The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  “I’ve a few things I was thinking about …”

  For the next twenty minutes, Helen didn’t seem to take a breath as she spoke excitedly about ways to modify some of the tools he’d given her to improve their efficiency. He found himself caught up in her enthusiasm and didn’t realize how late it was until the shadows started to fall across her face, and he heard the thunder of hooves coming through the gates.

  “I’ll see what I can do about your tools, but it won’t be until we reach Loch Broom.” Reluctantly, he stood and held out his hand to help her up. “The men are back.”

  Helen wrinkled her nose. “I assume that means you have to go.”

  “The king will want a report.”

  She gave him a sly look. “My brother and Donald seem to be spending a lot of time scouting and hunting since we departed Dingwall.”

  His jaw tightened. Though he welcomed the absence of the other men, it hadn’t been at his command. Sutherland seemed almost as eager as he was to keep Munro away from his sister. He could almost feel grateful to him. Almost. Had she reconsidered? “Is that a complaint?”

  She looked at him as if he were addled—which was exactly how she made him feel. “Of course not. I’m able to breathe without their constant hovering. I just wonder the reason why.”

  He pretended not to see the speculative gleam in her eye. “We’re heading into the mountains tomorrow—the most difficult part of our journey.”

  “But also the most exciting!”

  He hated to dampen her spirits, but he couldn’t help cautioning, “Don’t let the beauty fool you, these mountains can be treacherous—deadly, even. You need to be careful not to wander away from camp or veer too far off the road. It will be slow traveling with the carts and horses. The road is a rough one as it is, and there was a lot of snow last year and many of the burns flooded. Your brother volunteered to scout with MacGregor.”

  She didn’t hide her disappointment. “So you didn’t send them?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Their eyes held.

  “I won’t give up.” He could hear the gauntlet she’d thrown down ringing in his ears. Was it true, or would she falter again? He didn’t know which answer scared him more.

  “Ah well,” she said, not letting the disappointment that he’d had nothing to do with removing her suitor get her down for too long. “Perhaps he’s reconsidered.”

  But one look over her shoulder at the men who’d just come into view in the courtyard told him otherwise. Seeing Magnus and Helen together, Munro’s face grew as dark as a thundercloud.

  Magnus looked back to Helen with a wry grin. “I wouldn’t count on it, m’aingeal.”

  Helen couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy. She didn’t know whether it was her growing closeness to Magnus (he couldn’t seem to let her out of his sight!), the growing pride she felt in her healing skills (which were getting plenty of practice), or the majesty of their surroundings and the freedom she felt with each mile of their journey into the forests and hills of Wester Ross, but she wanted it to never end.

  They’d left the Macraiths’ castle after prayers and breaking their fast, and traveled along the rocky banks of the Blackwater River into the forests and gently rolling hills of Strathgrave. With the horse, carts, and long procession of knights, men-at-arms, and attendants, the pace was every bit as slow as Magnus had predicted this morning.

  “Four days, perhaps five,” he’d said, as he’d helped her on her small hobby. The sturdy, short-legged horses had originally come from Ireland and were well suited to the mountainous terrain of the Scottish Highlands.

  “Is that all?” She was unable to hide her disappointment.

  He and Gregor MacGregor, who’d been standing nearby, looked at her as if she were crazed.

  “ ‘Is that all?’ It’s only forty miles, my lady,” Gregor said. “It should take no more than two.”

  “I’ve run longer distances in a day,” Magnus added. “I could be there by nightfall.”

  Helen laughed at the boast.

  Gregor arched a brow. “Nightfall?”

  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.

  “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?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. But as I recall, you were always fairly good at eluding them.”

  Her mouth twitched mischievously. “I think I feel the beginnings of a horrible headache.”

  Fortunately, the headache wasn’t necessary. Sutherland and Munro volunteered for scouting duties, and after attending his duties and leaving MacGregor to watch the king, Magnus found Helen with her tiring women by the loch. She muttered a hasty excuse that the king must have need of her and raced away before the poor women could stop her.

  “I feel a bit sorry for them with you for a charge.”

  She grinned unrepentantly. “Don’t worry, they’re used to it. You did notice all the gray hair beneath the veils?”

  He shook his head. She’d given him one or two that he could remember as well. Some of the places she used to hide …

  He shuddered, glad those days were past.

  With the long days of summer, there was still an hour or two left of daylight as Magnus led her away from the camp into the forests along the lower slopes of Beinn Liath Mhor. They fell into a familiar banter of her talking and him listening. It was so reminiscent of the way things used to be, he had to forc
e himself not to reach for her hand, reminding himself that it wasn’t the same—and never would be again.

  But if his hand lingered on hers as he helped her over boggy patches and uneven ground, he told himself he had a duty to ensure she didn’t stumble.

  They had to walk about a mile before a telltale patch of orange appeared low on a hillside ahead of them.

  Her cry of delight went right to his chest. His heart tugged so hard, he had a hard time reining it in. He was in trouble and knew it. He’d let his guard down. The forced proximity had drawn him in. But like Icarus from the sun, he could not pull himself back.

  After they gorged themselves silly, and she filled her veil (as a makeshift basket) with dozens of the plump and juicy berries, he reluctantly told her it was time to go back. It would be dark soon; already the forest was filled with shadows.

  “Do we have to?”

  “If you’d rather, we can wait here for your brother to come looking for you.”

  She looked up at him with those big blue eyes, a hint of a challenge in the tilt of her chin. “I don’t mind.”

  “Aye, well, as much as I’m tempted to put another crook in your brother’s nose, I’d prefer to end the day on a pleasant note.”

  She bit her lip, eyes twinkling. “It has been nice, hasn’t it?”

  “Aye.” The temptation was getting harder to resist. The hopefulness in her gaze …

  Forcibly, he tore his eyes away and started back through the forest.

  Not yours …

  But she had been, damn it. The past few days—weeks—had brought it all back to him. She could be again.

  His mouth tightened. That was, if her family disappeared and he could forget …

  Not bloody likely.

  “Does this remind you of anything?” she asked from behind him. The path had narrowed and he had taken the lead.

  There was an amused edge to her voice that should have alerted him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I’d say it looks like most forests around here.”

  She knew he was being purposefully obtuse. She was remembering all those times before, just as he was—how easily they slipped back into their old camaraderie. If he turned back around, he wouldn’t be surprised to see her lips slam shut, hiding the tongue that he suspected was aimed at his back.