The Saint (15 page)

Silly lass
. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be content with her lot like other women in her position? She had wealth and position, a family who cared about her, a man who would marry her and give her children … it should be enough. But the subject made her feel restless and anxious.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Stay here, I suppose, until Will marries.” Though her brother was nearing his thirty-second saint’s day, he still had not married. She thought Muriel stiffened at her side, but when Helen glanced over she realized she had been mistaken. “Then … I don’t know.”

“The earl is planning to marry?”

Something in her voice made Helen look at her. Was her face a little pale? She frowned. “Not that I know, but I would not be surprised if that is one of the reasons for the king’s visit.”

Marriage alliances were one of the ways in which the king was ensuring the support of his barons. He was fortunate to have many sisters.

They were close enough to the castle to hear the first shout go up from the guard along the wall.

“Riders approach! ’Tis the Lion Rampant!”

The king! Helen looked around to the south, seeing the dot of riders appear on the horizon. “Come,” she said, gripping her friend’s arm. “We must go inside to properly greet him.” She looked down at her plain woolen dress, wrinkled from being tied between her legs as they stomped through the marshy heather. Instinctively, her hands went to her hair. She’d tied it haphazardly in a knot at the top of her head, but most of it had come loose.

Not much of an impression for the lady of the keep. Her appearance today would certainly encourage Will to take a wife, if that was what the king intended.

Muriel tried to beg off. “I think I will just return—”

“Nonsense,” Helen said, taking her arm and pulling her alongside her. “Don’t you wish to see the king?”

She didn’t give her an opportunity to argue. They entered the
barmkin
just as her brothers and Donald were making their way down the stairs. Will had called Kenneth back from Skelbo, their stronghold at the mouth of Loch Fleet ten miles south, as soon as he’d received the king’s message.

She saw Will stiffen as soon as he saw them. She could see his disapproval as he took in her disheveled appearance, but she knew there was more to it than that. It was Muriel. The tension in the air seemed to go up a dozen notches whenever they were together. It hadn’t always been
that way, she realized. But lately, Will became stiff and cold whenever she was around—even more so than usual. Saints, he could be austere and imposing!

Helen didn’t understand why he’d taken such an active dislike to their healer. They were lucky to have her, and if he kept acting like this they were going to lose her.

“Good God, Helen, what have you been doing?” He ignored Muriel completely.

Helen lifted her chin, refusing to be bullied by her stern older brother. “Tending to the ankle of one of your clansmen.”

He shot Muriel a glare as if this were her fault. “I’ll thank you to remember that my sister has her own duties to attend.” His gaze could have cut ice. “She will be lady of the keep.”

Muriel flinched as if he’d struck some kind of invisible blow. “I am well aware of that, my lord.”

Though there was nothing outwardly disrespectful in her tone, Helen heard it nonetheless. “This is part of my duty, as you well know, Will. Do not blame Muriel; it was I who insisted I stay when she urged me to return.”

“Leave her alone, brother. She doesn’t look too bad,” Kenneth said. Helen suspected there was supposed to be a compliment in there somewhere. “The flower is a nice touch.”

Helen felt her cheeks redden, conscious of Donald, who stood in his familiar position at Will’s right shoulder.

“Aye, it looks quite fetching,” Donald said with a laugh that was a little too intimate.

Helen bit her lip, realizing Muriel was right.

“They’re here,” Muriel whispered excitedly as the first of the mail-clad riders came streaming through the gate. It was an impressive sight: the gleaming mail and colorful tabards of the knights and men-at-arms on their enormous warhorses, carrying banners, pikes, and all manner of weapons, followed by the carts carrying the king’s household
plate and personal attendants. Her brother was right to have anticipated so many: there must be over fifty men.

“Is that the Bruce?” Muriel whispered.

Even were it not for the gold crown forged into his helm or the red rampant lion on the colorful yellow tabard, Helen would have known the king by the regal aura that surrounded him. She nodded.

The men started to dismount and remove their helms. She was so focused on the king that it took her a moment to realize who stood beside him.

A gasp escaped from between her lips.

“What is it?” Muriel asked, noticing her reaction.

But Helen couldn’t speak. Her heart had leapt and was lodged in her throat.

Magnus! He was here. What did it mean? Was it possible …

Had her prayers been answered? Had he forgiven her?

Helen was so happy to see him, she forgot everything and everyone else around her. For a moment it was one of those times years ago when she’d been hiding, and he’d caught her by surprise. Her heart jumped in an excited burst, and she almost yelped in girlish pleasure. Unconsciously, she took a step toward him. “You’re here!”

Magnus turned at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met, and all at once she realized her mistake. The smile fell from her face, her hopes crushed before they’d a chance to rise. Whatever reason Magnus was here, it wasn’t for her. He was looking at her aghast, as if he would rather be anywhere but here, as if she’d done something to …

Suddenly, she looked around, realizing the men had stopped talking and everyone was staring at her.

Heat crawled up her face as she realized the cause for that look. She’d embarrassed him. Again. Although this time, she was old enough to know better.

The king came to her rescue. Robert Bruce gave her a courtly bow, as if he were the one to whom she’d been speaking. “And it’s nice to be here after so long on the road. I thank you for your gracious welcome, Lady Helen. I hope we have not put you to too much trouble?”

She shook her head like a simpleton, too embarrassed to manage more than something like “of course not.”

But the king had earned her undying gratitude with his gallantry. She’d been impressed with “the Bruce,” as his men called him, at Dunstaffnage. It wasn’t hard to see why so many had been willing to risk so much to rally to his banner. A gallant knight in the prime of his manhood, a formidable warrior and shrewd commander, Bruce was good-natured, charming, and charismatic. Her brothers (and most of Christendom) had not believed it possible to best Edward of England. The Bruce had proved them wrong.

“We are honored to have you, Sire,” Will said with more graciousness than she would have thought possible. A year ago, the two men had been facing each other across a battlefield. But her eldest brother was pragmatic and would not let his considerable pride stand in the way of doing what was best for his clan. If that meant making friends with his former enemy, he would do it. Grudgingly.

With one former enemy, at least.

Her brothers did not hide their animosity when they saw Magnus. Will and Kenneth, as well as Donald, all looked ready to draw their swords. The challenging look Magnus was giving them wasn’t helping matters any. He was just as bad as they were. The feud ran deep between the two clans. It was difficult to push aside years of hatred, distrust, and suspicion. But she prayed that day would come. Unfortunately, it wasn’t today.

Helen stepped forward to defuse the tension, presenting Muriel to the king, a few of the other knights standing nearby, and Magnus.

Unable to avoid it, he nodded stiffly in her direction after greeting Muriel. “My lady.”

His curtness hurt. She looked at him, willing something from him that was no longer there.

“Your arm,” she said. “It has healed well?”

Their eyes met, and for an instant he was her Magnus again, looking at her with his soft caramel-brown eyes full of the gentleness and tenderness that she’d always taken for granted.

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “It’s as good as new.”

“What he means is ‘thank you.’ ” Another man came forward. When he removed his helm, she gasped in surprise. Gregor MacGregor took her hand and bowed. “Lady Helen, I’m delighted to see you again.”

Helen beamed at him, her eyes pricking with heat. Six months ago, he’d been close to death. But look at him! And the change was because of her. “As I am you, my lord. You are well?”

He gave her a roguish grin that would fell half of the hearts of Scotland—the female half. Helen was not immune, and her heart skipped a little beat. Gregor MacGregor was the most dazzlingly handsome man she’d ever seen, with his bronzed skin, golden-brown hair, sparkling white teeth, brilliant blue eyes, and divinely chiseled features that even Adonis would envy. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, he looked ready to take his place on Mount Olympus.

“Very well, my lady. Thanks to you.” His expression sobered for a moment. “I owe you my life. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you have but to ask.”

Helen blushed, both pleased and embarrassed. To cover her embarrassment, she introduced Muriel. “Lady Muriel is the best healer in the North. She has taught me everything I know.”

Gregor flashed one of those gorgeous grins in the direction of her friend, who seemed to be in something of a stunned trance. Helen could hardly blame her. Gregor MacGregor tended to have that effect.

“My lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. He looked back and forth between the two women. “Had I healers as beautiful as you, I should have always been ill.” His magnificently
blue eyes actually twinkled when he smiled. “In fact, I have every intention of coming down with a chill while I’m here.”

Helen giggled like a simpering maid and was surprised to hear her serious friend doing the same.

“Helen,” her brother Will said sharply, causing her to startle. From his dark expression, she gathered Will was annoyed with her again. Except he was looking at Muriel. “The king has had a long journey.”

Her cheeks burned at the reminder of her duty. “Of course. I shall show you to your chamber, Sire, and send some wine and bread with cheese before the evening meal.”

“That sounds perfect,” the king said, trying to ease her discomfort once again.

Magnus, who also looked irritated for some reason, and a few of the other men started to follow, but Will stepped in front of him to block him.

He addressed Bruce, not Magnus. “Munro will show the rest of your party to the barracks. I’m sure they will be quite comfortable there.”

“I’m sure they will,” Magnus said calmly. “But we go with the king.” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement, lifting a brow with a not-so-subtle taunt. “I assume there isn’t a problem with me staying in the tower?”

Will, Kenneth, and Donald all glanced in her direction. They weren’t much for subtlety either. Will’s jaw was clenched so tightly, she was surprised he could talk. “Nay,” he managed. “No problem.”

Why did Helen suspect one of them would be sleeping outside her door?

“Glad to hear it,” Magnus said. “I shall look forward to partaking of the famous Sutherland hospitality.”

Will, trying not to choke on the sarcasm, let him pass.

Helen sighed, leading the king and a few of his men—including Magnus—into the tower. She had no doubt that the king’s stay was going to be filled with tension between
her brothers and Magnus. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let her family interfere. Not this time.

She knew why her future had looked murky when she was talking to Muriel earlier. She couldn’t imagine one that didn’t include Magnus. He was the only thing that had ever made any sense to her.

He was here, and she intended to do everything in her power to do what she’d failed to do before: fight for him. The king’s missive had said he planned to stay two weeks. She wasn’t going to waste one minute of that time.

She would seize every day. Even if he could barely look at her.

Magnus was at war.

With himself.

In the middle of the damned feast. From where he was seated, he couldn’t avoid looking at the couple …

Munro put his hand on Helen’s arm, and Magnus nearly shot off the bench. The urge to slam his fist into the smug bastard’s jaw was almost overwhelming.

He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore them. But it was impossible. Which was probably intentional. No doubt this torturous seat was Sutherland retribution.

Magnus might have forced his way into the tower, but the Sutherlands had seated him as far away from Helen as they could without giving offense. His position as the king’s personal bodyguard and henchman earned him a place on the dais, but he was at the far end of the table while Helen was near the middle, seated between the king and Munro. Giving him a perfect view …

The Sutherland henchman leaned over and whispered something in Helen’s ear that made her smile.

God’s blood! Magnus tamped down the flare of anger with a long drink of ale. One week. Thank God it had
taken them longer to leave Kildrummy than anticipated, and that was all of
this
he would have to endure.