembering.

  She glanced down the opposite end of the table to where Gregor MacGregor sat. He gave a subtle shake of his head and she turned back to her husband.

  He was frowning again. “Are you sure it’s not … I know you miss your family.”


  A bittersweet smile played upon her lips. “I do, but it doesn’t mean I’m not happy. And my grandfather is here.”

  She nodded toward the MacDougall chief, who sat a few seats away beside the king—or where the king had been sitting a minute ago.

  After the fall of the castle, her mother and sisters had been permitted to follow her father and brothers into exile, but Bruce wanted her grandfather’s support. Whether he would earn it from the old warrior, she did not know, but she was glad to have at least one member of her family here on her wedding day.

  And of course she had Squire. One day she’d force Arthur to tell her how he’d managed to sneak the puppy out of the castle when it was under siege. She’d blubbered like a fool when she saw him, having to explain to a confused Arthur that she was happy. He’d claimed to regret it every day since when the besotted puppy followed after him, but she knew he didn’t mind half as much as he pretended to. Accepting—nay, trusting—affection came easier to him now.

  That Arthur had gone to such efforts to see to her happiness had moved her beyond words.

  When he’d done the same with her brother Alan the day before the castle fell and her family had fled to England, she’d been nearly inconsolable with joy. Seeing her brother, knowing that he did not agree with her father’s decision and would not cut her off completely, was more than she could have hoped for. Alan was loyal to their father, but that loyalty did not come at the expense of his love for her.

  Aye, she had much to thank her new husband for.

  “And what of you, Arthur? I know you must be disappointed that not all your fellow guardsmen could be here.”

  Anna had not been told all the details about Bruce’s elite guard, nor did she ask, knowing that secrecy was what would keep her husband safe. But she knew they were the most elite warriors in Scotland—the best of the best in all disciplines of warfare. She’d always suspected there was something special about Arthur, but she’d never imagined how special.

  She’d figured out a few of their identities as well. Her uncle. The two men with him who’d helped to free Arthur—Gordon and MacKay. The ridiculously handsome Gregor MacGregor, who’d been part of the attack all those months ago—his face was one that was hard to forget. And it seemed she was correct to suspect that the fierce-looking Islander Tor MacLeod was one as well, as was the wickedly charming Norseman Erik MacSorley. Both men had been seated near the king with their wives, although now only the women remained.

  She might not know all the details, but she knew enough to understand how important these men were to him—even if he didn’t.

  But he would.

  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. “There is peace in the north, but along the borders there is still unrest. I’m sure they would have been here if they could. Gordon is to be married soon; perhaps I will see them all then.” He paused. “There is much to do before the king holds his first parliament next spring.” His gaze traveled to a table just below the dais. “I’m glad my brothers could be here. It’s the first time all of us have been in one room in years.”

  Sir Dugald and Sir Gillespie had submitted along with her grandfather and Ross; surprisingly, they seemed to harbor little ill will toward Arthur. But from the expression on Sir Dugald’s face as he argued with Sir Neil, the same could not be said of Dugald’s feelings toward his elder brother.

  “From the looks of it, maybe it could have waited a few more.”

  He chuckled. “They’ve always been like that. Fierce rivals even when they were lads. I think that’s why Dugald allied himself with the English for so long—so he wouldn’t have to follow orders from Neil. They’ll work it out. Eventually.”

  Anna could see him start to look around the room again. “Are you ready to dance?” she asked anxiously.

  He lifted a brow. “I’m ready to go to bed.”

  Unconsciously, her gaze shot to Gregor MacGregor again. Much to her relief, this time he nodded.

  When she turned back to Arthur, however, his eyes had narrowed. “Do you mind telling me why every time I mention bed, you look at MacGregor?”

  She blushed.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” he demanded angrily. “You’re up to something—and don’t try to tell me you’re not, I can feel it.”

  She lifted her chin, annoyed by his perceptiveness. “I thought I was supposed to be your blind spot.”

  “You are,” he gave a sharp wave of his hand, “but he’s not.”

  It wasn’t easy trying to surprise someone who picked up on every nuance, noticed every detail, and sensed every thing around him. He’d even noticed the changes in her body before she did—informing her that they had better move up the wedding or their child was going to be very large for two months early.

  She gave him a smug look. “You’re jealous.” She let her gaze slide back down the table, taking a long, considering look. “He’s quite handsome, your friend.”

  Arthur’s scowl only grew darker. “He won’t be so pretty much longer if you keep looking at him like that. And you’re stalling.”

  She gave up in a huff. “Very well, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “What to be a surprise?”

  A short walk outside the castle gates later, he discovered the reason for the subterfuge. Standing in a clearing before a single standing stone with the orange halo of the setting sun behind him, King Robert the Bruce stood in full kingly regalia. Flanking him, spread out like an iron wall, their features masked by the darkened nasal helms, were the other ten members of Bruce’s secret guard.

  Arthur stopped in his tracks, giving her a swift look of incredulity. “Did you have something to do with this?”

  She shook her head. “It was King Hoo—” She stopped at her husband’s look. “King Robert’s idea,” she amended, though it still didn’t fall easily from her tongue. “My mission was to distract you.” She made a face. “A mission it seems I failed.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I think you succeeded admirably.”

  She beamed. “Go. They’re waiting for you.”

  Arthur was finally going to have the ceremony he’d never had. The one denied him by his role as a spy. These men were a part of him, just as she was. She folded her hand over her stomach. And soon, as their babe would be.

  He gave her another kiss. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you.” Always. Just as he would always come back to her. The man who’d once looked at the door as though he wanted to leave had found the place he belonged. And in a world where peace was as fragile as a sliver of glass, Anna had found her rock.

  She watched him walk toward the others, a fierce swell of pride and happiness filling her chest. When he reached the others, she started to walk away.

  She’d made it only a few feet beyond the circle of trees, however, before two women stopped her.

  “Where are you going?” Tor MacLeod’s wife, Christina, asked in a hushed voice.

  Anna tried not to be awed by her beauty, but it was impossible. Christina was as exquisite and refined as a faerie princess—especially compared to her terrifying-looking husband. He looked torn out of the pages of some ancient Norse myth. “I … I thought I was not supposed to watch.”

  The second woman smiled. Though not in the same realm of beauty as Christina Fraser, there was something calm and pleasing about the brash seafarer Erik MacSorley’s wife, Elyne. Anna had been shocked to discover she was the daughter of the Earl of Ulster, a close friend to the English king. But she was also sister to King Robert’s imprisoned wife, Elizabeth. Another divided family, it seemed.

  “We’re not,” Elyne said. “But that’s not going to stop me. I didn’t get a chance to see my husband’s. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  “Won’t they be angry?” Anna asked.

  Christina gave her a saucy grin. “They’ll get over it. Besides, I want to see what kind of marking they give him.”

  Anna
gave her a perplexed look. “He already has one. It’s the lion rampant. I thought all the men had one.”

  “They do,” Christina answered. “But they decided to add to it after the spider in the cave. Have you heard the story?”

  Anna nodded. The story of Bruce’s spider in the cave had already become legend.

  “To honor the occasion, Erik decided to add a band around his arm like a torque,” Elyne said. “It looks like a spider web. Because he’s a seafarer, he incorporated a birlinn.” She smiled. “Once the other men saw it, they all decided to get one.” She laughed, rolling her eyes as if to say, Men.

  “Come.” Christina grabbed her hand and dragged her back through the trees. “It’s begun.”

  Together, the three women watched from the shadows as Arthur kneeled before the king, taking his rightful place among his fellow guardsmen—and friends.

  Steadfast, the sword the king gave him said. Anna couldn’t agree more.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Battle of the Pass of Brander was a key battle of the Wars of Scottish Independence. It stands not only as an example of the shift in Bruce’s war tactics (he ambushes the ambushers), but also harkens the precipitous fall in fortune of the MacDougalls and a shift of power in West Highland politics to another branch of descendants of Somerled, the MacDonalds, and to the Campbells, who were to profit from the MacDougalls’ misfortune.

  There is some disagreement among historians as to the time of Bruce’s Argyll campaign, when John of Lorn fled to Scotland, and the fall of Dunstaffnage Castle. I went with the more conventional date of the summer of 1308, but some have argued that the final capitulation of Argyll did not occur until 1309.

  Although I give a fictional account of the battle, I incorporated many of the actual events, including John of Lorn commanding his men from a birlinn in the loch as he was thought to be still recovering from the illness that had necessitated the truce the year before. When the attack failed, Lorn was said to have retreated down the loch to one of his castles.