Arthur's return to the castle--alone--wasn't as difficult to explain as he'd anticipated. Lorn was eager for a report of what his son had discovered of their enemies to the west.
The fight for supremacy between the three main branches of Somerled's descendants--the MacDonalds, MacDougalls, and MacRuairis--had dominated West Highland politics for years. The fight had narrowed, with the MacRuairis losing power when the previous chief had died, leaving his daughter Christina of the Isles as his only legitimate heir. Lachlan and his brothers were all bastards born (and in Lachlan's case, it was a title well earned).
Arthur's report from Ewen that the MacDonalds appeared to be mobilizing their forces along the western seaboard could hardly be a surprise, but it nonetheless provoked substantial fury and, though Lorn had tried to hide it, concern. But perhaps not as much as it should have, which made Arthur wonder what the scheming bastard had planned.
And now, thanks to his discovery at the priory, he knew just how to find out.
But, as it was already late in the evening when he'd returned to the castle, his reunion with Lady Anna would have to wait until morning. If he was anxious, he told himself it was only because he needed to find a good reason for what would appear to be a sudden turnaround: instead of avoiding her, he would be looking for reasons to be near her. But he didn't want to give the lass false hope. Despite the mistake he'd made in kissing her--and God, what a mistake that had been--a romantic relationship between them was impossible.
He knew it wasn't going to be easy. The lass had probably been thinking about that kiss for a week. God knows, he'd been unable to think of anything else.
Though he'd seen her across the yard of Ardchattan, when she walked into the Great Hall the next morning his senses fired as if seeing her for the first time. Everything seemed sharper, more intense. Never had he been so aware of anyone as he was at that moment of Lady Anna MacDougall.
He drank her in--every detail, every nuance, from the golden wisps of hair that had escaped the pale blue veil to frame her forehead and temples to the fine silk embroidered cote-hardie that hugged her curvy figure in all the right places.
Don't ...
His gaze dipped to her breasts. His mouth went dry. He could see (or maybe he just imagined) the faint outline of her nipples beading against the stretch of fabric.
The memories accosted him, sending a flood of heat surging to his groin. His cock swelled as he recalled the lush softness in his hand. How amazing it had felt to cup her and hold the weight of all that perfectly rounded flesh in his palm, as his thumb caressed the taut bead of her nipple. He swore inwardly, the all-too-visceral memories growing uncomfortable.
He was hot. Aroused. Hungry.
How the hell could he look at her and not remember how her body had felt pressed against him? How could he see the sensual pink bow of her mouth and not remember how sweet she'd tasted, how soft her mouth had felt under his, how deeply she'd responded, and how the erotic sensation of her tongue twisting against his had sent him into a whirlpool of desire stronger than anything he'd ever felt before? He'd never be able to look at the pale, baby-soft skin that had felt like velvet under his fingertips and not remember touching her.
Hell, what he wanted to do was toss her down on his bed, wrap her legs around his hips, and plunge into mindless oblivion.
Jesus, he needed to stop thinking about it. Stop torturing himself with things that were impossible. He'd always been able to cut himself off before, but with Anna it was different.
Shewas different. And it didn't make him happy to acknowledge it.
He was aware of his brother's scrutiny, but he couldn't turn away. With every step that brought her closer, his heart pounded harder, every nerve ending standing on edge as he steeled himself for the moment when she noticed him.
But as she drew near, he felt a prickle of unease. Something was wrong.
She wasn't smiling. Her eyes weren't sparkling with mischief and joy. And her laugh ... the light, effervescent sound that he could have listened to for hours was acutely silent. He'd grown so accustomed to her perpetual good cheer, to the lighthearted charm that seemed to brighten the room, the void of its absence seemed darker.
Damn, had he hurt her more than he'd realized? Guilt pricked him.
For a moment he thought she would walk right past him, but then she sensed the weight of his gaze.
Their eyes locked.
Everything went completely still.
He waited for her reaction. Waited to see the color flood her cheeks, her breath hitch, and the pulse in her neck flutter. Waited for her awareness.
Instead, she stiffened.
Lady Anna wore her thoughts and feelings on her face. It was one of the things that he found so captivating and irresistible about her. The childlike innocence and excitement, the precious vulnerability. But the expression that had always been open to him was closed. He felt her cool regard for only a brief instant before her gaze swept past him.
As if he'd ceased to exist.
As if she'd never melted in his arms.
As if the kiss thathecouldn't stop thinking about had never happened.
As if she hadn't almost been under him.
