His lips brushed over hers in a soft, tender kiss that made her heart lurch. It tasted of longing. Of pain. And of regret. But most of all it tasted of goodbye. She wanted to hold on, to make it last, but she barely had time to gasp before it was over.
He dropped his hand, held her gaze for one soul-piercing moment, and left. He didn't look back. Not once.
Anna stared after him--stunned--not sure what had just happened.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, wanting to hold on to the heat and his taste for as long as she could. But before the last man had ridden through the gate, it was gone.
Arthur had been looking for a way out, and he'd found it. The scouting trip east gave him a chance to do something that months ago would have seemed unthinkable: back out of his mission.
He had todosomething. He couldn't stand by and let the situation get worse. The days following their betrothal had been impossible. The pretense was killing him. Anna was so damned happy. So pleased to be marrying the man who was going to betray her. Each tentative smile, each glance seeking reassurance he could not give, was like a drop of acid eating at his conscience.
He couldn't do this to her. Even if it meant sacrificing his mission. The irony was that he couldn't have chosen a more effective means of infiltrating the MacDougalls than becoming engaged to the lord's daughter. The betrothal, coupled with the fact that he'd saved Alan's life, had given him access to the very center of power: the lord's council.
He wasn't sacrificing his mission, he told himself. He'd done enough already in identifying the source of the messages as the women, passing intelligence of the MacDougalls' numbers and readiness, and providing a map of the terrain, as well as preventing an alliance with Ross--even if that hadn't happened exactly has he'd wanted it to.
They were on the eve of battle. King Robert would understand.
It was the middle of the night, three days after his disastrous parting with Anna. He hadn't expected saying goodbye to be so hard. But riding away from her, knowing he might never see her again, had taken every ounce of his resolve. He shouldn't have kissed her. But looking into her eyes, seeing her fear and worry for him, had been more than he could take. He'd needed that feeling of utter connection one more time, knowing that he'd never have it again.
He glanced over his shoulder, assuring himself he hadn't been followed, before tethering his horse to a tree. He was about a mile away from where Bruce's army had camped for the night. He would travel the rest of the way on foot. The sentries were liable to shoot at anything approaching camp at this time of night without stopping to ask questions, and the horse could give him away.
His senses sharpened as he drew closer to the king's camp, anticipating the first sign of the perimeter guard. He was taking a chance, coming unannounced like this, but he had no choice. There hadn't been time to arrange to meet or get a message to the Guard, and the MacDougall scouting party was readying to return to Dunstaffnage castle with their report tomorrow. He'd volunteered for night patrol, knowing this would be his only chance.
He knew Chief would have one of the members of the Highland Guard on post as he did every night. Arthur would attempt to make contact with one of his fellow guardsmen first.
Suddenly, the back of his neck prickled. He stopped, sensing the strange shift in the air that occurred when someone else was near. He waited, blending into the darkness of the forest, knowing that he would hear whoever was approaching first.
But after a few minutes, he knew something was wrong. He hadn't heard anything. Either the man hadn't moved or Arthur's skills were failing him.
Again.
But when a dark figure emerged from behind a tree about twenty feet away, he knew there was a third answer: The man's skill at stealth matched Arthur's skill at hearing.
Damn. This wasn't what he needed. He let out the hoot that should identify him as a friend. Although he suspected that the man who approached might disagree.
Apparently, Lachlan MacRuairi was no longer harassing Ross in the north, and he had picked this night for guard duty.
MacRuairi stilled, readying his bow in Arthur's direction, despite the secret call. "Who's there?"
"Ranger," Arthur replied, flipping back the steel visor from his helm and stepping out from behind the tree that had shielded him.
Even in the darkness he could see MacRuairi's eyes narrow, the unnatural glow slitted. He shifted his arm to the left, aiming the point of the arrow right between Arthur's eyes. MacRuairi had an uncanny ability to see in the dark--a hell of a thing to remember now.
"Are you going to use that?" Arthur said.
"I haven't decided. One death doesn't seem like much when compared to nine. I could claim I thought it was a traitor--which wouldn't be that far off."
Arthur swallowed the crude retort that sprang to his tongue. Knowing he deserved the other man's scorn didn't make it any easier to hear. He ignored the arrow pointed at him and strode forward. "Do you think I don't regret what happened?"
"Do you? I sure as hell couldn't tell. You looked like you were having too much fun fighting alongside Alan MacDougall, not to mention saving his bloody life."
They were separated by only a few feet, but MacRuairi wouldn't have missed at a hundred. "I will answer to the king, Viper, not to you. I need to speak with him."
"He's abed."
Arthur gritted his teeth, clenching his fists at his side. It wouldn't help anything to come to blows with MacRuairi, but he didn't have time for his shite. "Then you'll have to wake him. And my brother as well."
Finally, MacRuairi lowered his bow. "You sure as hell better have something good to report." He gave him a hard stare. "And it better have been worth it."
