The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(33)

Hurt. Anger. Gratitude. Guilt.

After all that had happened between them—she’d married his best friend, damn it—he still couldn’t erase her from his mind.

Gordon couldn’t have known what he was asking. But he’d made a promise to his dying friend. A promise that so far he hadn’t kept. This journey would give him the opportunity.

Once he’d assured himself that she was safe, his task would be done.

“It won’t be a problem,” he answered. “For me.”

But he was damned sure it would be a problem for the Sutherlands. They wouldn’t relish having to play host to a MacKay.

He smiled. Perhaps he might see a bit of action on this journey after all.

As she’d done almost every morning since her return to Dunrobin, Helen traipsed along the grassy shoreline from the castle to her friend’s cottage. Many times she’d asked Muriel to take a room at the castle after Muriel’s father had died, but her fiercely independent friend always refused, claiming she enjoyed the privacy when she could find it—which wasn’t very often. As the best healer for miles around, Muriel was rarely alone. Besides, she pointed out, at only a few furlongs up the coast from the castle she was close if anyone needed her.

Helen admired the other woman’s determination and courage. It wasn’t easy for a young woman to live on her own—especially a pretty, unmarried one. But her friend had done it, heedless of what anyone said. Helen was surprised that Will hadn’t attempted to find a husband for her. It seemed strange. But then again, when it came to Muriel, much of what her brother did was strange. She’d never known him to be so hard on anyone—even her.

A light breeze swept up from the sparkling waters of the firth to Helen’s right, ruffling her hair and filling her nose with the tangy, briny scent of the sea.

It was a spectacular day, the sun already bright and hot in the cloudless blue sky. After the cold, dreary May they’d had, the hint of summer as the first week of June came to a close was a welcome reprieve.

She waved to some of the villagers as she passed. The stone and thatched houses were more sporadic along the coast, belonging to the fishermen and kelpers. Most of the clansmen lived closer to the castle or the crofts in the glen where the small black cattle typical in this part of the Highlands grazed.

A few young children, the eldest no more than three, screeched with laughter as they tried to catch a butterfly in an old piece of hemp net, no doubt discarded from one of their father’s boats, not realizing the weave was too big. She laughed along with them, feeling more like herself than she had in months.

Slowly, she was coming back to life, taking pleasure in the simple things she’d always loved. A beautiful spring day. The sound of children’s laughter. A cool ocean breeze.

But pain and regret were lasting companions. She wished …

God how she wished she’d done things differently. If she’d married Magnus all those years ago, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be angry with her. He wouldn’t hate the sight of her. He’d look at her the way he used to. With love, though she’d been too young and foolish to realize it.

Now it was too late. Her smile slid. She should never have married William. And now it was a mistake that could never be undone.

“None of that,” a familiar voice said. “It’s so good to see you smiling again, lass.”

Helen glanced up, not surprised to see Donald approaching along the path in front of her with a few of her brother’s men. It seemed as if at least a few times a week, their paths crossed as she made her way to Muriel’s cottage and he returned to the castle from patrol.

Her brow furrowed. He seemed to ride out on patrol quite often of late. Although with the king’s visit, perhaps it was to be expected. Will wanted to ensure that nothing went wrong when the king was here. Roaming war bands weren’t as common in the past few months, but there were still plenty of people who opposed Robert Bruce and “renegades” like her brother who’d turned on his compatriots to come to Bruce’s side.

And there was always the MacKays. Her heart tugged. It seemed there was always trouble with the MacKays. Feud or not, disputes over land broke out frequently between the neighboring clans. Descendants of the Moarmers of Caithness, the MacKays refused to answer to the Sutherlands for their lands.

When they’d first received the king’s missive, her foolish heart had leapt, wondering if Magnus would be with him. But of course he wouldn’t. He could barely stand to look at her.

Don’t think of him.

Focusing on healing had been a boon in more ways than one.

She forced a smile back to her face and greeted the men. To Donald she said, “You rode out early this morning; I did not see you at the morning prayers.”

He broke out into a broad smile, clearly pleased by her observation. “Aye, with the usurper arriving any day, the earl has us covering a lot of land this morning.”

Before she could remind him that he shouldn’t be calling the man her brother was trying to curry favor with a usurper, one of the other men added, “The captain insisted on being back for—”

“That’s enough, Angus.” Donald hopped off his destrier. The enormous mail-clad warhorses were scarce in this area—and impractical in the mountainous Highlands—but her brothers and Donald took their roles as knights seriously. “Take the horses back. I’ll escort the lady the rest of the way.”