The Ranger by Monica McCarty Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
    His gaze flickered away. But he’d been watching her.

    Arthur was counting the minutes until he could leave.
    He wasn’t much for feasts and drunken celebrations under normal circumstances, but thanks to Anna MacDougall, he was finding it difficult even to pretend to relax and enjoy himself.
    He was the one who watched and observed,
not
the other way around. He didn’t need keen awareness or razor-sharp senses to feel her eyes on him. He was seated in the back corner of the hall, about as far away from the dais as possible, but he might as well have been right beside her, so intently did he feel her scrutiny. Feminine interest, and something far more dangerous—curiosity. And he didn’t like it.
    Why wouldn’t she stop looking at him? And worse, why was he finding it so damned hard not to look back?
    She was pretty—beautiful even. But beautiful women weren’t such a rarity that he should be struggling to ignore her. He wasn’t having any trouble keeping his gaze from her sister Mary, and she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
    But something about Anna MacDougall drew the eye. Even in a room full of hundreds of celebrating clansmen with plenty of attractive young lasses vying for attention, she sparkled like a diamond among glass.
    Beauty wasn’t it—or all of it, at least. Her appeal went deeper. It wasn’t only male gazes that followed her; women watched her, too. There was something infectious about her laugh, endearing in her smile, captivating about the twinkle in her deep-blue eyes, and delightfully naughty in her dimples. Dimples. Of course she had to have dimples. What adorable sprite did not?
    But other than a quick glance or two, he assiduously avoided looking at her. Restraint. Control. Discipline. These were the traits he prided himself on. They were what made him an elite