The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(75)

He steered her across the courtyard toward the barracks.

Surprised, Helen immediately became alarmed. “You were serious? I thought it was a ruse. What’s the matter?”

“You are needed,” he said simply.

The words filled her with an unexpected warmth.

Rather than opening the door to the barracks, a large wooden structure that had been built against a section of the wall, Magnus drew her around to the side of the building in the narrow space that separated it from the stables.

She was about to ask him why they were there, when she saw a child kneeling at the back edge of the wall.

The little girl, who appeared to be about seven or eight, turned as they approached. Even from a distance, Helen could see that she’d been crying. Fearing the child had been hurt, she rushed forward and knelt down beside her.

She did a quick scan, but could see no obvious signs of injury. “Where are you hurt, little one?”

She little girl shook her head mutely, staring at Helen as if she were an apparition. She was a funny-looking little thing with a mop of bedraggled brown hair that hung in her eyes and a dirt-streaked face on which the tears had cleared paths of freckled skin.

Magnus had knelt beside her, his big body blocking the narrow passageway. “Lady Helen,” he said. “I would like you to meet Mistress Elizabeth, the cook’s youngest daughter.”

The girl sniffled wetly. “My da calls me Beth.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Beth. What seems to be the—”

A soft meow coming from under the back corner of the building forestalled her question. There was a small gap between the ground and the wooden foundation where the cat had obviously taken refuge.

“It’s a kitten,” Magnus explained. “It wandered away from the rest of the litter in the kitchens and got underfoot. One of the servants stepped on its leg.”

The little girl started to cry again. Her small face scrunched up. “My d-da said n-nothing done and l-let it die,” she sobbed uncontrollably. Helen tried to soothe her, looking to Magnus.

“I ran into Mistress Beth on my way to the Hall and told her I knew someone who might be able to help.”

Their eyes locked. The echoes of the day that had bound them together long ago passed between them.

She held her breath as he reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her heart tugged at the contact. She savored the gentle touch that lasted only an instant before he seemed to remember himself.

His hand fell. “What do you need?”

“Help me get him—”

“It’s a her,” the little girl wailed.

“Help me get her out,” Helen amended, “and we shall see.”

For the next two hours, Helen worked diligently on the tiny ball of fur with the mangled leg. Magnus was by her side the entire time. He helped when needed and whittled some tiny splints for the kitten’s leg, while Beth fetched the things that Helen needed for a cast and a draught that would put the poor little thing to sleep. Helen made sure to not tell her all the items at once, knowing that fetching things kept the little girl too busy to cry.

It was delicate work, and Helen feared accidentally giving the tiny creature too much medicine, but when she finished, the kitten’s leg was held with tiny wooden splints, bound with thin swatches of egg-and-flour-coated linen, and she was sleeping peacefully in a wooden crate that Beth carried carefully back to the kitchens.

Helen couldn’t help smiling as she watched them go. Magnus helped her to her feet. Her legs wobbled in protest after kneeling for so long, and he slid his hand around her waist to steady her.

He smiled. “You’ve earned someone else’s undying gratitude today.”

“I’m glad you thought to come find me. Thank you.”

She looked into his eyes. For a moment neither one of them said anything.

“We should get back.”

She nodded, disappointed but not wanting to push him. They walked back in silence to the tower. Her skirts were dirty and dusty from kneeling beside the barracks; she would need to change for the evening meal.

“I will leave you here,” he said.

He started to walk away, but she stopped him. “Magnus.” He turned. “I won’t give up.”

She spoke softly, but he’d heard her. With a tip of his head, he left her.

Seventeen

Dunraith Castle, Wester Ross

“Have you seen the lady, my lord?”

Magnus glanced up from the shaft of yew he was working on to see a lad of about four and ten standing before him. One of Macraith’s foster sons, he guessed from the boy’s clothing. He wore the heavily padded cotun and steel helm of a warrior-in-training. Macraith, one of MacKenzie’s chieftains, was one of the Highlanders who’d given shelter to Bruce on his escape across the Highlands.

Magnus didn’t need to ask to which lady the boy referred. Since the day Helen performed her latest miracle on the kitten, word of her skills had spread, and “the lady” had been in almost constant demand for the rest of their stay at Dingwall and continuing on their next stop, a few miles west at Macraith’s castle, on what had been an ancient Norse fort.

Magnus knew he was somewhat responsible, having pointed more than one person in her direction. But watching her that day, he’d been struck, as he had been when she aided MacGregor and the king, with how alive she seemed.