The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(38)

She knew why her future had looked murky when she was talking to Muriel earlier. She couldn’t imagine one that didn’t include Magnus. He was the only thing that had ever made any sense to her.

He was here, and she intended to do everything in her power to do what she’d failed to do before: fight for him. The king’s missive had said he planned to stay two weeks. She wasn’t going to waste one minute of that time.

She would seize every day. Even if he could barely look at her.

Magnus was at war.

With himself.

In the middle of the damned feast. From where he was seated, he couldn’t avoid looking at the couple …

Munro put his hand on Helen’s arm, and Magnus nearly shot off the bench. The urge to slam his fist into the smug bastard’s jaw was almost overwhelming.

He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore them. But it was impossible. Which was probably intentional. No doubt this torturous seat was Sutherland retribution.

Magnus might have forced his way into the tower, but the Sutherlands had seated him as far away from Helen as they could without giving offense. His position as the king’s personal bodyguard and henchman earned him a place on the dais, but he was at the far end of the table while Helen was near the middle, seated between the king and Munro. Giving him a perfect view …

The Sutherland henchman leaned over and whispered something in Helen’s ear that made her smile.

God’s blood! Magnus tamped down the flare of anger with a long drink of ale. One week. Thank God it had taken them longer to leave Kildrummy than anticipated, and that was all of this he would have to endure.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize what was happening. Munro obviously had decided that Gordon’s death had opened the bloody floodgates to include him as a potential suitor for Helen.

The irony was not lost on him. The man who Magnus had made a hurdle to conquer before he could ask Helen to marry him now thought to marry her himself.

Magnus clenched his jaw. Oh, it was ironic all right.

But why the hell was he letting this bother him? He should be glad of it. Whatever else he thought of Munro, he couldn’t fault his warrior’s skills. Munro would protect her. He would keep her safe, and Magnus would have no reason to feel guilty. A husband would absolve him of his promise to Gordon. There was probably no cause for concern as it was. Gordon’s identity as a member of the Highland Guard hadn’t been compromised.

But Munro, damn it. He couldn’t stand the thought of them—

“Is everything to your liking, my lord?”

Hell no! Magnus stopped the thought from becoming words and turned to the woman seated to his left. Realizing he was scowling, he forced a smile to his face. “Aye, thank you, Lady Muriel. Everything is delicious.”

It was the truth. However awkward their arrival yesterday, Helen had acquitted herself well as hostess today. The feast was magnificent, offering nothing to find fault with the young lady of the keep.

He wasn’t surprised. Helen’s enthusiasm and joie de vivre were contagious. She made every day feel like a feast day. A prized quality for a chatelaine. Ironically, the role had never seemed to interest her much. But she’d matured.

In some ways.

But when he thought of yesterday, the way her face had lit up with happiness when she’d seen him, how she’d blurted out the first thought in her head, it was exactly how she’d been as a girl.

She’d even looked like the Helen he remembered. Her fiery auburn hair pinned haphazardly atop her head, her skirts muddy and wrinkled. Hell, he’d even noticed a few freckles smattered across her nose. And that smile …

It had lit up her whole face.

His chest grew tight. Damn it. Did she have to wear her emotions so plainly? Why couldn’t she be a little circumspect just once?

But that wasn’t her. It never had been. Helen’s openness was one of the first things he loved—

He stopped the thought. He had loved about her.

“Don’t mind him,” MacGregor said from Lady Muriel’s other side. “Surliness is part of his charm.” He grinned. “I blame it on the arm.”

The lady immediately grew concerned. “Helen spoke of your injury. The bones in the arm, especially near the shoulder, can cause pain for a long time—”

“I’m fine,” Magnus said with a glare to MacGregor. “The bones have healed well. Lady Helen did a fine job. You’ve taught your pupil well.”

She shook her head, a wry smile curving her mouth. “Helen gives me too much credit. She is a natural healer—her instincts are pure. Her optimism is a great gift for a healer; it helps her get through the difficult times. She has an unusual aptitude for what I call blood and gore—the trade of a barber surgeon on the battlefield. My father would have been beside himself. I was a much slower learner.”

Magnus held her gaze. “Aye, I’ve seen what you speak of. She has a gift.”

He could tell she wanted to question him further, but politeness prevented her from doing so. “I will give Helen something to rub on your arm after you—”

Good God! “Nay!”

The thought of Helen’s hands on him …

He’d been in too much pain to notice when she’d treated his wounds, but the memories were enough to drive him mad. In the middle of the night, when his thoughts had nowhere to hide.