The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(72)

“Magnus, you surprised me!”

He smiled wryly. “I can see that. You appeared to be lost in thought.” Their eyes met. “Thinking up new cures for rashes, by chance?”

A delicate pink flush bloomed over her sun-kissed cheeks. She glanced up at him uncertainly from under long, dark lashes. “Are you very angry?”

Their gazes held for a long pause, the memories of what had happened hanging thick and hot in the air between them. A primal kick of awareness that hit right in the groin. Angry? He should be. But he wasn’t. He’d touched her. Had his hands in places he’d only dreamed of. Felt her body move against his. Tasted passion unlike anything he’d ever imagined. She’d tricked him into doing what honor would never have allowed him to do. Given him excuse. He wasn’t hypocritical enough to regret it.

But he didn’t want to encourage her. He wasn’t sure he would be strong enough to pull back again. “I was.”

“But you aren’t any longer?”

She looked up at him with such wide-eyed hopefulness, he had to force a stern expression. “I might be persuaded to forgive you, if you give me your word you will never do something like that again.”

She pursed her mouth distastefully. “I was provoked. And it isn’t my fault she jumped to the wrong conclusion. ‘Strange rash’ could have meant anything.”

The defiant little minx. “Helen …”

From the way she tossed up her chin, he assumed she didn’t like his tone.

“Very well, as long as you promise not to do something like that again as well.” Her face fell, and she lost some of her bravado. “It was wrong of you to do that in front of me.”

“You weren’t the only one feeling provoked.” He glanced down at her dress. “I noticed you aren’t wearing any more of those ‘modest’ gowns.”

She blushed and turned away.

Content to simply stand beside her, he followed the direction of her gaze and watched the fishing boats going in and out of the port of Dingwall below.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Does the king have need of me?”

He frowned. “Nay, why do you ask?”

She lifted a brow wryly. “I figured you must have a reason to seek me out.”

The wryness of her tone bothered him. He felt a twinge of guilt. But he could no longer avoid her—even if he wanted to, which he realized he didn’t. “I thought there might be something wrong. You didn’t appear to be enjoying yourself at the meal, and you left before the dancing started. Munro didn’t look very pleased to see you go.”

He frowned, thinking how possessively the other man had been watching her. Had Sutherland not prevented him, Magnus suspected Munro would have followed her out of the Hall. It shouldn’t bother him so damned much.

She tilted her head, studying him with a contemplative look on her face. “I didn’t realize you were watching me so closely.” When he didn’t react, she gave him a rueful smile. “I just felt like I needed a breath of fresh air.”

“I saw you with Ross’s sisters. It must be nice to have ladies near your own age to talk to.”

“It is.”

He frowned again, realizing he was missing something. “But …?”

She shrugged. “I just don’t always know what to say.”

“You? I’ve never known you to be at a loss for words.”

She laughed. “You say it as if you wished otherwise.”

His mouth twitched. “I used to sit there listening to you, wondering how a young lass could have so much to talk about. I fell asleep in the sun more than once listening to you.”

She gave him a playful shove. “You were supposed to be fishing.”

“How could I, when your chattering was chasing all the fish away?”

“I never chattered,” she said indignantly.

With her hands on her hips, her hair blowing around her head in a blaze of sunlight, big blue eyes staring up at him from out of that elfin face, it was so reminiscent of one of those days that a fierce wave of longing hit him square in the chest. He wanted to go back. He wanted to catch her against him and never let her go.

How could he have thought he could forget her? She was a part of him. It was his own bloody tragedy.

“Magnus?” Her brows furrowed.

He shook off the memories and gave her a sheepish smile. “Aye, you did, but I didn’t mind. I liked listening to you. So why now have you run out of things to say?”

She shrugged. “You were always different. You never made me feel like I was saying the wrong thing. I was always comfortable around you. Well, not always, but that was later.”

He wasn’t following her, but he knew there was something important in what she was saying.

She saw his confused expression and tried to explain. “I haven’t run out of things to say, I just say the wrong thing.” When he looked at her disbelievingly, she gave him a wry smile. “Earlier today I was in the solar with the other women and they were discussing the pig they were roasting for the feast, and before I knew it I was going on about the first time I’d seen a piglet born and how incredible it was—needless to say, not something they wanted to think about before our meal.” She pointed down to a large rock on the edge of the water. “I’m like that baby gannet down there—see the black one in the midst of all the yellow-headed ones?—a little odd.”