She could have sworn she heard him mumble “heaven help me” as he turned and walked away.
Well, heaven wasn’t going to help him today. Today she would have her kiss—and the promise of the man she’d given her heart to many years before.
* * *
What the hell was Annie doing here? Her brother was half-crazed to risk taking her from the safety of the Lomond Hills. Although “safety” was a relative term when it came to the MacGregors. There wasn’t anywhere that was truly safe for the hunted clan. But the wild, inhospitable countryside north of Loch Katrine that stretched to the Braes of Balquhidder was about as close as it came. There were few men brave enough to venture into the wolves’ own den.
The Campbells and their leader, the Earl of Argyll, might not agree, but Alasdair MacGregor, the MacGregor of Glenstrae, didn’t need a piece of paper to claim title to those lands. He held them by the right of sword and wouldn’t relinquish them easily.
But if Niall were honest with himself, he’d admit that safety wasn’t the only reason for the fierceness of his reaction—or the black mood that seemed to suddenly darken the sunny day. It was the feeling of being caught. Of knowing he couldn’t hide. Of being forced to confront something that he would rather ignore.
What was between him and Annie… he wanted to keep it that way forever. He wanted to bottle it up and protect it from the stench of duty and responsibility.
But they weren’t children anymore—as both her brother and his liked to remind him—and he could no longer pretend otherwise. It had become harder and harder to resist the temptation that being with her brought. He knew just how close to kissing her he’d come last time, and that would have been a disastrous mistake—in more ways than one.
Even if he wished this moment would never come, he knew it was here. And that was the real reason for Niall’s anger.
Still, he couldn’t completely ignore the spike of pleasure at seeing her. There had never been another woman who could make him feel the way that Annie did. It wasn’t her beauty. Although he wasn’t blind; he’d noticed that the adorable ten-year-old scamp with tangled hair and freckled cheeks who had leveled a boy half a head taller than her with a punch to the nose had grown into a young woman of exceptional beauty.
It was just that her looks had never been what had attracted him. It was the fierceness of her spirit, the brash stubbornness, the indelible pride, and the girlish mischievousness—not the stunning green of her eyes, the golden glow of her complexion, or the dark, whisky-colored locks that flowed down her back in a tumble of silk-smooth and veryuntangled waves. Nor was it the strength of her long, slender limbs, the curve of her hips, or the lush roundness of her breasts—although those sure as hell had caused him a lot of pain and long, sleepless nights the past couple of years.
No, Annie was as wild and strong as the land that her clan fought so hard to hold on to. Whatever excess confidence and arrogance he might be accused of having, she met him step-by-step. She’d captivated him from the first moment he’d seen her, even though he’d only been a lad of fourteen.
There was no one like her.
But she wasn’t for him.
He knew that. He just didn’t want to have to think about it.
Niall didn’t have any desire for a wife as yet—he was only one and twenty, for God’s sake—but when he did marry, it was his duty to make it a good one. His marriage would be a political alliance brokered to better the clan. And the outlawed MacGregors—even if Iain MacGregor was one of his best friends and he respected the hell out of Patrick MacGregor—weren’t a clan that anyone wanted to be connected with right now. Especially the Lamonts. The longtime bond between the two clans had already cast Campbell suspicion in the Lamont direction. A bond of marriage would only make that scrutiny worse.
Marrying a MacGregor wouldn’t just be a failure of Niall’s duty to his clan, it could also be dangerous.
His brother Malcolm, who like their father had pointed this out more than once, hadn’t missed the exchange across thebarmkin. “You have to tell her. It isn’t fair to the lass.”
“Tell her what? I’ve never made her any promises.”
Niall knew he sounded like an arse—a defensive arse—which was appropriate since that’s how he felt. But Malcolm’s pitying look made it feel as if his skin was being peeled back and salt rubbed in it.
“Maybe not, but sometimes verbal promises aren’t necessary. That lass has loved you for years. And despite your efforts to prove otherwise lately, I don’t think you are as unattached as you want to be.”
Niall’s jaw clamped down. He didn’t need his older brother lecturing him on having a little fun—Malcolm did his share of sowing his wild oats—and any attachment he might feel was irrelevant. People of their station didn’t marry for “attachment.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Malcolm said. “I wish it could be different.”
Niall held his brother’s gaze, and seeing nothing but compassion, could only nod. “Me, too.”
The words hurt to admit. It felt as if they’d had to be pried out from between his ribs with an iron crow.
The two men had crossed the yard to where the other contestants were gathered, so the conversation came to a happy end. But all too soon Niall was forced to remember it when Annie—looking exceptionally pretty in a colorfularisaidh—cornered him as he was walking back to the great hall from the archery practice area.
Before he could stop her, she grabbed his hand and dragged him into the castle herb garden. Unfortunately for him, it was located in a private corner of thebarmkin, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.
Like a coward, he’d looked.
Barely had she let his hand go, and he’d recovered his senses before she turned on him in a huff. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
“What do you mean?”
