The Ranger Read online

  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.”