"Are you all right?"
Lord, what a voice! It wrapped around her as firmly as his embrace. Deep and rich, with just the right amount of huskiness. It was a voice to resonate from halls and hilltops. She might have listened more intently to this morning's sermon if Father Gilbert had a voice like that.
"I'm fine," she said dazedly. Actually she felt a little lightheaded. She looked up, blinking to clear the stars from her eyes, and gasped again.
It was the young knight she'd noticed a few days ago. The one who'd caught her staring at him. Sir Arthur Campbell.
Her cheeks fired. She didn't know what had caught her attention that day, but she felt it all over again. The strange little spike in her pulse. The flash of warmth that spread over her skin. The nervous flutter in her stomach.
There was something different about him. A feeling she couldn't quite describe. It was as if there were an undercurrent of intensity emanating from him.
He was undeniably handsome, although she hadn't noticed it right away. Sir Arthur's quiet, unassuming good looks were not as immediately apparent as his brother's. His brother had the kind of bold good looks that were impossiblenotto notice.
Like that gorgeous man from the night at the church a year ago--the one who'd called off the attack when he'd recognized her "rescuer." Even with the black smudges on his face, she didn't think she'd ever seen a man so exceptionally well formed. But he was a rebel, so his appeal had tarnished quickly.
Strange that she'd thought of that night again. It was the second time this week. She thought she'd put that terrifying episode behind her and had stopped looking at every man as if he could be the one. The man who was both a traitor and her savior.Ranger. What kind of name was that? Rangers were men who roamed across the countryside to protect and instill law and order--hardly fitting for a spy.
Or was it? From her account and description of that night, her father suspected the two men might have been part of Bruce's secret band of phantom warriors. Part bogeyman, part mythological hero, the warriors had sent waves of terror through the English and their Scottish allies.
Right now all she could think about was the man holding her. He smelled divine. Warm and soapy from the bath he must have just taken. His dark hair was still damp, curling in loose waves at his neck and forehead. He'd shaved, although she could still see the shadow of his beard along his strong, chiseled jawline.
Chiseled described him well. All hard angles and rough cuts. Blatantly masculine in a way that had never appealed to her before. She preferred men more refined in manner and appearance.
She didn't usually look at warriors. They reminded her too much of war.
But he was undeniably a warrior. Build like a siege engine, if the steely muscles in his arms were any indication. Funny that she hadn't noticed how tall and muscular he was the first time she'd seen him. But then again, with all that mail and armor, knights pretty much all looked the same to her.
Anna wasn't particularly short for a woman, but she had to crank her head back to look up at him. Heavens, he must be at least four inches over six feet! And his shoulders were nearly as wide as the entry into the hall.
Their eyes met.
She felt a shock reverberate through her. She'd never seen eyes that color before. Amber with flecks of gold. Not brown, as she'd thought. And framed by ridiculously long, soft lashes to inspire envy in any woman's heart.
She saw the flicker of recognition before he released her.
Dropped her, actually. So suddenly that she avoided that hard landing on her bottom by only the narrowest and most ungainly of margins. She stumbled back, waved her arms like some kind of clucking chicken, and--thankfully--managed to find her balance.
So much for impressing him with her grace. Not that his expression indicated the slightest chance of impressing him.
A young man had never looked at her with such ... blatant indifference. Good thing she wasn't vain. Or at least she hadn't thought she was, but she had to admit feeling a little sting of something right now.
Realizing she was looking up at him like some moonstruck girl right out of the convent, she quickly lowered her gaze. He couldn't have made his disinterest more plain. He'd nearly dropped her, for heaven's sake! Maybe he'd missed the gallantry part of knight's training.
Trying to muster some semblance of composure, she smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you standing there."
He gave her a long look that seemed to hold a hint of arrogant impatience. "Obviously."
Her smile fell. She furrowed her brow, not sure what to say next. Awkward moments were uncharted seas for her. Apparently, he wasn't much of a conversationalist. "I was late," she explained.
He stepped back to allow her to move past him. "Then don't let me detain you any further."
Though he kept his voice neutral and there was nothing wrong with his words on the surface, she felt the distinct nip of coldness.
He doesn't like me.
Suddenly feeling like a fool, Anna hurried past him. What did she care if he liked her or not? A warrior was the very last type of man to interest her. She'd had enough war to last her a lifetime. Peace. Quiet. A happy home and a husband whose conversation didn't revolve around war and weaponry. Children. That's what her future held.
Right before getting swallowed up by the large crowd swarming the Great Hall, she chanced a glance over her shoulder.
