Free The Ranger by Monica McCarty Page A

laughing. If she only knew. Fortune was the last thing he would bring John of Lorn.
    He wasn’t a knight, he was only playing one. He was a Highlander. The only code he lived by was win. Kill or be killed.
    Suddenly, an older, plumper version of her sister Lady Mary appeared at her side.
    “There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
    “What is it, Mother?”
    The note of worry in Anna’s voice bothered him. She shouldn’t be upset.
    “The men are talking about that horrible Robert Bruce again.” The still-beautiful older woman twisted her hands anxiously. “Your father is getting angry.” Fear crept into her voice. “You need to do something.”
    Anna muttered something under her breath that sounded like “St. Columba’s bones.” When a frown gathered between her mother’s eyes, in an expression distinctly like her daughter’s, Arthur realized he’d heard her right. “Don’t worry,” Anna said, giving her mother’s hands a pat. “I’ll take care of it.”
    He suspected she took care of quite a lot.
    Her mother glanced over at him, seeming to realize she’d interrupted. She flashed him an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to wait for the next dance.”
    There wasn’t a hint of embarrassed color in Anna’s cheeks when her gaze slid over him. “There is no dance,” she said firmly. “Sir Arthur was just leaving.”
    Though there was nothing discourteous in her voice, Arthur knew he had just been dismissed. Without another glance, Anna followed her mother through the crowd.
    He watched her longer than he should have, telling himself he should be happy. This was what he’d wanted. It would be for the best.
    But it wasn’t happiness he felt at all. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was regret.

    It was hours later when Anna knocked on the door of her father’s solar.
    He bid her enter, then upon seeing it was her, dismissed his
luchd-taighe
guardsmen.
    She waited for the clansmen to leave before coming forward. “You wished to see me, Father?”
    John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, was seated behind a large wooden table and motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite him. After the exhaustion of the feast, she did so willingly. It had to be near midnight.
    Her father’s serving man had caught her just before she retired for the evening. Though she could barely keep her eyes open, and every bone in her body ached, she didn’t think about refusing. A summons by her father could not be ignored. So she’d donned a velvet fur-lined robe to cover her chemise and hurried to his solar, wondering why he wanted to see her so late. Maybe, like Alan, he wanted to praise her for her efforts tonight?
    He gave her a long look. “I have something I should like you to do for me.”
    She tried not to feel disappointed. Her father had too many things on his mind, too many people to worry about, to concern himself with the feast. She knew he appreciated her; he didn’t need to tell her. She should have realized it would be something important to call for her this late at night.
    “Of course,” she said without hesitation. “Do you wish me to visit your cousin the Bishop of Argyll again?”
    He shook his head, a wry smile curving his mouth. “Nay, not this time.” He paused, giving her a knowing look. “I noticed you speaking with one of the new knights earlier.”
    She bit her lip uncertainly. “I spoke to many of the men. Did I do something wrong? I thought you would wish me to help welcome the new arrivals.”
    He brushed off her worries. “You did nothing wrong. Before your mother sent you over to distract me with all those foolish questions ...” He gave her a forbidding frown, but she simply grinned, not bothering to deny it. They were foolish, but she couldn’t think of anything other than food on the spur of the moment. “...  I noticed you talking to one of the Campbells.”
    Her smile fell.
That
new knight. “Sir Arthur,” she provided, keeping