He maneuvered the king across his shoulders, which enabled him to distribute his weight more evenly.
Helen came up beside him and realized what he intended. “You can’t mean to carry him like that?”
“It’s downhill from here,” he said lightly. For a while.
“But—”
“He can’t go on, and we can’t stop.”
She bit her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes as she scanned his face. He would love nothing more than to ease that worry, but it would have to wait. “What about your shoulder?”
It was going to hurt like the devil when this was all over. “My shoulder will be fine.” He grinned and teased, “Perhaps I’ll let you rub some ointment on it?”
He knew his attempt to distract her had worked when she blushed. But then it was he who felt the heat when she replied huskily, “I’m going to hold you to that.”
The promise in her eyes was difficult to turn away from, even with a good two hundred pounds laden across his shoulders.
The path down wasn’t as physically strenuous, but it was even more treacherous. The rocks made for difficult footing, and by time they reached the bottom his knees were on fire. But he pushed through the pain, crossing the gorge and finding the path that led up to the next peak.
Every so often he glanced behind him, not only to check on Helen but also to make sure no one was following them.
He gave her an encouraging smile, though the entire time she hadn’t uttered one word of complaint. Every day was May Day. Even under these hideous circumstances she made the best of them. “Not much farther now.”
Her cheeks were flushed from the wind as well as exertion. “I think you’ve said that before,” she said with a wry lift of her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Helen. I know you’re tired.”
She shook him off with a determined clench of her jaw. “If you can do it with the king across your shoulders, I can do it without.”
He smiled. “That’s my lass.”
Their eyes met. “I’ll hold you to that, too.”
“Helen …”
What could he tell her? That it was true? That she would always be his? That he would try?
But why did part of him want to warn her?
Perhaps she sensed his struggle. “Are you going to dally all day? I thought we had a hill to climb.”
He smiled, grateful for the reprieve, and gave a playful groan. “Remind me to introduce you to MacLeod. You have a lot in common.”
“Is he your leader?”
He’d forgotten how much she knew. He started up the path, not answering her right away. “The less you know, the better.”
He thought she’d dropped the subject, but a few moments later she said, “Well, it isn’t hard to guess why the king wanted you for his secret army.”
He glanced over to her in between grunts of exertion and lifted a brow.
“You maneuver over this terrain better than anyone.”
His mouth quirked. “Is that the only reason you can think of?”
She took a deep breath and wiped a long strand of silky red hair out of her face. “You’re far too stubborn to lose.” He let out a bark of laughter, but she wasn’t finished. “And you fight well.”
His gaze narrowed. Definitely like MacLeod. They both conceded compliments with the same ease.
“Just well?” He could count on one hand the men who could defeat him on the battlefield. He was probably the best overall warrior in the Highland Guard across all disciplines of warfare, from the sword to the hammer, axe, pike, and hand-to-hand combat. “You’re a hard woman to impress.”
Despite her weariness, an impish glint appeared in her eyes. “If I’d known you were trying to impress me, I would have paid more attention. Now Gregor MacGregor, he’s an excellent—”
“Helen …” His eyes darkened forbiddingly. He knew she was teasing him, but damn it, he didn’t want to hear her praising MacGregor.
She laughed, and the sound was so sweet it was almost worth the irritation.
She shook her head. “For someone so tough, you sure are sensitive.”
“Sensitive!” He straightened so quickly he almost dropped the king. “I’m not bloody sensitive!”
When she burst into laughter, he knew she’d done it again.
“Did I mention proud?” she said with a broad smile.
His mouth twitched. “I don’t think you did.”
Their eyes held, and something impossibly sweet passed between them.
“And I forgot the most important thing.”
He almost hesitated to ask. “What’s that?”
All the teasing was gone from her voice. “You don’t give up,” she said softly.
Her words stunned him. She had no idea what she said. Bàs roimh Gèill. Death before surrender. It was the creed of the Highland Guard. The one thing that bound them together.
“Aye, you’re right about that, lass. We’ll get through this.”
She nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I know.”
Her unwavering confidence filled him with warmth. They walked in silence for a while, even the sounds of their hard breathing lost in the swirling wind.
“It looks like it might rain,” she observed.
Aye, they were in for a vicious downpour. “The cave will be dry enough. I suspect you must be getting hungry?”
She groaned. “Don’t mention food. I think if I ever see another dried piece of beef or oatcake after this, it will be too soon.”
He chuckled, adjusting the king to take more of the weight off his bad shoulder. Ignoring the pain had become impossible; now it was simply enduring. The brief stops he took to rest were becoming more frequent.
“Although the deer are plentiful, I do not think you would like your meat raw?”
She made a face.
“Then I’m afraid our feast will have to wait until we reach Dun Lagaidh Castle.”
“When do you think that will be?”
“We’ll rest the night in the cave. If they haven’t followed us, tomorrow by midday.”
“And if they have?”
His mouth fell in a grim line. Then he would have to chance an attack. But he would better the odds by choosing the perfect spot. “We’ll worry about that if it happens.”
By the time they reached the cave, Helen was in a state of sheer exhaustion. She didn’t know how Magnus did it. The climb was strenuous enough without the added weight of the king. Stubborn and tough.
Bruce had stirred a few times on the journey, but it wasn’t until Magnus set him down in the cave and gave her a chance to examine him that she could assure herself that his condition had not worsened. His collapse had been from exhaustion and loss of blood. Now that the wound had been sealed, and with some rest, she hoped he would improve. He managed to drink some water and nibble on a few bites of oatcake before he drifted back into the healing balm of oblivion.
“How is he?” Magnus asked.
The rain had started not long after they reached the cave, and she could hear it splattering against the rocky ground. “Weak,” she said. “But his wound doesn’t look any worse and there is no sign of a fever.” She tucked the plaid more firmly around the sleeping king. “If we weren’t in a cave on a mountain in a rainstorm, I should think he would be resting quite comfortably.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She tilted her head.
“For keeping him alive. Your women told me how you left your hiding place to help him.”
She blushed. “I had to.”
He gave her a look as if he thought that was debatable.
After ensuring that she and the king were as comfortable as they could be, he handed her the dirk again. “You are going to look for them?”
He nodded. “Aye. I won’t return until daybreak.”
Her heart squeezed with fear. She longed to cling to him and beg him not to go, but she knew there was no choice. After all he’d done to keep them safe, she could be brave f
or him. “Be careful.”
The boyish grin tugged at her heart with aching familiarity. “Always. Besides, I have something to protect me.” He withdrew a small piece of glass from his sporran and held it out in his palm. “I didn’t know how else to preserve it.”
She sucked in her breath. Greenish-tinged in color, it was the size and shape of a coin, and suspended in the middle were the dried petals of a purple flower. Her flower. The one she’d given him all those years ago.
Emotion strangled her throat. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He really had loved her. All this time. This big, strong warrior—proud, noble, and stubborn to a fault—had given her his heart and never taken it back. Steadfast.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Their eyes held, and the ghost of all that had been lost passed between them. He reached out and stroked the side of her face, regret poignant in his gaze. “I am, too, m’aingeal.”
Helen watched him stride away, feeling as if her heart were going along with him. He would come back to her. Please, come back to me.
Twenty-four
Magnus climbed higher on the ridge, moving with extra care. His shoulder was on fire and every muscle in his body felt shredded with fatigue. Of course the storm only complicated matters, making his footing and handholds slippery.
It took him twice as long as it should have to reach the ledge where he could keep watch overnight. There were still a few hours of light in the long summer days, but the clouds made it feel like midnight.
On a clear day, this vantage on the cliff would give him a view for miles—to Loch Broom in the west, the hills of Assynt in the north, An Teallach and Sgurr Mor in the south, and Loch Glascarnoch, from where they’d come, in the east. In the storm, however, he couldn’t see more than a hundred yards. But those hundred yards would be all he needed if someone approached. The narrowest part of the path was just beneath him and fell off sharply on the opposite side. It was the perfect place for a surprise attack.
He settled in for the long night. He ate a small ration of food and drank his fill of the water he’d replenished in the burn before they’d started up the hill. Leaning back against the rock, he stretched his legs out before him and rested his very weary limbs.
The hours passed slowly. Somewhere in the middle of the night it stopped raining, not that it mattered—since the ledge was only partially protected, he was soaked through.
No longer focused on the threat against getting them to safety, his thoughts slid to Helen. He was determined to put the past behind them and give them a chance. He could forget, damn it.
Was it so wrong of him to want a little happiness?
But in the long hours of the night, Helen’s face wasn’t the only one he saw. The nightmares returned.
Would he ever forget?
It seemed like eternity before dawn broke and chased away the ghosts.
He focused on the road, waiting for any signs that they’d been followed. He’d begun to think that perhaps they were in the clear when suddenly he caught a movement.
Damn. Two men. Although one, it appeared, was limping and had something wrapped around his leg. A satisfied smile curved his mouth. He hadn’t fallen to his death, but he suspected the man had come close.
The tenacity of the two men surprised him. They were going to a lot of trouble for one woman who might know something about the Highland Guard. It seemed more likely that this was about the king. But he couldn’t be sure. Bruce had told him the men had specifically mentioned “the lass.”
Had they been betrayed by one of their own? It seemed likely. But who? He trusted everyone except …
The Sutherlands. But they wouldn’t put Helen at risk, would they? “Lass.” Could they have been trying to protect her?
He scanned the area, seeing no sign of the other man. Where had he gone? His absence bothered him. As did the fact that the men had managed to find them. It was as if someone were guessing his every move.
Well, they weren’t going to guess this one.
Magnus readied himself, moving across the rocky ledge to the place where he would wait. He felt the rush of battle surge through his veins. Caution hadn’t worked. It was time to end this his way.
He keened his senses toward the ground below him, waiting for the first sound. They would only be able to traverse this path one man at a time. If all went well, he’d catch the first man unaware and get rid of him before the second realized what was happening.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go as well as he’d planned. The first man made the turn around the hill. It was the injured man. Magnus would have preferred to use the element of surprise against the other. But as it was, he jumped down in front of the injured warrior, with a fierce battle cry that nearly shocked him off the hillside. Magnus helped him along with one crushing blow of his sword on his shoulder and a hard kick to his gut. The man’s scream was punctuated with a hard thud a moment later.
The second man, however, reacted more quickly than he’d anticipated.
He came at Magnus hard, his blade crashing toward his head.
Magnus just managed to block the blow with his own. Infuriated by the narrow escape, he attacked with a vengeance, driving the other man back with blows so powerful they should have crushed him. But the other man fended them off with skill almost equal to his own. Almost.
But Magnus wore him down. Through the slits of his helm, Magnus could see the man knew it, too. His reactions slowed. His blocks started to shake as the muscles in his arms weakened. He breathed hard through the steel punctures of his helm.
In between blows he looked around, almost as if he were waiting for someone. A shiver of premonition ran through Magnus. Was the third man out there?
If he was, he wasn’t coming to this man’s rescue. Magnus let his opponent come at him and met the blow while turning to the left. Locking his foot around the other man’s, he brought him to the ground in a move that would have made Robbie Boyd proud. With both hands he brought his sword down hard into the man’s gut, piercing the mail and sinking into his entrails. A hard kick sent him flying after his compatriot.
Magnus kept his sword ready, waiting, watching. He turned, scanning the area all around and listening for any sound of movement.
Someone was out there and Magnus was challenging him to meet him. But whoever it was must have thought better of it.
The feeling of being watched dissipated like the mist in sunshine. By the time he’d caught his breath, it was gone.
Helen waited anxiously for Magnus to return. The king had slept restfully through the night, waking at dawn with an “axe-splitting” headache, but stronger and far more alert than he’d been since the injury. The pine sap had worked better than she’d imagined. While the wound was still an ugly, bloody mess, there were no signs of infection or fever.
But unlike the king, Helen had enjoyed precious few moments of sleep. She was too worried about Magnus.
The storm and dreary skies of the day before seemed a distant memory as the new day dawned bright and sunny.
Where is he?
Finally, about an hour after daybreak, she caught sight of him. The rush of relief turned to horror as he drew closer, and she saw the dirt and splattered blood on his cotun. He’d been fighting.
Without thinking, she raced toward him and catapulted herself into his arms. He caught her to him, holding her wordlessly until she steadied.
She didn’t realize she was crying until he took her chin and tilted her face to his. “What’s wrong, m’aingeal? Why are you crying?”
“I was worried.” She sniffled. “And rightly so—you were in a fight!”
He grinned. “Aye, but I’m here, aren’t I?” Suddenly, his brow furrowed. “Did you think I would not win?”
How could she want to throw her arms around his neck one moment and strangle it the next? It was just like all those years ago, when he’d shown up bruised and battered after beating Donald at the Highland Games.
“Of c
ourse I don’t doubt you. But you are not invulnerable. No matter how good you are.”
His eyes darkened with pain. “Aye, you never know what can happen.” Helen winced, realizing he was thinking of William. “But it wasn’t my time. Not today.”
Sensing the dark emotions swirling inside him and knowing that William still stood between them, she knew they would need to talk about him at some time. But not now.
Wishing she’d never brought up the subject in the first place, she wiped her tears and asked, “What happened?”
The king had come out of the cave to greet him as well—how much of the conversation he’d overheard she didn’t know—and Magnus explained how he’d rid them of their pursuers. Two of them at least.
“And you never saw the third man?” the king asked.
“Not since yesterday morning at the river, but I know he was there.”
The king accepted his word without question. “Let’s hope he’s given up. If MacGregor and the others have been successful in hunting them down, he won’t have much support.” The king stroked his dark beard to a point. “Do you have any ideas on who is responsible?”
“Nay.”
“But you have some thoughts.”
“Perhaps it’s best we speak of this once we’ve reached Loch Broom.” Magnus didn’t need to look in Helen’s direction to explain. Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of her. “Are you feeling strong enough?”
“Nay,” Bruce admitted in a rare moment of warriorly candor. “But I’ll manage. We’ve enjoyed the hospitality of these mountains long enough. Living in the wild lost its appeal for me after Methven. I’m afraid I’ve become quite accustomed to the luxuries afforded by a crown. Like well-cooked food, a mattress, and a hot bath.”
That sounded so good, Helen had to hold back a groan of longing.
But Magnus seemed to have heard it anyway. He laughed. “Come. We’ll be there before you know it.”
Well, perhaps not before she knew it, but after the travails of the day before, the long hike out of the mountains through the glen and up the southern bank of Loch Broom to the MacAulay chief’s castle of Dun Lagaidh seemed pleasant by comparison. With no sign of any pursuers, they were able to slow their pace to a more manageable speed. They arrived in the early evening before vespers, dirty and exhausted, but safe.
The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Page 32