The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(102)

“What?”

He reached into his sporran and pulled out a cloth. Unwrapping it, he revealed twigs with leaves wrapped around the ends. “Pine sap,” he said, unwrapping some of the leaves from around the twigs to reveal the yellowish, viscous material. “This is still fresh, but when it hardens I use it to help a fire catch in the damp. It makes a good glue if you mix it with ash and can also be used to seal wounds.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, taking the clean ends of one of the twigs. “I’ve had this on my hands enough times to know how sticky it can be.”

He quirked a brow, and she dimpled mischievously, knowing he was remembering all those trees in which she’d hid.

Their eyes held and emotion swelled in her chest. She felt it again. The same certainty she’d felt when she’d looked into his eyes this morning after he’d dispensed with the second attacker. He loves me.

She’d done it. Somehow she’d broken through his resistance.

If every bone in her body didn’t ache with exhaustion, if there weren’t three murderous scourges chasing after them, if the King of Scotland wasn’t about to keel over from an axe wound to his head, she could have enjoyed being with him like this.

There was no man she would rather have by her side in these circumstances. Not just because of her feelings for him, but because he always seemed to know what to do. Helen knew how precarious their situation was, but with Magnus by her side it didn’t feel that way. He seemed to have been built for these surroundings. Rugged, tough, resourceful, and honed to the peak of physical endurance, he was made to survive whatever nature threw at him. He would get them through this.

Carefully, she unbound the strips of linen from the king’s head. With as many wounds as she’d seen, she’d thought her stomach had become impervious. But it rolled when she saw the deep gash in the daylight for the first time. She caught a glimpse of white at his brow that she knew was bone. No wonder it was still oozing blood.

While Magnus held the two edges of the cut together, she rolled the sap end of the twig down the gaping wound. Before unwrapping the leaves, he warmed the next one in his hands for a few minutes, and it went on even easier. She was about to bind it with another piece of cloth, but he stopped her.

“You won’t be able to get it off. The sap should do the trick on its own.”

He was right. After a few minutes, it became clear that the blood could not permeate the thick sap. It looked a sight, but it was working.

The king, however, looked as if he’d reached the end of his rope.

He couldn’t go much farther. Helen caught Magnus’s gaze and saw that he realized it as well. “There’s a place a little higher up that should be safe to rest for a while.”

Up? Helen glanced up the steep slope of the mountain on her left and bit back a groan. He didn’t intend to …

Aye, he did.

When the king didn’t argue or object to Magnus’s support, she realized just how horrible he must be feeling.

Helen trudged up the scree-covered slope behind the two men. With every foot of elevation, the wind seemed to grow stronger. She had to clutch the edges of her plaid together to keep it from blowing off. Once or twice, a powerful gust nearly unbalanced her on the rocky ground.

Magnus was right. This was no place for the inexperienced. One wrong step and she could end up …

She felt her stomach sway and quickly turned her gaze back to the path. Don’t look down.

With the sun lost behind the clouds, it was hard to say what time it was. But she suspected it must be close to midday by the time they’d reached Magnus’s place a “little” higher up.

“You can rest here for a while,” he said, helping the king to sit on a natural shelf in the cliffside.

It was somewhat inset and, she suspected, hidden from sight in most directions.

Magnus handed her one of the skins and a few more small pieces of the oatcakes and beef. He also handed her a dirk.

She looked up at him in surprise.

“If you should need it. It will be more effective than your eating knife.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and then drained when she realized what he meant. “Where are you going?”

“To make sure they aren’t following us.”

“But …” She didn’t want him to leave. Surely, he must be tired? He’d practically carried the king halfway up the mountain. “But don’t you need to rest first?”

He reached down and swept a piece of hair from her face with the back of his finger. “I’m fine, Helen. I’ll rest when we reach Loch Broom.”

She thought the king was too exhausted to speak, but he laughed. “MacKay has the endurance of an ox. MacLeod said he could run for miles in armor without getting winded.”

Helen didn’t doubt it. He was stubborn as an ox, too. But in this case, she didn’t mind it. That stubbornness and determination would see them through this. “MacLeod?” she asked. “The West Highland chief?”

Magnus shot the king a look, but Bruce already had his head turned back to the ground as if he was fighting nausea.

“It’s nothing,” Magnus said.

But she knew it must have something to do with the secret army.

“How long will you be gone?”

He dropped a kiss atop her head. The tenderness of the gesture sent a rush of warmth over her icy skin. “You won’t even have a chance to miss me.”