The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(107)

How could she want to throw her arms around his neck one moment and strangle it the next? It was just like all those years ago, when he’d shown up bruised and battered after beating Donald at the Highland Games.

“Of course I don’t doubt you. But you are not invulnerable. No matter how good you are.”

His eyes darkened with pain. “Aye, you never know what can happen.” Helen winced, realizing he was thinking of William. “But it wasn’t my time. Not today.”

Sensing the dark emotions swirling inside him and knowing that William still stood between them, she knew they would need to talk about him at some time. But not now.

Wishing she’d never brought up the subject in the first place, she wiped her tears and asked, “What happened?”

The king had come out of the cave to greet him as well—how much of the conversation he’d overheard she didn’t know—and Magnus explained how he’d rid them of their pursuers. Two of them at least.

“And you never saw the third man?” the king asked.

“Not since yesterday morning at the river, but I know he was there.”

The king accepted his word without question. “Let’s hope he’s given up. If MacGregor and the others have been successful in hunting them down, he won’t have much support.” The king stroked his dark beard to a point. “Do you have any ideas on who is responsible?”

“Nay.”

“But you have some thoughts.”

“Perhaps it’s best we speak of this once we’ve reached Loch Broom.” Magnus didn’t need to look in Helen’s direction to explain. Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of her. “Are you feeling strong enough?”

“Nay,” Bruce admitted in a rare moment of warriorly candor. “But I’ll manage. We’ve enjoyed the hospitality of these mountains long enough. Living in the wild lost its appeal for me after Methven. I’m afraid I’ve become quite accustomed to the luxuries afforded by a crown. Like well-cooked food, a mattress, and a hot bath.”

That sounded so good, Helen had to hold back a groan of longing.

But Magnus seemed to have heard it anyway. He laughed. “Come. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Well, perhaps not before she knew it, but after the travails of the day before, the long hike out of the mountains through the glen and up the southern bank of Loch Broom to the MacAulay chief’s castle of Dun Lagaidh seemed pleasant by comparison. With no sign of any pursuers, they were able to slow their pace to a more manageable speed. They arrived in the early evening before vespers, dirty and exhausted, but safe.

Thanks to Magnus.

She wanted to thank him but lost him in the mob of people who flooded the yard and hall on their arrival. Alerted of what had transpired by a rider from the royal party, the castle was in an uproar. The rest of the royal party had yet to arrive, but should be there soon. Helen was relieved to hear that her brother was the man who’d ridden ahead with the news. Magnus didn’t look as pleased as she was to hear that Kenneth was safe.

Helen, Magnus, and the king were immediately given bedchambers (the king in the laird’s room, Magnus in a small guardroom, and Helen in what she suspected was the laird’s children’s room), food, and plenty of hot water. After she’d bathed, Helen went in search of the king. Happy to find him resting peacefully, she left instructions for a tonic to be prepared by MacAulay’s lady, then collapsed on her own bed, falling into a deep sleep.

When she woke it was dark and quiet. She tiptoed past the serving girl who must have been sent to look after her but had fallen asleep in the chair by the brazier while she waited, out of her chamber and up the stairs to the king’s chamber.

The guard standing outside his door quickly stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Helen was surprised to see the lady herself sitting beside the king’s bed. In hushed whispers, she assured Helen that the king had woken for long enough to eat a large meal—without vegetables—and drink the “vile brew” Helen had ordered prepared for him. Promising her that she would send for Helen if he needed her, the formidable chief’s wife shooed her out of the room like a child underfoot and told her to get some rest.

Helen intended to do just that. After she saw Magnus.

Though she’d been relieved to reach safety, from the moment of their arrival they’d been treated like heroes risen from the dead and torn in different directions. She needed to see him. To assure herself that what had happened on the road wasn’t her imagination. She sensed he was waging some kind of war with himself and didn’t want to give him time to change his mind.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

Perhaps it was time to take her brother’s advice.

Coming to a stop before his door, she looked around to make sure no one was about and slipped quietly inside the darkened chamber. Gently closing the door behind her, she stilled, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness and listening to the even sounds of his breathing.

Slowly, she began to undress, letting her night robe and chemise fall to a pile at her feet. Slipping off her shoes, she padded barefoot and naked over the cool wooden planks. When she reached the edge of the bed, she drew a deep breath. Before she could reconsider, she lifted the bedsheet and slipped into bed beside him.

Twenty-five

Magnus was dreaming. Something soft and warm was pressed against his backside—