The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(115)

She shrugged. “He’s a hard man.” Too proud, but that wouldn’t impress William. “If it were up to him, you’d be in Ireland with his friend John MacDougall.”

Will nodded. “He was against submitting to Bruce. But that’s not reason alone not to like him.”

“Helen doesn’t love him.”

They both knew whom she loved. Will’s eyes met hers. Would he deny his sister what they had found? After a moment, he sighed. “I’ve never understood my sister. She never could do what was expected of her.” He shook his head. “We never could figure out where that red hair came from.”

“I have no idea.” Muriel hid her smile, as the candlelight caught the occasional burnished auburn strands of his dark brown hair. Not do what was expected? Brother and sister were more alike than he wanted to acknowledge.

Twenty-seven

Magnus had put this off for long enough. He would have done it sooner, but in the three days since MacGregor and the others had descended on Dun Lagaidh he’d been tending his duties or locked away in private meetings with the king and MacGregor, trying to uncover the source of their betrayal. It had to be a betrayal. The attackers couldn’t have been that lucky.

But the king refused to act without proof. Magnus was convinced the treachery had sprung from the Sutherland camp. The attackers’ knowledge of the terrain had to come from someone with a connection to the area. But whether it was from Sutherland himself, Munro, or one of their men, he didn’t know. They were all being watched.

MacGregor had hunted down the remaining attackers, accounting for all ten men Fraser had initially counted. Magnus had taken a party of scouts to replace the rocks he’d moved and to scour the mountainous countryside. But the mysterious third warrior had disappeared. The similarities between the band of warriors who’d attacked them and the Highland Guard could not be ignored. It seemed they had imitators.

The king bore an ugly scar but had otherwise almost fully recovered from his ordeal. Indeed, he’d just taken his first meal in the Great Hall and had granted a private audience with the Earl of Sutherland, who’d unexpectedly arrived at the castle a short while before, accompanied by Lady Muriel.

Leaving Fraser and MacGregor to guard the king, Magnus took the opportunity to do what he should have done days before. He’d taken Helen’s innocence; honor demanded he marry her.

What the hell was he saying? Putting it that way might ease his guilt, but the truth was it was just a damned excuse. He wanted to marry her. Demons or nay.

He might not deserve happiness, but he would take it.

He left the hall and went to search for her. She’d left after the meal so quickly he hadn’t had a chance to pull her aside.

He frowned. He knew he’d been unfair the other night. He’d overreacted and felt bad for the way he’d behaved. If the look on her face the few times their paths had crossed was any indication, he’d hurt her.

He felt a pang of conscience. He’d make it up to her. He smiled. He’d have a lifetime to make it up to her.

Now that he’d made his decision, not once did it cross his mind that she would refuse.

Helen sat by the water’s edge, her bare feet tucked underneath her skirts. Squeezing the rocky sand between her toes, she tossed stones into the water.

“You never did know how to make them skip.”

The voice of the very man she’d been thinking about startled her.

She turned to see Magnus standing behind her. He gave her a wry smile and sat down beside her, effortlessly tossing a rock across the water. It skipped one, two, three, four times before finally sinking beneath the gently lapping waves.

She made no comment. No jest about how she’d always hated that he could do that. No mention of the countless times he’d tried to teach her how to do it. For once, memories weren’t enough. She didn’t want to live in the past any longer.

She was confused and more than anything, hurt. She didn’t understand why he’d acted the way he did the other night, and then avoided her for the better part of three days. Thank God she had her work to keep her mind if not off what had happened, at least occupied. Word had spread quickly of her healing skills, and when she wasn’t attending the king, Helen had found herself in high demand.

She didn’t understand his reaction—or rather his overreaction—to the discovery of her virginity. It didn’t make any sense. If anything, she thought it would make it easier for him to move past thinking of her as another man’s wife.

But it had become more and more clear that something beyond her family and her marriage to William was preventing him from committing to her.

There was something tormenting him that she didn’t understand but sensed lurking just under the surface. A dark, simmering anger that at times seemed directed toward her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My actions the other night were unforgivable, but I hope you will be able to do so.”

“Which actions, Magnus? Making love to me, or lashing out at me for ‘deceiving’ you about my innocence and then spending three days acting as if I didn’t exist?” She laughed sharply. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Aren’t you supposed to be angry to find I’m not a virgin?”

The tightening of his mouth was the only sign that he didn’t find her sarcasm amusing. He turned his gaze to hers. “I’m not sorry for making love to you.”