The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(15)

The hardest part was listening to the animal’s sounds of pain and keeping him still. But Magnus—that was the young warrior’s name, as she had learned in their quick exchange of names before she’d left—was strong.

He watched her in growing disbelief as she worked. After she’d finished telling him how to tend the injuries, and what herbs to mix in a tincture that would keep the dog sleepy while it had time to heal, he looked at her in wonder. “How …? You did it.”

He was looking at her with an expression on his face that made every part of her insides feel warm. “He did well. Tail, you called him?”

Magnus nodded. “My friends started to call him that because he followed me everywhere. He was my tail, they said. I called him Scout originally, but Tail stuck.”

She smiled and was surprised to see him smile back at her. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.

He held her gaze, and she felt something shift in her chest. With his golden-brown hair, soft brown eyes, and tanned skin, he was a startlingly handsome young man. For the first time, she understood how the other girls could act so silly about a lad.

Perhaps he read her thoughts. “How old are you, lass?”

She sat up straight, looking him in the eye. For some reason it was very important to her that he not think of her as a child. “I’m four and ten,” she said proudly.

He smiled. “All that, eh? But since you’re too young to be a healer, I think you must be an angel.”

She blushed. Hadn’t he seen her hair? Of course he had. She hated veils and “forgot” them as often as she could.

“Tell me, how is it, wee Helen, that you have such skill?”

She shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know—I’ve always been interested in it, I suppose.”

He would probably think her as odd as her father and brothers did. She ventured a glance up at him from under her lashes. But he wasn’t looking at her as if she were odd at all. He was looking at her as if …

Her breath caught. As if she were special.

“Well, it’s fortunate for me and Tail here that you are so talented.”

She beamed. She’d never met anyone like him. This bronzed young warrior with the kind eyes and dazzling grin. She knew right there and then that he was special, too.

“Helen!”

She heard her father’s impatient shouts from above and realized her absence had been noticed.

“I think someone is looking for you,” he said, helping her up.

She glanced down at the dog, still curled by his feet. “You’ll be able to carry him from here?” she asked.

“We’ll be fine. Now.”

“Helen!” her father shouted again.

She cursed under her breath, not wanting to leave him just yet.

Perhaps he was feeling the same reluctance to part. He took her hand, bowing over it as gallantly as any knight. Her heart actually strummed like the strings of a harp.

“Thank you, Lady Helen. I look forward to our next meeting.”

Their eyes held, and Helen felt the squeezing around her chest tighten, knowing he spoke the truth. There would be more meetings between them.

And there were. The next time she’d seen him—six months later, when she’d learned his identity at the negotiations to end the feud between their clans—the dog had been right at his heels, a small limp the only sign of his ordeal. There had been no question of them ever being enemies. Their bond had already been forged. First in friendship, and then in something much more.

She’d never seen the twitch below his eye again.

Until the wedding feast.

God, why hadn’t he stopped her? Why had he let her marry another man? The door opened.

She gasped—actually, she feared it sounded more like a squeak. William strode into the room and closed the door behind him. Alone. At least she would not have to endure the added discomfort of others watching him get into bed beside her.

He eyed her wryly, his gaze skimming over the sheet that had made its way even higher under her chin. “You can relax. Your virtue is safe for the moment.” His eyes hardened. “Or perhaps it is too late for that?”

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. Though she knew he had cause to wonder, the accusation still stung. She lifted her chin, a spot of heat burning on each cheek. “My virtue is perfectly intact, my lord.”

He held her gaze and shrugged. “Of course it is. He’s a bloody saint.”

The hint of bitterness in his voice tugged at her conscience.

He strode over to the table where a jug of wernage had been set out for her and poured himself a drink. He grimaced at the sweetness of the wine, but drank it nonetheless.

He hadn’t changed for bed, she noticed. He still wore the fine tunic and hose he’d worn to their wedding. He sat down in the chair beside the brazier and studied her over the rim of the glass.

Some of her tension eased.

“So you are the woman he’s been pining for all these years.” He shook his head disgustedly. “I should have known. How could I not have known?”

He didn’t seem to expect her to say anything.

After a moment, he looked at her again. “What happened? Did your families prevent a match?”

“That was part of it.” She explained how they’d met secretly for years until the fateful day when Magnus had asked her to run away and her brother had discovered them.