The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(71)

Cool, arrogant eyes met hers. He nodded. “Very well. A month.”

He thought he could change her mind. But he couldn’t. He’d done what she’d thought impossible: he’d made her hate him.

Sixteen

Motte of Dingwall, Cromarty

They’d been at the Earl of Ross’s fortress of Dingwall for a few days before Magnus had the opportunity to speak to Helen alone. His duties on the road, and their natural separation when they arrived, not to mention her brother and Munro’s hovering, had forced Magnus to keep a watch on her from a distance. He was almost—almost—glad for the other men’s presence. Sutherland and Munro’s vigilance was added protection against something happening to her. Of course, they thought he was the threat.

He hoped to hell they were right. But he wouldn’t relax his guard until …

He didn’t know when he’d ever be able to relax his guard. The danger would be there as long as there was anyone who sought to uncover the identities of Bruce’s phantom warriors. Helen was connected to the Guard, whether she wanted to be or not.

Magnus felt an unexpected flare of anger at his dead friend. Had Gordon even thought of the danger he was exposing her to when he’d married her?

The potential danger was all Magnus could think about. If their enemies thought Helen knew something …

Hell, he didn’t want to think about what they would do to her to extract it. He’d already thought about it plenty the night she’d been late in returning to the castle.

He never panicked. Never. No matter how dire the situation, he always knew what to do. Even among the cool, unflappable members of the Highland Guard, Magnus was known for his steely nerves and levelheaded thinking in the heat of battle. But for one horrible moment, he’d felt the icy grip of fear close around him to lock him in a mind-numbing state of helplessness. If anything happened to her …

He’d become completely unhinged.

In retrospect he’d overreacted, but at the time all he could think about was Helen in the grasp of some sadistic bastard bent on extracting information from her.

The king was right. There was probably nothing to worry about. But he wouldn’t be able to relax until he was damned sure of it.

Of course, in addition to watching Helen he also had his duty to the king. Like the Sutherlands’, Ross’s fealty had been recently and reluctantly given. Though Bruce had accepted Ross back into the fold for the good of the realm, never far from any of their minds was that Ross had been the man responsible for violating church sanctuary to turn Bruce’s queen, his sisters, his daughter, and the Countess of Buchan over to the English.

The tension in the Hall was understandably thick and the possibility of further treachery never far from their minds. But like the Sutherlands, Bruce had sought to solidify Ross’s pledge with an alliance, this one between Ross’s heir, Sir Hugh, and the king’s sister Maud. It was the agreement to the betrothal that they were celebrating in the Great Hall when Magnus saw Helen slip away.

Since they’d arrived at Dingwall she’d been acting strangely. Especially around the other ladies, she seemed unusually quiet and subdued. It reminded him of when he’d first seen her at Dunstaffnage—as if there were something missing. He could not fault her appearance. He’d never seen her hair so artfully arranged, and she’d returned to a more modest gown selection—thank God!—but he wondered if something was wrong.

After a quick glance to MacGregor to keep an eye on the king, Magnus slipped outside after her. It was his duty. It wasn’t because he was worried about her.

Though the sky was clear, it was windy, and this close to the sea, cold for a midsummer day. Dingwall, an old Viking fortress garrisoned by the English and recently given to Ross to keep, was situated on a large motte fortified by a stone rampart and a hundred feet below by a wide ditch. The circular tower had been added to over the years, and now the castle was said to be the largest north of Stirling.

Magnus looked around but didn’t see her right away. There were a number of people about: servants rushing back and forth from the kitchens to the Hall, as well as soldiers patrolling the wall and guarding the gates.

He forced his heart to beat and clenched his jaw—he wasn’t going to panic, damn it—and methodically looked around again. He almost missed her. She was half-hidden behind a wall overlooking the ramparts; only a banner of long auburn hair blowing in the wind gave away her location.

With a deeper sigh of relief than he wanted to admit, he headed toward her. When he caught how quickly he was walking, however, he frowned. At Dunrobin he’d been doing his damnedest—without success—to avoid her. But after nearly a week of watching her from afar and speaking only when surrounded by others, if he didn’t know better he’d think he was anxious to see her. That he missed her.

Ah hell. He knew he was slipping, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. They were together, whether he liked it or not. He might as well make the best of it.

Captivated by the seaside view of the Firth below her, she didn’t hear him approach.

“I thought you liked dancing?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around with a start. But when she realized who it was, a bright smile turned her lips. Her delight at seeing him shouldn’t make him so happy—but it did. That smile settled right between his ribs and radiated through him. He felt as if he’d inhaled a ray of sunlight.