The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(45)

But she was no longer his to love.

He drove the venerable knight back in a relentless attack, putting all his anger and frustration behind every swing of the sword.

Though Sir Neil was one of Bruce’s greatest knights, he had trouble keeping up with Magnus today.

When one particularly violent swing landed a little too firmly, the other man put down his sword. “Damn, MacKay. Take it easy. I’m on your side.”

Magnus lowered his sword, the heaviness of his breath and pain in his shoulder telling him exactly how hard he’d been going.

God’s bones, it felt good!

He smiled. “All this peace has made you soft, old man. Perhaps I can find a nice Englishman for you to practice with?”

“Bloody hell, I’ll show you soft.” The knight attacked, coming damn close to taking Magnus’s mind off his problems.

Until the source of those problems appeared out of the corner of his eye, distracting him just enough to suffer a blow to his arm—his bad arm.

He swore as the flat of the steel landed with full force on his exposed shoulder, causing his sword to fall from his hand.

Campbell looked stunned. It wasn’t often Magnus gave an opponent an opening like that, and to be the recipient of such a lapse surprised him. “Christ! Sorry about that. Did I hurt your shoulder?”

As Magnus was grabbing the offending shoulder he could hardly deny it. “Just give me a moment,” he said, furious at himself.

But it only got worse. Helen rushed up to him, putting her hand on his arm and setting off every nerve-ending he’d fought so hard to contain. “Oh Magnus, are you all right? Your arm—”

“My arm is fine,” he lied, his arm stinging as sharply as his pride. “What do you want?”

Campbell had moved away, but Magnus could feel him watching with unabashed interest.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Her cheeks heated when he didn’t say anything, but just continued to scowl at her. Summer was less than two weeks away, but she looked as fresh and sunny as a warm summer day. With her fair skin, blue eyes, and dark red hair, yellow shouldn’t look so good on her. But the buttery shade brought out the warmth of her complexion, and made him think of bread fresh from the oven that he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.

Damn.

He apparently growled.

She took a step back, eyeing him uncertainly. “Muriel gave me some salve for your arm. She said it might be giving you some pain.”

It sure as hell was now. For a man who was known for his even-keeled temperment, he sure was having trouble keeping a grip on it right now. “Please thank Lady Muriel for her thoughtfulness, but—”

“If you like,” she interrupted, “I could rub some on you when you are finished. Or if you’d prefer, after you bathe?”

Agony. That’s what the images were. If she only knew how her innocent words wreaked havoc on his body! But she didn’t. Nor could he ever let her know.

He gritted his teeth together. “That won’t be necessary. My arm is fine. I’m fine. I don’t need—”

“What’s going on here?”

Perfect. Magnus looked over his shoulder to see that the Sutherlands and Munro had chosen this exact minute to return from falconing. Sir William was glaring daggers at his younger sister.

Surprisingly, Helen was glaring them back. “If it’s any of your business, Muriel gave me some salve for Magnus’s arm.”

Magnus’s brows lifted in surprise. He’d never heard her challenge one of her brothers like that before. Nonetheless, he added, “And I was just telling Lady Helen that the salve was unnecessary.”

Magnus tried not to grimace as Munro hopped off his horse and sauntered toward them.

“How thoughtful of you, Helen. As a matter of fact, I took a blow to the side yesterday from your brother. Every now and then he manages to land one.” Kenneth Sutherland pricked at the slur. “Perhaps you could try the salve on me?”

Magnus met the gaze of his enemy over her head. He knew he wasn’t imagining the amusement there.

The slight tightening of Helen’s mouth—probably noticed only by Magnus—was the only sign that she didn’t necessarily welcome the change of patients.

Magnus suspected the lines around his own mouth were much deeper.

Helen glanced at Magnus as if begging him to intercede, but he clenched his jaw, forcing it not to open. He pretended not to see the dejection on her face, but his chest pinched nonetheless.

“Of course,” she said brightly. “Come with me into the Hall, and I shall take a look at it.” She glanced at her brother. “Will, if you have a moment, I need to speak with you.” The earl looked about to argue, but Helen cut him off. “It’s about Muriel.”

The sudden flash of alarm in the earl’s expression betrayed him. “Is she all right?”

Helen had noticed the reaction as well and seemed confused by it. “She’s fine. At least I think she is.”

The earl’s face darkened, but he followed his sister and Munro—who’d taken her arm, blast him!—into the Hall. If Magnus was relieved to know that there would be a third person present when she rubbed the salve on Munro, it didn’t do anything to take the edge off the much more powerful emotion surging through him.

Nine