The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(78)

Magnus shrugged. “It’s uphill.”

Helen looked back and forth between them. They were joking, weren’t they?

She didn’t know, but it was clear as the day drew on that as much as she was enjoying and savoring every minute of the beautiful scenery, Magnus was finding the pace agonizing. A pace made slower when they found the bridge at Garve unpassable, forcing them to cross the Blackwater farther upstream.

By the time they camped for the night along the banks of the river, with the pine forest surrounding them, and the mountain of Ben Wyvis looming in the distance, Helen was content to laze near the river, eating her meal with the two attendants her brother had insisted she bring, and watch the magnificent sunset.

She sighed contentedly and stood from the table that had been set up in their tent. Although by no means luxurious, the royal progress was not without basic comforts. Unlike Bruce’s journey across the Highlands three years ago, when he’d been fleeing with little more than the clothes on his back and the sword in his hand, the king’s carts were laden with household plate and furniture. Large canvas tents were fitted with finely woven floor coverings brought back from the crusades, along with tables, chairs, and pallets. They drank from silver goblets, ate from pewter trenchers, and lit the rooms with oil lamps and candles in fine candelabra.

Her attendants rose after her, but she waved them back down. “Sit. I shall only be a moment.” She grabbed the ewer that had been set out on small table with a wide bowl. “I’m just going to fetch some water with which to clean.”

Ellen, a woman who’d been attending her from birth, looked appalled—though really after two and twenty years she should know better.

“Let me do that, my lady.”

“Nonsense,” Helen said, sliding through the tied-back flap of the tent. “It will feel good to stretch my legs.”

And if Magnus just happened to be nearby, it would be merely happenstance. She smiled, knowing it would be anything but. She’d grown quite accustomed to—maybe even dependent on—Magnus watching over her. Her heart raced a little in anticipation.

But surprisingly, to her disappointment, he didn’t appear.

She made her way over to the large granite slabs of rock that formed the bank of the river to the dark water that had given the river its name. After washing her hands and filling the ewer, she retreated a few feet to find a dry patch of rock to sit upon as she watched the sun slip behind the mountains and fade over the horizon. She inhaled deeply. Heavenly! How she loved the fresh scent of pine.

Everything about this journey had been heavenly thus far. Magnus’s attentiveness had to mean something. M’aingeal. My angel. Did he realize he’d used the endearment he’d once called her? If he hadn’t forgiven her, she was confident he would soon. And although content with his friendship for now, she couldn’t erase from her mind what had happened between them. Every time she looked at his hands she remembered.

She blushed, a warm glow coming over her. It was all going to turn out perfectly, she knew it.

Suddenly aware of someone behind her, she turned excitedly. But it wasn’t Magnus—it was Donald.

Her disappointment must have shown on her face. His eyes narrowed. “Were you expecting someone?”

Helen shook her head and stood, reaching for the ewer. “I was just fetching some water.”

He blocked her with his body. “I was hoping you might have a moment. I’ve been trying to speak with you alone for over a week. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

She hoped the fading daylight hid her guilty flush. It wasn’t Donald she wished to avoid really, but the unpleasantness of the conversation that she feared was coming.

“I really should go,” she said, unable to stop her gaze from scanning the camp behind him, hoping someone would come to her rescue. Nay, not someone: Magnus.

“He’s not here. MacKay and some of the other men have gone to scout the road ahead.” His mouth had hardened. He anticipated her next thought. “Your brother is with the king.”

He sneered the last, but she didn’t attempt to chide him. At least he was saying “king” now and not “hood” or “usurper.” Resolved to having it done, she took a deep breath and faced him. “Very well. What is it you would like to speak to me about?”

“I think that should be obvious. I’m a patient man, lass, but I’ve been patient long enough. I’ll have your answer.”

Helen lifted her brows, annoyed by his high-handedness. “I wasn’t aware I owed you one.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. Harder and more roughly than she liked. Water sloshed from the pitcher onto the sleeve of her gown.

“Don’t play games with me, lass. I want you to be my wife. Now will you or won’t you marry me?”

Helen felt her own temper rise, anger overriding her concern for his feelings. She jerked her arm free. “Our longstanding friendship may excuse your presumption, but it does not give you a right to touch or speak to me like this. I’ve done nothing to warrant your anger. I’ve never encouraged your suit or given you any reason to expect that it would be welcome.”

The look of cold fury on his face sent a chill across the back of her neck. Belatedly, she realized her mistake. Her anger had struck in the most dangerous place: his pride.