The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(65)

While Helen packed up her bag, MacKay asked in a soft voice, “Everything else is all right? They do not suspect anything?”

Kenneth shook his head. “The ruse worked. How is Dragon?”

MacKay frowned. “Angry, bitter, and short-tempered as usual, but he’ll mend.”

Kenneth had been surprised that the Yorkshireman was part of the Guard. From what he’d seen, the disgruntled, England-born, Scotland-bred Alex Seton was often at odds with the other members of the Guard—especially his partner, Robbie Boyd.

Kenneth thought about mentioning Lady Mary’s presence at the castle, but something held him back. He supposed he knew MacKay would warn him off, and he didn’t want to hear it. “Bàs roimh Gèill,” he said. Death before surrender.

MacKay repeated the favored parting words of the Highland Guard and gave his wife a too-long-for-Kenneth’s-mind kiss before retreating to his hiding place.

Kenneth was about to put on his surcote, when Helen told him, “Leave it.” She reached over and untied his shirt, pulling it loose from his breeches. “There, you look more rumpled.”

He reached down and picked up a handful of hay, tossing it over her head, laughing as she waved her hands in protest. Then he reached over, snatching a piece of hay from her hair, and grinned. “So do you.”

She shook her head in mock chagrin. “Lord knows you probably have far too much practice at this. I assume the English lasses are as silly and adoring as the Scottish?”

She was right about the practice, he thought with a wry turn of his mouth, his mind going back to the last time he’d been caught in the stable. But his grin fell at the mention of “silly and adoring.” Helen’s words were all too close to the accusations Mary had made. She was wrong. He didn’t surround himself only with women who flattered him. He was sure he’d had countless conversations on other subjects, though damned if he could think of any that hadn’t been with his sister—or Mary. But she held his attention more than any woman before, and he didn’t like half of what she said.

It also reminded him of what he’d learned before his sister’s arrival. But if Mary of Mar thought she was going to escape from him again, she was in for a surprise.

Arm in arm, they exited the stable, looking to all who might see like very contented lovers. Kenneth wasn’t surprised to see the men who Percy had watching him standing nearby, nor was he surprised when they followed him to the gate.

He pushed her out with a playful pat on the bottom. She giggled and turned around, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek, whispering for him to be safe, before scattering through the gate in the fading darkness.

Kenneth turned and started walking back toward the Hall. He’d taken only a few steps when he felt the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze on him. He looked across the courtyard and saw a woman rushing down the stairs and across the courtyard toward the donjon. Lady Mary. He knew it was her, just as he knew she’d seen him.

He swore, wondering how much she’d seen.

If her pace was any indication, it was enough.

He hoped to hell she hadn’t recognized Helen. At the same time, he realized what she would think if she hadn’t. His mouth fell in a grim line. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He had every right to be with another woman. It was she who had made clear exactly what she thought of him: a good tumble. He was just playing to profligate form.

But he still wished she hadn’t seen him.

He let her go. For now. But this wasn’t over. Not by any measure.

It doesn’t matter. Unshed tears blurred her eyes, and all Mary could see was dark green as she pulled another gown from the ambry and tossed it on the bed. The dresses that had been hung only a few days ago were going right back into her trunks. The maidservant scrambled to keep up with her.

“Are you sure everything is all right?” Lady Eleanor asked with obvious concern.

Mary nodded, forcing herself to smile though her throat was tight and her eyes prickled. “I’m just tired, that’s all,” she said, feigning chirpiness to cover the high emotion in her voice.

What did she care if he was with a woman? It didn’t matter that her chest had felt like a boulder landed on it when she’d seen Sir Kenneth exit the stables with the red-haired creature on his arm.

The stables. She knew only too well what he did in the stables. It shouldn’t have hurt so much. She knew the kind of man he was. It should simply prove that he wasn’t for her. But the burning in her chest, the crushing weight of disappointment, didn’t seem to want to understand.

They were nothing to one another. Just because they’d shared a night of passion, just because she’d felt something more, just because he’d asked her to marry him, just because there hadn’t been a night that passed that she hadn’t thought of him, just because she was carrying his child, and just because her heart had jumped to all kinds of silly conclusions when she’d seen him here didn’t mean anything. The one night that had meant so much to her probably meant nothing to him. Despite what he’d said, he probably hadn’t given her a thought until he saw her dancing with Sir John.

When she’d heard what he’d done for Davey, she’d been so overwhelmed with gratitude, she might have confessed everything to him and been ready to believe anything he said. Thank God she hadn’t. Heroic feats on the battlefield wouldn’t make him a good husband. In fact, in her experience it was just the opposite. She was grateful, but it had nothing to do with them.