The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(79)

“I meant no offense, my lady.”

His jaw was clamped shut, but his eyes burned into her with such intensity, she felt an immediate twinge of regret.

“I’m sorry, Donald. I don’t wish to hurt you.” She put her hand on his arm, but he flinched away. “It has nothing to do with you. I’ve no wish to marry anyone right now.”

Though kindly meant, it wasn’t true, and he wouldn’t let it stand. “I may be a fool, but I’m not a blind one. Do you think I don’t see the way you’re throwing yourself at MacKay? I don’t know why he’s suddenly decided to dance attendance on you, but if you think he will marry you, you are a bigger fool than I.”

“Is something wrong here?”

Magnus! Saints preserve her, she was glad to see him.

The two men squared off in the shadowy twilight. For a moment, she feared they might come to blows. Equally stubborn and proud, neither of them was the type to back down from a challenge.

But to her surprise, Donald took a step back. “Nay, we are finished, aren’t we, my lady?”

Helen was so grateful there wouldn’t be a fight, she nodded furiously. “Aye. Thank you, Donald. I’m sorry—”

She stopped, not knowing what to say. She didn’t want to embarrass him further. She could already see his eyes darkening.

He smiled thinly. “I’ll bid you good night.” With a curt nod, he stomped back to camp.

Magnus put his hand on her arm. She was surprised how unsettled she was by what had happened, and the solid comfort of his touch proved immediately steadying.

“Are you all right?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

He slid his finger under her chin to tip her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Helen …?”

She melted at the concern in his warm brown eyes. A wry smile curved her mouth. “Really, I’m fine.”

Now that you are here. And she was. He’d always made her feel that way. God, how much she loved him!

“Was it as unpleasant as you feared?”

“It’s over,” she said firmly.

He appeared undecided as to whether to pursue the matter further, but after a moment he dropped his hand. “It’s late. You should get to bed. We have a long day ahead of us.”

He said the latter with such dread, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “I hope we won’t be traveling at such a fast pace tomorrow?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Minx.” He swatted her on the backside and pushed her back up the bank.

Despite Helen’s assurances, Magnus was still worried the next day. Munro had upset her. God knew what she saw in the arse, but she obviously considered Munro a friend and refusing him had caused her distress—undue, to his mind.

If her exuberance as they painstakingly—and he did mean painstakingly—made their way through the boggy hills and forests seemed more muted than the previous day, Magnus knew exactly whom to blame.

And the bastard wasn’t exactly helping matters with his barely concealed fury.

When Magnus wasn’t riding ahead, helping pull a cart out of the bogs (he hoped they would move faster once they hit the rocky terrain of Shgurr Mor and Beinn Dearg) or doing his best to ensure they were moving as fast as they could, he tried to distract her by identifying the names of the forests and mountains they passed: Ben Wyvis, Garbat, Carn Mor, Bein nan Eun, and Strath Rannoch on their right, and Corriemoillie, Carn na Dubh Choille, and Inchbae on their left.

But it wasn’t until they stopped on the banks of Loch Glascarnoch for the night that the pixie smile that seemed to light up her whole face returned. She came up to him, just after he’d finished overseeing the erecting of the king’s tent, holding one hand behind her back. “Guess what my brother found?”

“Another retinue to travel with?”

She rolled her eyes and held out her hand, opening her fist slowly. “Averins!”

Magnus smiled. The English called them cloudberries, but by whatever name, the rare red and orange brambles were delicious. Before she could pull her hand away, he plucked one from her palm and popped it in his mouth. The bright flavors of orange, apple, and honey were a burst of sweetness.

“Hey!” she protested, yanking her hand back.

“Thanks for sharing,” he said with a wink. “I used to make myself ill eating them as a lad when I could find them. They only flower every so often around here.”

She ate the last one before he could try to snatch it away—which he’d been contemplating.

“Will you take me to find some more? I should like to surprise the king. I think he should prefer them to the peas the cook has prepared for the evening meal.”

He made a face. “I should think so. Where did your brother find them?”

“A few miles back—I wish he’d thought to mention it earlier. But as the patch was close to the road, he said most were already gone. Is there someplace else we might look?”

He thought for a minute. “They grow in the bogs and forests around Ben Wyvis, but there might be a place we could try that’s not too far away. But I’m afraid your surprise for the king—if we can find them—will have to wait until after the evening meal. I cannot sneak away right now.”

She frowned, noticing her brother watching them from the other side of the king’s tent. “Sneak away is right. Perhaps you could send my brother and Donald on a long scouting mission? To Ireland perhaps?”