And there was always the MacKays. Her heart tugged. It seemed there was always trouble with the MacKays. Feud or not, disputes over land broke out frequently between the neighboring clans. Descendants of the Moarmers of Caithness, the MacKays refused to answer to the Sutherlands for their lands.
When they’d first received the king’s missive, her foolish heart had leapt, wondering if Magnus would be with him. But of course he wouldn’t. He could barely stand to look at her.
Don’t think of him.
Focusing on healing had been a boon in more ways than one.
She forced a smile back to her face and greeted the men. To Donald she said, “You rode out early this morning; I did not see you at the morning prayers.”
He broke out into a broad smile, clearly pleased by her observation. “Aye, with the usurper arriving any day, the earl has us covering a lot of land this morning.”
Before she could remind him that he shouldn’t be calling the man her brother was trying to curry favor with a usurper, one of the other men added, “The captain insisted on being back for—”
“That’s enough, Angus.” Donald hopped off his destrier. The enormous mail-clad warhorses were scarce in this area—and impractical in the mountainous Highlands—but her brothers and Donald took their roles as knights seriously. “Take the horses back. I’ll escort the lady the rest of the way.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she protested. But the men had already hastened to do his bidding.
“I insist,” he said with a wink.
Helen couldn’t help but laugh. Donald had always been protective of her, from the time she was a young girl. He didn’t approve of her walking about unescorted. Fortunately her father, and now Will, didn’t mind as long as she stayed within the castle environs.
They walked a few minutes in companionable silence before he spoke again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Muriel.”
She caught the note of disapproval in his voice and sighed. Truly, it was like having another brother. “I like spending time with her. I’m learning so much.”
Since she’d returned from Dunstaffnage, Helen had thrown herself into learning as much as she could from her friend. She’d never before attempted anything as dangerous as removing the arrow from Gregor MacGregor’s neck. She might have appeared confident, but in truth, she’d been terrified.
But when it was over, she’d also been proud.
She was good at healing, she realized. And with Muriel’s instruction she would be even better. Muriel’s father had been a university-trained physician in Berwick-upon-Tweed, and he’d taught his daughter everything he knew. Even though the guilds of physicians were closed to women, the Earl of Ross had offered to sponsor her. But Muriel had refused the rare opportunity, claiming that the only recognition she needed was from the local clansmen she cared for. Helen was happy that she’d decided to stay, but wondered if there was something else keeping her here.
Whatever the case, working alongside Muriel gave Helen something to do and kept her mind from straying to painful places.
From the expression on Donald’s face, she could see her reason hadn’t impressed him. She thought of another way to do so. “Is it not my responsibility as lady of the keep to tend to our guests?”
Donald frowned, unable to argue her point. “Aye, but Muriel is not a proper companion for an unmarried lady—”
“A widow,” Helen reminded him firmly. “And just because Muriel has decided not to marry does not mean she’s improper.”
“The lass is young and fair of face. She should be married with a handful of children nipping at her heels. Not roaming the countryside alone.”
The way he’d expressed it, it sounded like a pack of pups would suffice just as well. Helen tried to remain patient, knowing Donald spoke as most of the others felt, but it infuriated her that some believed Muriel must be of questionable morals because she chose not to marry. “She is my friend,” she said. “And I would caution you to remember it.”
For Helen, friends were a rarity, so she valued her all the more highly. Muriel never judged her. Muriel didn’t think she was odd. Perhaps because she was as “wayward” as Helen. And she didn’t even have red hair as an excuse, Helen thought with a laugh.
Donald must have realized he’d gone too far. He took her hand and patted it as if she were a child. “Of course she is. She’s lucky to have a loyal friend like you.” He stopped, Muriel’s small stone cottage having just come into view, the ruins of the old broch looming in the distance beyond. He turned and tipped her chin to him. “You know I only want what’s best for you, don’t you?”
Helen met his gaze, thinking his voice sounded somewhat gruff. Perhaps he was catching a chill?
She nodded uncertainly. “Aye.”
He smiled, dropping her chin. “Come, don’t be cross with me.” He pointed to a patch of grass along the cliffside. “Look, a primrose! Rare this late in the season.”
Helen’s heart caught. The delicate purple flower native to the far north coast of Scotland stirred cruel memories.
It was a year after the first time she’d met Magnus. The games were being held at Freswick Castle that year, and she’d been weaving a chain of the beautiful purple flower that grew only along the coast of Scotland’s far north when Magnus had found her. She was only fifteen, and Magnus, at twenty, had just learned that he’d drawn the unfortunate position of facing the legendary Tor MacLeod in the first round of the sword challenge. Helen knew it must have seemed impossibly daunting to a young warrior and had desperately wanted to do something to boost his spirits. She’d plucked a large primrose and pinned it to his cotun with one of the pins from her dress.
“A talisman,” she’d said. “For luck.”
His face had turned a little red, but Helen hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.
It was only later when she’d caught sight of him with a group of young warriors, which included her brother Kenneth, that she realized he’d been anticipating their reaction to the flower.
“What’s that, MacKay? A favor from your lady?” one of the men said.
“He must think he’s a bloody English knight,” someone else said.
“Or maybe it’s meant for his grave,” the first man countered. “MacLeod is going to kill him.”
“How sweet,” her brother said. “It really brings out the rosiness in your delicate complexion.”
The men all laughed, and Magnus stood there taking their taunts without saying a word. She knew how proud he was and seeing him forced to endure their laughter because of her …
She wanted to rush over there and tear the offending flower off his cotun herself. But he left it there the entire time. To please me, she realized. It was at that moment she knew how different he was—how special—and she’d lost her heart to him.
Her chest squeezed. How could she have been uncertain in her feelings? Why hadn’t she trusted herself? How could she have been so weak and failed to seize the chance given her?
Donald dropped her hand to bend down, snapping the stem in half. Heat gathered behind her eyes as he tucked the stem behind her ear, wishing with all of her heart that he was someone else. “You look like a May Queen.”
Not knowing what to say, she was glad when she heard the sound of a door opening. Seeing Muriel standing in the doorway watching them, she thanked him and hurried to join her friend.
It wasn’t until much later, when she and Muriel were returning from visiting one of the crofters who had tripped on a spade and had fortunately only twisted rather than broken his ankle, that Muriel made a comment on what she’d seen. “Your brother’s henchman has been around often of late.”
“Donald?” Helen shrugged. “Aye, Will has him patrolling our borders to the north.”
Muriel’s mouth twisted as if she were trying to hold back a smile. “I very much doubt a sudden fear of raiders from the north is the cause.”
Her brows furrowed. “Then why?”
Mur
iel shook her head, this time unable to hold back her smile. “He’s wooing you, Helen.”
Helen came to an abrupt stop. Her body pulled back in surprise. “Wooing me? Don’t be ridiculous.”
But even as she made her denial, she realized it could be true. Since William Gordon’s death, she’d sensed a shift in Donald’s attentions to her. He’d always been protective, but lately that protectiveness had seemed more intense. More personal. More intimate.
Muriel watched as understanding dawned.
Horror drained Helen’s face. “Oh God, is it true?”
“Is the idea so unpleasant?”
Helen bit her lip. “Yes … No … I’ve just never thought of him that way.”
She’d only thought of one man that way.
“It would not be an advantageous alliance, but it would not be a bad one either.”
Helen felt the reflexive burst of panic at the thought of marriage. She knew her friend was only trying to be helpful, but she couldn’t even think of marriage right now. Or maybe ever.
“You must have loved him very much,” Muriel said compassionately.
“I—” She stopped, nodding as if in agreement. She had loved him very much, just not the man her friend thought. Though they’d spent virtually every day together since Helen had returned from Dunstaffnage, she had not confided the details of the nightmare that had been her wedding. Muriel assumed her unhappiness was the result of losing her husband. Helen’s shame prevented her from confiding the truth.
They started to walk again. The square keep of the castle perched on the cliffside overlooking the kyle loomed ahead of them.
“Have you ever regretted not taking a husband?” Helen asked.
Muriel shook her head. “I love what I do, but it does not leave much time to be a wife.”
“No man has ever tempted you to want both?”
With her fair hair and skin, it was impossible for Muriel to completely hide the heat that rose in her cheeks. Though she was five and twenty, her delicate features and big blue eyes gave her an appearance of a girl much younger.
“Nay,” she said firmly. “I’m not sure it is possible to have two lives—one as a wife and one as a healer. And no one has ever made me an offer that I was tempted to try.”
It was an odd way of phrasing it, but Helen thought of something else. “What of children? I’ve seen how much you love them. Do you never want any of your own?”
The look of raw pain that flashed in Muriel’s eyes disappeared so quickly, Helen wondered if she’d imagined it.
Muriel looked straight ahead and shook her head. “Nay. God has given me another path. I will never have children.”
There was a finality to her voice Helen didn’t understand. Muriel rarely talked about her past, but Helen suspected she had one. She and her father, the famous Nicholas de Corwenne, had arrived at Dunrobin about ten years ago. It had seemed a boon to have such a venerable physician agree to move from Edinburgh to the wilds of northern Scotland—even if it was to be the personal physician of an earl. Now, Helen wondered if there had been another reason.
“And what of you, Helen? What will you do?”
The question startled her. It made it seem as though she had a choice. But women in her position had a duty to marry to further the interests of the clan. The only other “choice” was a convent. She couldn’t do what she wanted, even if she knew what that was. She wanted … everything.
Silly lass. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be content with her lot like other women in her position? She had wealth and position, a family who cared about her, a man who would marry her and give her children … it should be enough. But the subject made her feel restless and anxious.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Stay here, I suppose, until Will marries.” Though her brother was nearing his thirty-second saint’s day, he still had not married. She thought Muriel stiffened at her side, but when Helen glanced over she realized she had been mistaken. “Then … I don’t know.”
“The earl is planning to marry?”
Something in her voice made Helen look at her. Was her face a little pale? She frowned. “Not that I know, but I would not be surprised if that is one of the reasons for the king’s visit.”
Marriage alliances were one of the ways in which the king was ensuring the support of his barons. He was fortunate to have many sisters.
They were close enough to the castle to hear the first shout go up from the guard along the wall.
“Riders approach! ’Tis the Lion Rampant!”
The king! Helen looked around to the south, seeing the dot of riders appear on the horizon. “Come,” she said, gripping her friend’s arm. “We must go inside to properly greet him.” She looked down at her plain woolen dress, wrinkled from being tied between her legs as they stomped through the marshy heather. Instinctively, her hands went to her hair. She’d tied it haphazardly in a knot at the top of her head, but most of it had come loose.
Not much of an impression for the lady of the keep. Her appearance today would certainly encourage Will to take a wife, if that was what the king intended.
Muriel tried to beg off. “I think I will just return—”
“Nonsense,” Helen said, taking her arm and pulling her alongside her. “Don’t you wish to see the king?”
She didn’t give her an opportunity to argue. They entered the barmkin just as her brothers and Donald were making their way down the stairs. Will had called Kenneth back from Skelbo, their stronghold at the mouth of Loch Fleet ten miles south, as soon as he’d received the king’s message.
She saw Will stiffen as soon as he saw them. She could see his disapproval as he took in her disheveled appearance, but she knew there was more to it than that. It was Muriel. The tension in the air seemed to go up a dozen notches whenever they were together. It hadn’t always been that way, she realized. But lately, Will became stiff and cold whenever she was around—even more so than usual. Saints, he could be austere and imposing!
Helen didn’t understand why he’d taken such an active dislike to their healer. They were lucky to have her, and if he kept acting like this they were going to lose her.
“Good God, Helen, what have you been doing?” He ignored Muriel completely.
Helen lifted her chin, refusing to be bullied by her stern older brother. “Tending to the ankle of one of your clansmen.”
He shot Muriel a glare as if this were her fault. “I’ll thank you to remember that my sister has her own duties to attend.” His gaze could have cut ice. “She will be lady of the keep.”
Muriel flinched as if he’d struck some kind of invisible blow. “I am well aware of that, my lord.”
Though there was nothing outwardly disrespectful in her tone, Helen heard it nonetheless. “This is part of my duty, as you well know, Will. Do not blame Muriel; it was I who insisted I stay when she urged me to return.”
“Leave her alone, brother. She doesn’t look too bad,” Kenneth said. Helen suspected there was supposed to be a compliment in there somewhere. “The flower is a nice touch.”
Helen felt her cheeks redden, conscious of Donald, who stood in his familiar position at Will’s right shoulder.
“Aye, it looks quite fetching,” Donald said with a laugh that was a little too intimate.
Helen bit her lip, realizing Muriel was right.
“They’re here,” Muriel whispered excitedly as the first of the mail-clad riders came streaming through the gate. It was an impressive sight: the gleaming mail and colorful tabards of the knights and men-at-arms on their enormous warhorses, carrying banners, pikes, and all manner of weapons, followed by the carts carrying the king’s household plate and personal attendants. Her brother was right to have anticipated so many: there must be over fifty men.
“Is that the Bruce?” Muriel whispered.
Even were it not for the gold crown forged into his helm or the red rampant lion on the colorful yellow tabard, Helen would have known the king by the regal aura
that surrounded him. She nodded.
The men started to dismount and remove their helms. She was so focused on the king that it took her a moment to realize who stood beside him.
A gasp escaped from between her lips.
“What is it?” Muriel asked, noticing her reaction.
But Helen couldn’t speak. Her heart had leapt and was lodged in her throat.
Magnus! He was here. What did it mean? Was it possible …
Had her prayers been answered? Had he forgiven her?
Six
Helen was so happy to see him, she forgot everything and everyone else around her. For a moment it was one of those times years ago when she’d been hiding, and he’d caught her by surprise. Her heart jumped in an excited burst, and she almost yelped in girlish pleasure. Unconsciously, she took a step toward him. “You’re here!”
Magnus turned at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met, and all at once she realized her mistake. The smile fell from her face, her hopes crushed before they’d a chance to rise. Whatever reason Magnus was here, it wasn’t for her. He was looking at her aghast, as if he would rather be anywhere but here, as if she’d done something to …
Suddenly, she looked around, realizing the men had stopped talking and everyone was staring at her.
Heat crawled up her face as she realized the cause for that look. She’d embarrassed him. Again. Although this time, she was old enough to know better.
The king came to her rescue. Robert Bruce gave her a courtly bow, as if he were the one to whom she’d been speaking. “And it’s nice to be here after so long on the road. I thank you for your gracious welcome, Lady Helen. I hope we have not put you to too much trouble?”
She shook her head like a simpleton, too embarrassed to manage more than something like “of course not.”
But the king had earned her undying gratitude with his gallantry. She’d been impressed with “the Bruce,” as his men called him, at Dunstaffnage. It wasn’t hard to see why so many had been willing to risk so much to rally to his banner. A gallant knight in the prime of his manhood, a formidable warrior and shrewd commander, Bruce was good-natured, charming, and charismatic. Her brothers (and most of Christendom) had not believed it possible to best Edward of England. The Bruce had proved them wrong.
The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Page 11