The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(29)

She didn’t belong here, sitting in this place of honor due his wife. The knowledge that she’d intended to dissolve the marriage with the husband she now mourned ate at her mercilessly. The sadness she felt for his loss seemed insufficient in the face of the suffering of those who truly loved him. Magnus. Her brother. Even Lady Isabella had been devastated.

She should feel more, shouldn’t she? She wanted to, but how could she muster the grief he was due when she’d barely known him?

She kept her gaze down-turned, fixed on her hands shaking in her lap, afraid that everyone would see the truth. She was an impostor, suffering from her own selfish guilt and not for the man who’d died …

She didn’t know how he’d died. An attack, they said. His body lost at sea.

Suddenly, Helen felt her brother tug on her arm, helping her to her feet. The funeral was over, she realized.

Kenneth kept hold of her, propping her up like a poppet, as he led her out of the dark chapel. She couldn’t meet the sympathetic gazes of the people who watched them pass. She didn’t deserve them. Magnus was right—William had deserved more.

Magnus. Her heart stabbed. He couldn’t even look at her. Since the day she’d pulled the arrow from Gregor MacGregor’s neck, he’d assiduously avoided her. He hadn’t even thanked her for removing the arrow or for tending his arm. She shuddered, recalling how badly his arm had been broken and how stoically he’d weathered what must have been excruciating pain. He might have been maimed for life if she’d not insisted on tending it. As it was, she couldn’t be sure how well the bone would mend.

They made their way back to the castle through the snow, a path forged two hours earlier by the footsteps of the many mourners who’d come to pay their respects to the fallen warrior.

A light repast had been prepared for them in the Great Hall. As they passed the laird’s solar, she removed her hand from the crook of Kenneth’s arm. “I will join you in a moment,” she said. “I need to check on MacGregor.”

Her brother frowned. “Right now? I thought a nurse had been brought in to tend him.”

“I shall only be a minute.”

She left before he could argue with her. She ducked into the darkened room and heaved a sigh of relief to escape the oppressive weight of the day, if only for a moment.

The nurse stood as soon as she entered. The girl from the village was young, but Lady Anna assured her, quite capable.

“How is he?”

“Sleeping, my lady.”

She managed a half-smile. “That’s the best thing for him now.” He’d regained consciousness, but only for a few minutes each day. It was to be expected; he’d lost a lot of blood. He would have lost more had she not insisted the priest be prevented from bleeding him again.

“Any signs of fever?”

The girl—Cait—shook her head. “I’ve made him swallow a few sips of the beef broth, just as you said.”

Helen smiled. “That is good. And the medicine?”

Cait wrinkled her nose. “Aye, a bit of that as well. But he doesn’t seem to like it much.”

The way she said it made Helen laugh. “I’m not surprised. It is quite bitter. Perhaps he is feeling better than we realized if his tastes are so discriminating.”

The girl smiled back at her. “I hope so, my lady.” She cast a shy gaze toward the man stretched out across the table. “He sure is a handsome one.”

“The most handsome in Scotland, it is said,” Helen agreed with a grin.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Helen spun around at the sound of Magnus’s voice behind her, not having heard him enter.

Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed to have been caught … laughing, smiling, if only for a moment. “I was just checking on him.” She turned to the girl. “Thank you, Cait, you’re doing wonderfully.”

The girl blushed with pleasure and bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, my lady.”

Helen exited the room and was surprised to realize that Magnus was still behind her. For a moment, her heart caught, thinking that his anger might have abated. But one look at his rigid jaw cured her of that notion. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to give him comfort, but it was clear it would not be welcome. Not from her.

“Is there something you wanted?” she asked.

Me? She let herself dare hope.

He shifted his gaze, not meeting her eyes—almost as if he’d heard her silent plea. “I should have thanked you. For what you did. You saved his life, and,” he motioned to his sling, “the use of my arm.”

“You must not try to use it—”

“I know. I heard you the first time.” One side of his mouth curved. “I never knew you could be so bossy.”

She lifted her chin, ignoring the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “Only when I anticipate the patient will be stubborn and pigheaded by trying to resume activity before the bones are fully healed.”

His mouth quirked. “I didn’t say it wasn’t warranted.”

Their eyes caught for an instant, before he quickly looked away. The small exchange was so reminiscent of how things used to be between them that it made her heart tug with longing. Yet the uncomfortable silence that followed made clear it was no longer that way. It would never be that way again.