The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  “We are honored to have you, Sire,” Will said with more graciousness than she would have thought possible. A year ago, the two men had been facing each other across a battlefield. But her eldest brother was pragmatic and would not let his considerable pride stand in the way of doing what was best for his clan. If that meant making friends with his former enemy, he would do it. Grudgingly.

  With one former enemy, at least.

  Her brothers did not hide their animosity when they saw Magnus. Will and Kenneth, as well as Donald, all looked ready to draw their swords. The challenging look Magnus was giving them wasn’t helping matters any. He was just as bad as they were. The feud ran deep between the two clans. It was difficult to push aside years of hatred, distrust, and suspicion. But she prayed that day would come. Unfortunately, it wasn’t today.

  Helen stepped forward to defuse the tension, presenting Muriel to the king, a few of the other knights standing nearby, and Magnus.

  Unable to avoid it, he nodded stiffly in her direction after greeting Muriel. “My lady.”

  His curtness hurt. She looked at him, willing something from him that was no longer there.

  “Your arm,” she said. “It has healed well?”

  Their eyes met, and for an instant he was her Magnus again, looking at her with his soft caramel-brown eyes full of the gentleness and tenderness that she’d always taken for granted.

  “Aye,” he said gruffly. “It’s as good as new.”

  “What he means is ‘thank you.’ ” Another man came forward. When he removed his helm, she gasped in surprise. Gregor MacGregor took her hand and bowed. “Lady Helen, I’m delighted to see you again.”

  Helen beamed at him, her eyes pricking with heat. Six months ago, he’d been close to death. But look at him! And the change was because of her. “As I am you, my lord. You are well?”

  He gave her a roguish grin that would fell half of the hearts of Scotland—the female half. Helen was not immune, and her heart skipped a little beat. Gregor MacGregor was the most dazzlingly handsome man she’d ever seen, with his bronzed skin, golden-brown hair, sparkling white teeth, brilliant blue eyes, and divinely chiseled features that even Adonis would envy. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, he looked ready to take his place on Mount Olympus.

  “Very well, my lady. Thanks to you.” His expression sobered for a moment. “I owe you my life. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you have but to ask.”

  Helen blushed, both pleased and embarrassed. To cover her embarrassment, she introduced Muriel. “Lady Muriel is the best healer in the North. She has taught me everything I know.”

  Gregor flashed one of those gorgeous grins in the direction of her friend, who seemed to be in something of a stunned trance. Helen could hardly blame her. Gregor MacGregor tended to have that effect.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. He looked back and forth between the two women. “Had I healers as beautiful as you, I should have always been ill.” His magnificently blue eyes actually twinkled when he smiled. “In fact, I have every intention of coming down with a chill while I’m here.”

  Helen giggled like a simpering maid and was surprised to hear her serious friend doing the same.

  “Helen,” her brother Will said sharply, causing her to startle. From his dark expression, she gathered Will was annoyed with her again. Except he was looking at Muriel. “The king has had a long journey.”

  Her cheeks burned at the reminder of her duty. “Of course. I shall show you to your chamber, Sire, and send some wine and bread with cheese before the evening meal.”

  “That sounds perfect,” the king said, trying to ease her discomfort once again.

  Magnus, who also looked irritated for some reason, and a few of the other men started to follow, but Will stepped in front of him to block him.

  He addressed Bruce, not Magnus. “Munro will show the rest of your party to the barracks. I’m sure they will be quite comfortable there.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Magnus said calmly. “But we go with the king.” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement, lifting a brow with a not-so-subtle taunt. “I assume there isn’t a problem with me staying in the tower?”

  Will, Kenneth, and Donald all glanced in her direction. They weren’t much for subtlety either. Will’s jaw was clenched so tightly, she was surprised he could talk. “Nay,” he managed. “No problem.”

  Why did Helen suspect one of them would be sleeping outside her door?

  “Glad to hear it,” Magnus said. “I shall look forward to partaking of the famous Sutherland hospitality.”

  Will, trying not to choke on the sarcasm, let him pass.

  Helen sighed, leading the king and a few of his men—including Magnus—into the tower. She had no doubt that the king’s stay was going to be filled with tension between her brothers and Magnus. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let her family interfere. Not this time.

  She knew why her future had looked murky when she was talking to Muriel earlier. She couldn’t imagine one that didn’t include Magnus. He was the only thing that had ever made any sense to her.

  He was here, and she intended to do everything in her power to do what she’d failed to do before: fight for him. The king’s missive had said he planned to stay two weeks. She wasn’t going to waste one minute of that time.

  She would seize every day. Even if he could barely look at her.

  Magnus was at war.

  With himself.

  In the middle of the damned feast. From where he was seated, he couldn’t avoid looking at the couple …

  Munro put his hand on Helen’s arm, and Magnus nearly shot off the bench. The urge to slam his fist into the smug bastard’s jaw was almost overwhelming.

  He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore them. But it was impossible. Which was probably intentional. No doubt this torturous seat was Sutherland retribution.

  Magnus might have forced his way into the tower, but the Sutherlands had seated him as far away from Helen as they could without giving offense. His position as the king’s personal bodyguard and henchman earned him a place on the dais, but he was at the far end of the table while Helen was near the middle, seated between the king and Munro. Giving him a perfect view …

  The Sutherland henchman leaned over and whispered something in Helen’s ear that made her smile.

  God’s blood! Magnus tamped down the flare of anger with a long drink of ale. One week. Thank God it had taken them longer to leave Kildrummy than anticipated, and that was all of this he would have to endure.

  It hadn’t taken him long to realize what was happening. Munro obviously had decided that Gordon’s death had opened the bloody floodgates to include him as a potential suitor for Helen.

  The irony was not lost on him. The man who Magnus had made a hurdle to conquer before he could ask Helen to marry him now thought to marry her himself.

  Magnus clenched his jaw. Oh, it was ironic all right.

  But why the hell was he letting this bother him? He should be glad of it. Whatever else he thought of Munro, he couldn’t fault his warrior’s skills. Munro would protect her. He would keep her safe, and Magnus would have no reason to feel guilty. A husband would absolve him of his promise to Gordon. There was probably no cause for concern as it was. Gordon’s identity as a member of the Highland Guard hadn’t been compromised.

  But Munro, damn it. He couldn’t stand the thought of them—

  “Is everything to your liking, my lord?”

  Hell no! Magnus stopped the thought from becoming words and turned to the woman seated to his left. Realizing he was scowling, he forced a smile to his face. “Aye, thank you, Lady Muriel. Everything is delicious.”

  It was the truth. However awkward their arrival yesterday, Helen had acquitted herself well as hostess today. The feast was magnificent, offering nothing to find fault with the young lady of the keep.

  He wasn’t surprised. Helen’s enthusiasm and joie de vivre were contagious. She made eve
ry day feel like a feast day. A prized quality for a chatelaine. Ironically, the role had never seemed to interest her much. But she’d matured.

  In some ways.

  But when he thought of yesterday, the way her face had lit up with happiness when she’d seen him, how she’d blurted out the first thought in her head, it was exactly how she’d been as a girl.

  She’d even looked like the Helen he remembered. Her fiery auburn hair pinned haphazardly atop her head, her skirts muddy and wrinkled. Hell, he’d even noticed a few freckles smattered across her nose. And that smile …

  It had lit up her whole face.

  His chest grew tight. Damn it. Did she have to wear her emotions so plainly? Why couldn’t she be a little circumspect just once?

  But that wasn’t her. It never had been. Helen’s openness was one of the first things he loved—

  He stopped the thought. He had loved about her.

  “Don’t mind him,” MacGregor said from Lady Muriel’s other side. “Surliness is part of his charm.” He grinned. “I blame it on the arm.”

  The lady immediately grew concerned. “Helen spoke of your injury. The bones in the arm, especially near the shoulder, can cause pain for a long time—”

  “I’m fine,” Magnus said with a glare to MacGregor. “The bones have healed well. Lady Helen did a fine job. You’ve taught your pupil well.”

  She shook her head, a wry smile curving her mouth. “Helen gives me too much credit. She is a natural healer—her instincts are pure. Her optimism is a great gift for a healer; it helps her get through the difficult times. She has an unusual aptitude for what I call blood and gore—the trade of a barber surgeon on the battlefield. My father would have been beside himself. I was a much slower learner.”

  Magnus held her gaze. “Aye, I’ve seen what you speak of. She has a gift.”

  He could tell she wanted to question him further, but politeness prevented her from doing so. “I will give Helen something to rub on your arm after you—”

  Good God! “Nay!”

  The thought of Helen’s hands on him …

  He’d been in too much pain to notice when she’d treated his wounds, but the memories were enough to drive him mad. In the middle of the night, when his thoughts had nowhere to hide.

  When his body grew tight, hot, and hard. Painfully hard.

  Lady Muriel’s eyes widened at the intensity of his reaction.

  The blood had leeched from his face, but returned quickly when he realized how loudly he’d spoken. A number of eyes were turned in his direction, especially those on the dais.

  MacGregor was staring at him with a strange expression on his face—as if he’d just made a connection Magnus didn’t want him to make.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said, attempting to smooth the gaffe. “That isn’t necessary.”

  She nodded, eyeing him cautiously.

  He’d scared her, he realized. Feeling like an arse, he would have attempted to put her at ease, but MacGregor had already drawn the lass’s attention back to him—where in Magnus’s experience it was likely to stay. Once MacGregor let his interest be known in a lass, it wasn’t often that it wasn’t returned.

  The healer wasn’t as flamboyantly beautiful and young as the women MacGregor usually flirted with, but she was pretty in a reserved fashion. And she seemed to be enjoying the attention. He heard her laugh at something no doubt outrageous that MacGregor whispered in her ear.

  But Magnus made the mistake of turning his head and caught Munro doing the same thing to Helen. Their blasted shoulders were touching.

  Magnus’s fist clenched his goblet. He fought the reflexive surge of anger and forced his gaze away, only to meet that of another.

  Kenneth Sutherland was watching him, and if his narrowed gaze was any indication, he hadn’t missed Magnus’s reaction. But instead of the taunting smile that Magnus expected, Sutherland appeared surprised, apparently noticing for the first time what had taken Magnus only a few minutes to conclude: Munro wanted Helen.

  And Sutherland didn’t look happy about it.

  Magnus recalled that he hadn’t been the only one to suffer the sting of Munro’s arrogant taunts and humiliations. Sutherland had as well. Probably more so, since Magnus had only had the misfortune of seeing Munro at the Highland Games.

  They might not agree about anything else, but apparently he and Sutherland were of one mind when it came to Donald Munro.

  It was damned unsettling. He didn’t like to think he and Sutherland had anything in common.

  Although, of course, there had been Gordon. Sutherland was the friend of his boyhood and Magnus of his manhood. Magnus tried not to think about it.

  He returned his attention to the conversation next to him. The healer and his friend were talking about MacGregor’s miraculous arrow. That particular battle wound had already earned the famed archer an endless supply of feminine appreciation. Lady Muriel, however, was more sophisticated than his usual audience. Rather than ooh and ah, and flutter her eyelashes at him as if every word from his mouth were gilded, she told him that he was very lucky in the Englishman’s aim.

  “What is the most dangerous surgery that you’ve performed?” MacGregor asked her.

  Lady Muriel paused for a minute, considering. When Helen did that, she had a tendency to bite her lip.

  He was doing it again, damn it.

  “It was about a year ago, after the battle at Barra Hill.”

  “You were there?” Magnus asked, surprised. Though it wasn’t uncommon for a tent or castle near the battle site to be set aside to tend the wounded, he wouldn’t have thought a man of Lord Nicholas de Corwenne’s repute would allow his daughter to be so close to danger.

  Barra Hill had been one of the most deadly battles in Bruce’s war. He’d chased John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, from the battlefield and laid waste to the countryside with thoroughness that was still talked about today. It would be some time before the “hership of Buchan” was forgotten.

  “Aye, my father usually brought me along when he was attending the earl. He believed the best learning was done by experience. He was right.” Her eyes grew distant and a wistful smile played upon her lips. He could tell she was remembering her father fondly. He must have died not long ago, Magnus realized.

  “What happened?” MacGregor asked.

  “A man took a war hammer to the head, breaking a bone in his skull and causing blood to build up underneath. I had to bore a small hole into his skull to relieve the pressure.”

  “He survived?” MacGregor asked.

  She nodded. “He returned to his wife and five children with a dent in his head and a story to tell.”

  Crushed skulls were a common injury in battle, Magnus knew. As was trepanning, the method to treat them. It just wasn’t often that it was a success.

  “A fine feast, Lady Helen,” the king said loudly, drawing their attention to the center of the table. “Your brother is fortunate to have a sister who is not only a skilled healer but also an admirable chatelaine.”

  Helen dimpled with pleasure at the praise, her flawless ivory skin tinged a becoming pink. “Thank you, Sire.”

  Bruce returned her smile. “Though perhaps your brother won’t be calling upon those skills much longer.”

  Magnus knew of what Bruce spoke, but Munro did not. Assuming the king spoke of Helen’s marriage, the Sutherland henchman stiffened with offense. Munro hid it well, but Magnus was watching him carefully and saw the flare of barely concealed animosity leveled at the king. Magnus knew exactly how much the proud warrior must hate to have to bow to his enemy—he would hate it, too.

  “The lady has suffered a recent loss,” Munro said pointedly, a protective hand on her arm that Magnus wanted to rip off.

  “I’m well aware of the lady’s loss,” the king said sharply. “But Lady Helen wasn’t of whom I spoke.” His gaze slid to the earl.

  Sir William didn’t seem surprised by the king’s suggestion, but the tight smile on his face indicated i
t was not a welcome one. For some reason, the earl’s gaze flickered to Magnus’s. Nay, not his, he realized, but to Lady Muriel’s. But she didn’t notice, as her head was down-turned and her gaze fixed on her lap. He’d noticed the tension between the earl and the healer on their arrival, but he wondered if there was something more to it. From the death glare the earl was shooting at MacGregor, Magnus suspected there was.

  “There will be plenty of time over the next week to discuss such matters.” Having planted his seed, Bruce changed the subject. “Lady Helen, I believe you said there would be dancing?”

  Helen nodded, looking troubled. “Aye, my lord.” She motioned for the pipers and harpist to ready. “But a week? I understood you would be at Dunrobin a fortnight.”

  Magnus pretended not to notice that her gaze kept flickering to him.

  “Aye, that was our original intention, but we were delayed in leaving Kildrummy and thus must shorten our stay. I’ve many stops to make before the Games at Dunstaffnage. I hope that you will be attending this year, Sir William?”

  It was more of a command than an invitation. The earl gave a short nod. “Aye, my men are looking forward to it.”

  “Very much,” Munro added. “After four years without a new champion, the men are eager to take their rightful place.”

  Magnus didn’t react to the challenge that he knew had been issued to him. Munro’s defeat had been festering for four years; he would want to come after Magnus with everything he had.

  “A rather bold boast, Munro, given the level of competition.” The king’s gaze met Magnus’s; he was obviously amused. “I hope your men are prepared to defend your words?”

  “More than prepared,” Munro said with his usual arrogance.

  “Will you be competing, my lord?” Helen asked.

  Magnus realized she was speaking to him.