She tilted her head, tiny lines appearing between her brows. “Other rewards? What kind of other rewards?”
He didn’t say anything, but all of a sudden the answer seemed to come to her. She gasped, the stricken expression on her face giving away too much. “A bride? You’ve been promised a bride?”
He gave a short nod of acknowledgment.
“Who?”
One of the greatest heiresses in the Western Highlands—Lachlan MacRuairi’s half sister, the Lady Christina of the Isles. “I don’t know,” he lied. “Someone suitable will be found after the war is over.”
Not for the first time, he wished she would hide her emotions better. The pained look on her face made him want to do something rash, like take her in his arms and make promises that he could never keep.
“I see,” she said in a small voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He gave her a long look. “Like you told me?”
She flinched. Apparently she’d forgotten where they were going. But he hadn’t. With every mile that brought them closer to Auldearn and Ross, Arthur felt the restlessness teeming inside him building and building. He knew he had to do something to prevent this alliance—for his mission, he told himself—but what?
Perhaps he wouldn’t need to do anything at all. Perhaps Ross would refuse the renewed talks of a betrothal.
But one look at her sweet face and Arthur knew he was dreaming. Sir Hugh would snatch her up in an instant.
His jaw hardened, and he held out his hand. “Come, we should return. It’s getting late, and we have a long day tomorrow.”
She slipped her hand in his and warmth spread through him. He felt … content. As if there was nothing more natural than her small hand in his. Every instinct clamored to hold on and not let go.
Instead, he let her fingers slide from his. They walked back to camp in silence.
They’d said enough already. Perhaps they’d said too much.
Fourteen
“Is something wrong with your meal?”
The sound of Sir Hugh’s voice startled Anna out of her reverie. How long had she been staring absently into her trencher, flaking tiny chips of crust off her bread without saying anything?
An embarrassed flush rose to her cheeks as she tried to cover her gaffe with a smile. “Nay, it’s delicious.” To prove it, she popped a bit of beef in her mouth, feigning enjoyment she did not feel. When she finished chewing, she apologized. “I fear I am still tired from our journey, and poor company this evening.”
They’d arrived at Auldearn two nights ago. The final day of their journey had been exhausting, but—thankfully—uneventful. If she’d secretly hoped for another chance to speak with Sir Arthur alone before they arrived, she was to be disappointed. He hadn’t avoided her, but neither had he sought her out.
Something had changed that night at the loch; at least it had for her. He’d let her see a part of him that she sensed he didn’t often reveal. A part of him that might need her. And most importantly, he hadn’t pushed her away.
Oh, why hadn’t he pushed her away? It would have made it so much easier. Misery rose inside her; she fought the hot swell to her eyes and throat.
That was all she needed to do, start crying in the middle of the meal like an unstable, lovesick maid. That would be sure to impress Sir Hugh.
Though young, only a year past her two and twenty, Sir Hugh Ross was big, imposing, and rakishly handsome, from the bridge of his finely shaped patrician nose to the tip of his short, pointed beard. But the proud knight seemed far older than his years. Self-possessed and confident, with the arrogance of a prince—which, given his rank among Scotland’s noblemen, wasn’t that far off—he seemed almost too controlled. Stiff. Humorless. With that cold, ruthless look particular to men of his station.
He gave her an understanding smile, but it did little to soften his hard-edged countenance. “Of course, it is to be expected after such an exhausting pace and nearly coming face-to-face with a party of rebels.” His face darkened. “Bruce should be stripped of his spurs for becoming leader to such a band of cateran pirates.” His steely-eyed gaze shifted to her. “You were very fortunate you were warned in time to get away.” He stroked his beard, watching her. She couldn’t take her eyes from his big, thick-boned hands. Hands that could crush or kill as easily as she snapped a twig. “It was Sir Arthur Campbell, was it not? The rebel Neil Campbell’s youngest brother?”
Anna nodded, feeling uncomfortably self-conscious. The nervousness she experienced in Sir Hugh’s presence that had initially caused her to refuse the betrothal had only grown worse since they’d arrived. Smiling and responding to his polite attempts at conversation was a struggle.
He had a way of looking at her as though he could read her thoughts. Had she given something away? She hadn’t looked in Sir Arthur’s direction since they’d arrived. At least she thought she hadn’t. But she was keenly aware that he’d been watching her. Which probably explained some of her jumpiness. Wooing one man under the fierce glare of another wasn’t easy. But it had to be done. Even if she wished it differently.
And she did wish it differently. The past few days had told her how much. She was scared to put a name on her feelings for Arthur for fear of what she would discover.
“We were very fortunate,” she said, sensing that Sir Hugh was waiting for her to say something.
Anna didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d never had this kind of problem talking to anyone.
She tried to control the shaking of her hands, but the intensity of his stare made her drop the piece of bread she’d been holding. It fell on the table beside her goblet. She reached for it at the same time he did, and their hands touched. Before she could jerk it away, he covered her fingers with his own.
Her pulse spiked with something akin to panic. Like a bird caught in a cage, her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.
“You’re nervous,” he said, releasing her fingers and handing her back her bread.
Her cheeks burned.
“You’ve nothing to fear, Lady Anna,” he said, amused. “I’m quite harmless.”
The expression on her face must have registered her utter disbelief. He took one look at her and chuckled mildly. “Well, maybe not completely harmless.”
The unexpected show of humor made her smile, and for the first time, Anna felt herself begin to relax. She gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes. “You are rather … imposing, my lord.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment even though I don’t think you meant it as one.” He leaned closer to whisper. “How about if I endeavor to be imposing to everyone but you? With you I will be quite harmless. It will be our secret.”
She dimpled, unable to resist his charm. Sir Hugh Ross charming? She wouldn’t have believed it. Was there more to the humorless nobleman than she’d realized?
“I believe I should like that, my lord.” She felt a smidgen of her boldness return. “Perhaps it would help if you smiled more.” She glanced up at him then. Yes, when he smiled he didn’t seem quite so intimidating.
He grinned, his gaze seeking hers out. “I shall do that.” He paused. She watched his fingers trace the carved stem of his goblet in a soft, lazy way that was almost sensual. Some of her discomfort returned.
“I’m very happy that you decided to journey north, Lady Anna.”
Her blush intensified; she hadn’t missed his meaning. He was amenable to the renewed talk of a betrothal. She knew she should be relieved. It was what she’d come for. It might help save her family.
Then why did it feel like something hard had just lodged in her chest?
She nodded shyly, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, fearing that he would see too much. Her chest squeezed, feeling the noose of her future pulling tighter and tighter.
Her personal feelings didn’t matter. She should be happy knowing she’d done her part to help her family. That would be reward enough. Wouldn’t it?
When he turned to motio
n a passing serving girl to refill their goblets with wine, her gaze unconsciously slipped to Arthur’s.
She knew where he was without looking. The heat of his anger seemed to penetrate across the room.
Their eyes caught for only an instant, but it was long enough to feel the force of his rage like a smith’s bellows. He usually kept his emotions so tightly wrapped that she’d wondered if they were even there. No more. She’d never seen him so raw and fierce. He looked like a man holding himself by a very tight rein.
She turned away, shaken by the intensity of the emotions that came over her.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t looked away fast enough, and Sir Hugh observed something of the exchange. She felt him stiffen beside her, his gaze narrowing on Sir Arthur. “Campbell doesn’t look too happy with our arrangement. I don’t like the way he watches you.” His gaze shifted back to her, one brow cocked in a way that was anything but lazy. “Is there something I should know, Lady Anna?”
She cursed Arthur for his recklessness. He was going to ruin everything. And for what? He’d had more than enough time to make his feelings—if he had any—known. And now she didn’t have a choice. Her father was counting on her.
Still, she hesitated. If there was a time to change her mind, it was now. Her heart tugged in one direction and her duty and love for her family tugged in another. The conversation with Sir Arthur came back to her. Hearing him speak of losing the war had shaken her. She took a deep breath and forced away all her doubts. Her personal feelings didn’t matter. She had to do this. When Bruce came, they would have a better chance with Ross and his men by their side.
She shook her head. “Nay, there is nothing you should know.”
The certainty in her voice must have convinced him. He nodded. “Good.” He held out his hand for hers. “Come, there is something I should like to show you. And I believe there are some things we should discuss.”
Anna ignored the pain twisting in her chest and smiled—albeit tremulously. Without another glance, she slid her hand into his and allowed him to lead her from the Great Hall, her future all but decided.
This was how it felt to lose control.
This was how it felt to want something so badly he’d be willing to kill for it. Not for right or wrong or on a battlefield, but for the pure satisfaction of seeing another man at the end of his blade.
Arthur wanted to kill Hugh Ross. He wanted to kill him for looking at her. For touching her. For the lustful thoughts that were surely running through the bastard’s mind. If Ross’s gaze dropped to her chest one more time, Arthur didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself. A spear right between the eyes from across the room. He could do it blindfolded.
Standing aside the past two days, being forced to watch as another man wooed the woman who wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, was like a slow, agonizing descent into madness.
Arthur was waging a losing war. His attempt to remain indifferent—to focus on his mission—wasn’t working. All his training and years of battle experience hadn’t prepared him for this. Watching Anna with Hugh Ross was tearing him apart.
But tonight had pushed him over the edge. When he’d seen Ross cover her hand with his, Arthur had been inches away from storming over there and punching his fist through the other man’s teeth. To hell with subterfuge.
They’d been laughing together, damn it. Laughing.
Arthur had half-convinced himself she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Her wariness of the heralded knight hadn’t exactly been hard to see the past two days. But he’d underestimated her resolve—and Sir Hugh’s charm.
When Ross leaned closer to whisper in her ear, Arthur’s fists clenched. It wasn’t until he looked down and noticed his bloodless knuckles that he realized how hard he’d been squeezing his cup. Good thing it was made of wood or he might have crushed it.
He cursed, knowing he had to do something. He had to think of his mission. Sir Hugh wasn’t wasting any time—not that Arthur blamed him. If Arthur didn’t do something to prevent the alliance, it would be too late.
He tossed back the contents of his drink. The amber-colored uisge-beatha burned its way down his throat, but it did nothing to calm the restlessness raging inside him.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Campbell? You look like you want to kill someone.” Alan MacDougall’s gaze slid meaningfully to the dais. He knew exactly who Arthur wanted to kill. He leaned across the table. “Have care. I think our host has noticed your interest in my sister.”
Arthur didn’t embarrass himself by trying to deny it. Alan MacDougall might be the son of a cold-hearted despot, but he was no fool. “And you are here to order me to stand down?”
Too experienced to give anything away in his expression, the older warrior gave him a blank stare. “Do you want me to?”
Arthur’s jaw locked, his teeth clenching together. “You should,” he said in a rare moment of frankness. He would only bring her misery. If he were her brother, he would order him to Hades—and then send him there himself.
But if Anna’s brother thought there was anything odd about his reply, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled wryly. “I think it’s too late for that.”
Arthur took his eyes off Anna and Sir Hugh long enough to gaze at Alan sharply. He didn’t know what the hell Alan thought he knew, but he was wrong.
Wasn’t he?
Hell, he didn’t know anymore. His mission. Jealousy. His intense attraction to the lass. They’d all tangled together in a confusing mess. He tossed his cup back again.
Alan eyed his drink with amusement. “I thought you didn’t drink whisky.”
“I don’t,” Arthur said, motioning for the serving lass to refill his cup.
Alan had been watching him closer than he realized. It might have concerned him, if he hadn’t sensed something that shifted his attention back to the dais.
Every muscle went rigid as he watched Anna slip her hand into Ross’s. Rage surged through him as the other man leaned over to speak briefly to his father before leading her from the Hall.
Right before Hugh passed through the door, he glanced at Arthur. The taunting look in his eye made Arthur’s blood run cold.
Something akin to panic rose in his chest—which was ridiculous. He was an elite warrior. Detached. Controlled. His heart might be beating too fast, and he might not be able to think straight, but it damn well wasn’t panic.
But where the hell did she think she was going?
Ross—the lecherous whoreson—was obviously eager for the betrothal. Who knew what he would do to secure it? Didn’t Anna realize what could happen when she was alone with him? Arthur’s mind immediately went back to the barracks.
Ah, hell.
He managed to hold himself back for about thirty seconds before he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood to leave, but Alan stopped him by moving his leg around the edge of the table to block his exit. It wasn’t an accident.
At first Arthur thought he meant to stop him, but to his surprise the older warrior slowly adjusted his leg to allow him to pass. But not before giving him a warning. “If you do anything to hurt my sister, Campbell, I’ll have to kill you.”
Though he said it as calmly as if he were reporting on the weather, Arthur knew he meant every word.
Hell, if Alan MacDougall wasn’t his enemy and the son of a despot, he might actually like him.
He met the other man’s eyes and nodded, suspecting it was a promise he wasn’t going to be able to keep. To put an end to the betrothal and stop the alliance, hurting Anna had become inevitable.
Anna had expected Sir Hugh to take her outside to stroll around the barmkin, but instead he led her through the passageway to the donjon tower.
The Royal Castle of Auldearn had been built by William the Lion over a hundred years earlier. The donjon and adjoining Great Hall stood atop a large circular motte, surrounded by a wooden rampart. The stone wall around the bailey below provided an additional level of defense.
&nb
sp; Compared to the noise of the Great Hall, quiet punctuated the torchlit corridor. Anna was uncomfortably conscious of how alone they were. Although the last echoes of daylight still sounded on the horizon, the stone tower was already dark. The flickering flames from the torchieres that lined the walls provided little reassurance.
“W-where are we going?” she asked, ashamed of the trembling in her voice.
Sir Hugh gave her an enigmatic smile that made her wonder whether he was aware of his effect on her. “We’re almost there.”
He stopped before the door to the earl’s private solar. Opening the door, Anna was relieved to see it well lit by candles from a circular iron chandelier above.
Unfortunately, when Hugh led her across the room to another door, she realized this was not their final destination. The second room was bathed in darkness. Anna stood safely in the solar until Sir Hugh lit a few candles.
Then she gasped.
Nervousness forgotten, she rushed into the tiny room—not much larger than an ambry—and spun around in amazement. A lone table and bench stood sentry in the middle of the floor, but it was what lined the walls that filled her with awe. Shelves and shelves stacked with thick leather folios—some encrusted with gold, some with jewels. It was a treasure trove. More books than she’d ever seen in one place in her life.
Sir Hugh watched the incredulity and wonder transform her features. “I thought this might interest you.”
Anna clapped her hands in delight, her fingers practically itching to explore the titles. Dear Lord, that looked to be four volumes of Chrétien de Troyes!
“It’s magnificent.” She turned to him. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “You mentioned something about enjoying reading once.”