The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(53)

“Ah Helen, don’t get all prickly. I’m sorry for laughing.” He tried to look chastened, but his deep blue eyes, so like her own, sparkled with laughter.

Brothers! Her mouth thinned. Sometimes she wished she were five years old again and she could just kick him—even if he was twice her size.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he took a step back. He crossed his arms, clearly not done with her yet. “You’ve taken quite an interest in the king’s food. The cook mentioned that since Carrick—I mean, the king—has resumed eating, you’ve insisted on overseeing his meals personally.”

Helen thought she covered her reaction, but Kenneth had always been irritatingly perceptive. All signs of his previous humor vanished. “What is it?”

She shrugged. “The king nearly died under our roof. It is prudent to have care.”

He watched her until she felt like squirming. Sometimes he could be just as stern and intimidating as Will.

“But that’s not all is it?”

She shook her head. She hadn’t given voice to her fears, but the urge to confide in someone was overwhelming.

With a harsh curse, Kenneth looked around, took her firmly by the elbow, and pulled her into the small storeroom behind the stairs that smelled of ale and wine. Although the hall wasn’t crowded, there were always people milling around to overhear.

“Tell me,” he insisted in a low voice.

She bit her lip. “It’s probably nothing. But there were things about the king’s illness … things that reminded me of monkshood.”

She mouthed the last word, but the flare of alarm in her brother’s eyes told her that he’d understood. “I thought you said the king suffered from the sailors’ malady.”

“I did. He did. Probably. But I can’t be certain.”

He swore again and stormed around the room restlessly. She feared that he would be angry with her, but it pleased her to realize that he trusted her skills as a healer enough to accept her suspicions without comment.

It was also clear he was shocked—which relieved her more than she wanted to admit. Her brothers wouldn’t be involved in something so dishonorable. It hadn’t been easy for them to swallow their pride and submit to Bruce, but they’d warmed to the king … hadn’t they?

“You mustn’t say anything to anyone until we are sure.” He grabbed her arm and forced her to meet his gaze. “Do you hear me, Helen? No one. And sure as hell not MacKay. No matter what you think of him or his feelings for you, be clear of one thing: his duty is to the king. If he thinks the king is in danger, he will act first and ask questions later. They don’t trust us as it is. Even the suspicion of something like that would jeopardize our clan. That’s all it is, isn’t it—a suspicion?”

She nodded. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. The king seems to be improving with the change in diet.”

He nodded. “Then we shall hope he continues to improve. But promise me to tell no one.”

“I promise.”

“Good. I will tell Will. It will be up to him as to whether to inform the meinie”—her brother’s closest warriors, who formed his retinue. “But I doubt he’ll risk it. The fewer people who know of this, the better.”

Kenneth left to find Will, and Helen made her way down to the kitchen vaults to see to the king’s meal. She thought she probably shouldn’t have said anything, but then again, under the circumstances perhaps it was better to err on the side of caution.

Robert the Bruce was the king, whether her brothers liked it or not. He’d won the people’s hearts by his defeat of the English at Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill, and he was on his way to winning most of Scotland’s barons as well. If he’d come to harm under their care, there would have been repercussions.

It was her other problem, however, that weighed upon her now. Kenneth was right. The dress had been a silly idea. Magnus was not the type of man to be tempted by something so obvious. She vowed to change before the midday meal. And then …

She sighed. Then she’d have to think of something else.

* * *

Magnus lingered at the beach. From his rocky seat by the sea, he watched the waves crash against the dark cliffs below the castle, hurling great plumes of water into the air. A few gannets dipped and soared over the water, hunting their next meal.

He savored the rare moment of peace. But the sharp glare of the sun high in the sky reminded him of the hour. He should get back for the midday meal.

Where he would see Helen.

“I love you.”

He pushed the words away and jumped off the rock. It didn’t matter, damn it! Hadn’t she said as much before? Look how well that had turned out for him—three and a half years of misery. She’d left him standing like an arse while she rode away with her damned brothers only to dig her knife even deeper by marrying his closest friend.

But the words had affected him more than he wanted to admit. After nearly three weeks at Dunrobin, including two by her side while she nursed the king, seeing the way she looked at him he could almost believe she meant it—that she regretted what had happened and wanted to make it right.

But it could never be right. Excising Helen from his heart had cost him too much.

Yet no matter how much his body wanted to forget, he flared up like a stallion with a mare in heat whenever she was near. Hiding his reaction in the king’s small chamber had become impossible.