The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(52)

His duties to the king and hers as healer ensured that for the first time since arriving at Dunrobin Castle he could not avoid her, but any attempts at personal conversation were instantly quashed. As the king continued to improve, Magnus’s duties tended less toward personal bodyguard and more toward captain of the king’s guard. Duties that took him away. More often, Gregor MacGregor, Neil Campbell, or Alexander Fraser could be found at the king’s bedside.

But Helen knew the king’s illness had given her a reprieve, and she did not intend to squander the opportunity. Her declaration of love had fallen on deaf ears. Obviously, he didn’t believe her. She would just have to prove it to him, showing him how she felt by boldly tempting him with the one weapon she had: desire.

The only problem was that she didn’t know how to be bold. With little female guidance—even less since Muriel had gone—flirting and seduction were not an art she’d perfected. So she took to observing the servants. But unless she intended to start wearing gowns from which her bosom spilled out, and pick up a pitcher of ale to bend over and pour (displaying those bosoms to their full advantage) while men fondled her bottom, she didn’t know how to proceed.

But he was not as immune to her as he wanted her to think. Never far from her mind was that kiss. He wanted her. Of that he was willing to admit. It was a start. An opening through which she could attack. If lust was the sword that would penetrate his shield, she intended to do what she could to pierce his defenses.

With Donald gone it should have been easier. Will had sent him to Inverness in search of Muriel when the first messenger had returned empty-handed. But of course, there were still her brothers with whom to contend.

She grimaced. They were making it exceedingly difficult on her. Will was in a foul temper, which Kenneth blamed on the king’s illness. When she wasn’t attending the king, her eldest brother the formidable earl ensured her duties kept her too busy to do anything else. Kenneth was worse. Except for the blissful (and far too short) two days while he was at Skelbo Castle, it seemed as if every time she turned around, her unnecessary and unwanted “protector” was there.

“Where are you off to this beautiful morning, sister?”

She stiffened. He followed her so closely he was lucky she hadn’t stomped on his nose. It would serve him right if she did. Her brother was nearly as handsome as Gregor MacGregor but far more arrogant. Attention from women was the one thing he’d never had to fight for. Women fell at his feet, and he let them enjoy the view.

Helen gritted her teeth and tried to smile. “I thought I’d check with the cook to see if the shipment of lemons has arrived. The king enjoys a bit of the juice with his ale.”

She wondered whether he even heard her answer. Kenneth’s eyes narrowed as he scanned her gown.

“Interesting dress,” he said slowly. “But some of it seems to be missing.”

Helen felt the heat rise to her cheeks but ignored his comment—and his obvious disapproval. She took the fine silk in her hands and spread the skirt wide, swishing it around a little for effect. The silvery pink threads caught in the light streaming through the high windows of the Great Hall where he’d caught her. “Isn’t it beautiful? The latest style from France, I’m told. Lady Christina was wearing one just like it at the wedding.”

Helen had lowered hers by an inch in the bodice, but she wasn’t going to point that out. What difference did an inch make?

Quite a bit, it seemed, if her brother’s reaction was any guide. “Lady Christina is a married woman with a husband who would kill any man for looking at her.”

“And I’m a widow,” she pointed out. She thrust her chin up, refusing to let him cow her. “I shall wear what I like, brother.”

She could tell that Kenneth didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed by her sudden assertion of independence.

He considered her for a moment, and then seemed to decide. A wry smile turned his mouth. “It won’t work, you know. You won’t change his mind. MacKay is one of the most proud and stubborn men I know, and damned if I’m not happy about it right now. You refused him and married his friend; it will take more than a low gown to change his mind.”

Furious, Helen met his amused gaze with a glare. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” But the heat in her cheeks belied her claim; she was embarrassed that her ploy had been so obvious.

Brothers could be so infuriating. Especially when he only laughed and tweaked her nose in response as if she were two. “Ah, Helen, you are still such an innocent.” He had that even more infuriating “silly Helen” look on his face. If he looped her under his arm and mussed her hair, she might sock him in the stomach the way she used to do when she was younger. “One night as a married woman does not make you a coquette.”

Not even one night, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. It would only bolster his argument, and her “widowhood” imparted a certain amount of freedom that she was reluctant to lose.

“Hell, that bastard’s so stubborn you could probably crawl into his bed naked and he wouldn’t notice you.”

Kenneth was laughing so hard he didn’t see the flare of possibility in her widened eyes. Climbing into his bed naked … good God! … was that what women did? It seemed rather extreme, but she added it to her mental list of weaponry.

She thought about thanking her brother for the suggestion, but didn’t think he’d be as amused by the irony. “If we are done, then I should see to the king’s meal.”