“If it doesn’t stop bleeding I will need to stitch it closed.”
He nodded indifferently.
Finally, Helen wiped her hands on the linen apron she’d donned and turned to face him. She could put it off no longer.
“Why, Magnus? You must have had a reason.”
Her unwavering faith in him, however, only seemed to make him angrier. Guilt, she realized, was twisting inside him. That was the darkness.
“I had no choice.” In a cold, emotionless voice, he explained what had happened. How William had been pinned by the rocks. How the English were swarming them. How he’d tried to get him free but couldn’t. How William had been dying, but he’d been forced to take his life to prevent him from being captured or identified, and how it hadn’t mattered in the end because of the birthmark.
It wasn’t what Magnus said that filled her with horror, but what he didn’t say. He’d done it to protect the identity of William’s brethren, but he’d also done it to protect her.
She staggered, finally understanding the gravity of what stood between them. It wasn’t just her family. It wasn’t just that she’d married William and his loyalty to his friend. It was so much worse. He’d been forced to do the unthinkable in part to protect her. And part of him blamed her for it.
She’d thought love was all that mattered. In her naïveté, she thought nothing was insurmountable if they loved each other. But she was wrong. Even if he loved her, guilt, blame, and the ghost of William would always be between them. He would never forgive himself, and he would never forgive her.
But even as her heart was breaking, she sought to ease the burden that he’d obviously been carrying for a long time. “You had no choice,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “You did what you had to do. Blood in the lungs like that …” She shook her head. “There was nothing anyone could have done. He was as good as dead.”
He jerked away from her touch. “I know that, Helen. I don’t need absolution from you.”
She knew he was only lashing out in pain, but the words stung nonetheless. “What is it that you need from me then, Magnus? Because it seems whatever I do, it will never be enough.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment she thought her words might have penetrated through the guilt and anger, and that maybe they had a chance.
But she was only seeing what she wanted to see. In the cold echo of his silence, she knew what he’d known all those months ago, but which she’d refused to understand. William Gordon’s death would always be between them. Magnus might love her, but the guilt would prevent them from ever finding true happiness. Could she marry him knowing that?
Her chest squeezed with the answer.
But she was saved from telling him so when a deafening clap of thunder followed by a loud boom tore through the air. Without thinking, she hurled herself against his chest, trying to block out the terrifying sound.
Thunder? It couldn’t be thunder, she realized. The sun had been shining outside.
“What was that?” she said, gazing up at Magnus. It was a sound unlike anything she’d ever heard before.
But Magnus obviously had. His mouth tightened. “Black powder.” The boom had barely stopped when he started pulling her back through the kitchens outside, into the barmkin.
People were rushing all over the place in panic. An unfamiliar acrid smoke filled the air and, seconds later, her lungs. They looked up and saw the newer of the castle’s two donjons on fire.
Not just the donjon, she realized with growing horror.
“The king!” she exclaimed.
Twenty-eight
If it signaled anything but the king in danger, Magnus might have actually been grateful for the interruption. His proposal hadn’t gone as he’d planned, and now that she’d learned his secret …
Blast Sutherland and his damned interfering! He’d never wanted her to know. He’d never wanted to see that look of horror and disgust on her face as she realized what he’d done.
But she hadn’t looked at him like that at all. Hell, maybe compassion and understanding was worse.
He shook off the thought as he raced toward the burning tower. Sensing Helen behind him, he turned around and shouted for her to stay back.
A lot of good it did him.
She shook her head. “You may have need of me.”
His mouth hardened. Damn it, she was right. But he wasn’t happy about it. She should be running away from danger, not toward it. Their eyes held for a long pause. “You aren’t going in that tower, you will wait outside—where I tell you.”
Not giving her a chance to argue, he pulled her through the crowd across the courtyard toward the burning donjon.
As it always did in a time of crisis—except if that crisis had to do with a certain lass—an odd calmness descended over him. His mind cleared of all but the tasks before him, which came to him in a series of simple successive acts: find the king, control and assess the damage, decide how to rectify it. He wouldn’t fill his mind with worst-case scenarios and hypothetical disasters; he focused on what he needed to do. If the king was in that tower, he was going to find him and bring him out.
MacGregor had planned to return the king to his chamber after the audience with the Earl of Sutherland. As that had been some time ago, Magnus knew there was every reason to suspect they were in there.
Except they weren’t. He and Helen were almost at the tower when he caught sight of the king, MacGregor, and the cadre of knights Magnus had left to protect him standing near the postern gate. The Earl of Sutherland and MacAulay were rushing out of the Great Hall, which sat between the two donjons, and saw the king about the same time Magnus did. They all converged on the royal party at once.
But no one was getting near Bruce; MacGregor had ordered a protective circle around the king.
With the king safe, Magnus’s cold calm turned to fury. “What the hell happened?”
MacGregor met his angry gaze with one of his own. The members of the Highland Guard didn’t like surprises, and another attack on the king under their watch sure as hell qualified.
“We should have been in there, that’s what happened,” MacGregor said. “We were almost at the king’s solar when he insisted on going to the barracks to check on some of the men who’d been injured. We’d just come out of the stairwell on the first floor when the first blast sounded.”
The king pushed his way through the protective wall of men in front of him. “My ears are still ringing,” he said angrily. “By the rood, that was too bloody close!”
“Did you see anything?” Magnus asked.
MacGregor shook his head. “My only thought was to get the king somewhere safe. It was like an inferno. If anyone was in there, I doubt they could have survived that.”
Magnus thought so, too. Whoever had done this was either gone or dead. But he intended to make sure.
For the next few hours, he set about making order out of chaos. The king’s security was first. Another chamber was found for Bruce in the old tower. Magnus had the entire building searched and cleared before installing a guard of soldiers at the only entry to control access.
MacGregor took charge of organizing the attempt to put out the flames in the castle. But it was an exercise in futility. The wooden floors of the upper chambers and wooden roof had lit up like tinder. Only the smoking shell of the tower remained. Fortunately, as it was the middle of the day, the tower appeared to have been empty but for the king’s party, who’d barely escaped disaster.
The placement of the powder left no doubt as to the target. MacGregor was certain the sound had come from the chamber under the king’s.
Once Magnus had assured the king’s safety, his focus turned to one thing: who could have been responsible. It didn’t take him long to realize who was missing. A party of knights had ridden out right before the explosion; among them were Sutherland and Munro. But only one of them had familiarity with black powder.
He and MacGregor were standing in the courtyard, which�
��despite their efforts—was still mildly chaotic. In addition to the castle patrol, which had been increased, MacGregor had a team of men keeping watch on the tower shell to ensure the smoldering embers did not once again catch flame. Then, of course, there were the folks who couldn’t stay away.
“Where did they go?” Magnus asked about the scouting party.
“We had a report of brigands attacking a group of pilgrims making their way home from Iona just north of here. They went to investigate.” MacGregor’s mouth hardened. “Sutherland wasn’t supposed to go; he joined at the last minute.”
Magnus swore. “Get the horses. I don’t care how much of a head start he has, we’re going after him.”
MacGregor didn’t argue. Magnus went to inform the king, who for once was in agreement about Sutherland. The use of the black powder all but pointed to him.
Magnus closed the door to the king’s room behind him and nearly ran into Helen in the corridor. Though he was glad to see her—she’d gone off with MacAulay’s wife to help calm the fears of the clansmen who thought the explosion had been a sign of God’s wrath—he wished it wasn’t at this moment.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You’re wrong. My brother had nothing to do with this.”
Damn. “Listening at doors, Helen?”
“I was about to knock when I heard you. You weren’t exactly whispering.”
“I can’t talk about this right now.” He started to walk down the stairs, not surprised to hear footsteps behind him.
He walked faster, but she had no intention of letting him go.
“Wait!” She caught up with him, grabbing his arm as he stepped into the courtyard.
He could see MacGregor waiting for him with the horses near the gate. He turned impatiently. “We’ll speak when I return.”
“Kenneth didn’t do what you are thinking.”
He fought to control his temper, but he was damned tired of her family coming between them. “Then who did? You said it yourself: your brother had knowledge of black powder just like Gordon. It isn’t exactly common knowledge.”
Denial reverberated from every inch of her. “But why? Why would he do such a thing?”
“He wasn’t exactly eager to submit to the king.”
She pursed her mouth and shook her head adamantly. “Perhaps not initially, but my brothers have come to believe in the king as much as you do. Kenneth wouldn’t do something like this. He wouldn’t be so rash.”
“Hell, everything your brother does is rash. You saw how angry he was earlier.”
Her cheeks heated. “At you, not the king.”
“Are you sure about that? Perhaps this was his intent all along.”
“You’re not suggesting he had anything to do with the men in the forest or—”
Suddenly she stopped.
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
But he’d caught something in her eyes: the flash of guilt. He took her arm and forced her to look at him. “Tell me.”
She bit her lip nervously, but he wasn’t going to let it distract him.
“If you know something …”
“I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. But I thought—I thought there was a possibility that the king’s illness might not have been the sailor’s malady.”
He dropped her arm, stepping back as if scalded. “Poison? My God, you thought the king had been poisoned, and you said nothing to me?”
She bristled at the accusation in his voice. “Because I know you would react exactly the way you are now. I knew you would blame my family.”
He made a harsh scoffing sound. “Why the hell would I do that? Maybe because they were guilty?”
He couldn’t believe he’d trusted her. He hadn’t questioned her conclusion about the king’s illness at all, but had accepted what she’d said without thought. If he’d known, he would have been on his guard. What had happened in the mountains could have been avoided.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have said something, but—”
“But you didn’t trust me.”
“You aren’t exactly rational when it comes to my brothers. And I wasn’t the only one who was keeping secrets.”
He ignored the quip about the Highland Guard—warranted or not. “By God, you are still defending them?”
Their eyes met. He stood there, blood pounding through his veins, trying to keep a rein on his temper and not saying something he would regret.
But it wasn’t necessary. She could see it.
He saw her sharp intake of breath. “You still haven’t forgiven me. Not for any of it. For choosing them over you. For marrying William. For doing what you had to do to protect me.”
“Not now, Helen.” He seethed between clenched teeth. He was trying, damn it. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“That’s the problem. You never want to talk about this. And never will.”
His eyes narrowed at the finality in her voice. “What do you mean? We have plenty of time to talk. For God’s sake, I asked you to marry me, what more do you want?”
She held his gaze for one moment before looking away.
Oh God. His chest squeezed with disbelief—with memory. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
He knew what she was going to say before she spoke. “I love you, Magnus, but I won’t marry you. Not like this.”
He couldn’t help himself. He was so angry, he grabbed her. How could she do this? How could she refuse him again, after all that they’d been through? His heart hammered. “What do you mean, ‘not like this’?”
“I won’t spend the rest of my life putting myself between you and my brothers.” Tears streamed from her eyes. “Nor will I spend it with a ghost.”
Whether he’d let her go or she’d wrenched away, he didn’t know, but the next moment she was walking away. And as before, he didn’t go after her. He stood there with acid pouring down his chest, leaving him with an emptiness he’d never thought he would feel again.
She didn’t love him enough. Not then. Not now.
Helen knew she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t stop her heart from feeling as if it were being ripped in two. Slowly. Twisting and squeezing along the way.
Refusing Magnus had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. She’d loved him for so long, she’d thought nothing would make her happier than to marry him. For months it had seemed an impossible dream, with winning him back her only goal. It was strange to realize that now that she had what she wanted, it wasn’t enough.
She loved him with all her heart. But she would not live in constant fear of saying the wrong thing or evoking the wrong memory. She would not live with a ghost of guilt and blame between them.
Until he forgave himself, he would not be able to forgive her. She hoped it didn’t take him too long, but she wasn’t going to keep banging her head on a stone wall waiting for something that might never happen.
It was time for her to take control of her own happiness. To follow her own path. Carpe diem. The past few months had given her an inkling of how to do that.
With her future in her own hands, she went to find the king.
Magnus didn’t say a word as he strode across the courtyard and joined MacGregor. His friend was wise enough not to speak until they were well beyond the castle, heading north in the direction in which the castle guards had seen the scouting party ride off.
His chest felt as if it were on fire. His heart pounded in his ears. His throat felt dry and parched, as though he hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks.
He couldn’t believe it.
She’d refused him again, and the sting hadn’t lessened any the second time around. Part of him told himself not to believe it. She was angry; she would change her mind. But the other part of him knew she’d meant every word. She’d learned the truth about Gordon and understood. Far more than he wanted her to.
How could he have let this happen again? How could he let himself believe that t
hey had a chance? He was a fool. How could he have thought to find happiness at the cost of his friend’s life?
They’d ridden about half an hour before MacGregor broke the silence. “I take it the lass was not happy to hear you were going after her brother.”
Magnus gave him a blank look. “You could say that.”
“You have to admire her loyalty.”
Magnus didn’t say anything, but his mouth tightened. Just once, he wished that loyalty was for him.
“She loves you.” The famous archer smiled. “I’ve seen enough women in love to recognize the look.”
Normally, that might have elicited a laugh or jest about it hardly being a surprise with that “pretty” face, but Magnus was in no mood for prodding. “Aye, well, it doesn’t matter.”
He’d tried, but it wasn’t enough. She’d refused him, damn it. The lash of pain in his chest tightened. Don’t think about it. Focus. Forcing it from his mind, he scanned the road ahead of him. “I think I see something.”
He kicked his heels and the horse sped off ahead.
“It’s them!” he shouted back, a moment later.
Magnus wasn’t surprised to see some of the scouting party riding toward them—he’d assumed Sutherland would have used it as a ruse to effect his escape. He was, however, surprised to see that one of the two men was the man he sought. The other was MacLeod’s young brother-in-law.
Magnus felt the first prickle of uncertainty.
He and MacGregor drew their horses in, coming to a stop on the road in front of them.
Sutherland’s eyes narrowed. “So eager to finish what we started?”
He was too cool, Magnus realized. Sutherland wasn’t acting like someone who’d just tried to kill the king. He and MacGregor exchanged glances, and Magnus could see that he was thinking the same thing.
Magnus ignored the offer—though it was bloody tempting. “Where are the rest of the men?”
“We separated a few miles back. What’s wrong?” he said with more concern. “Did something happen to Helen?”
“Your sister is fine,” MacGregor answered. “But someone tried to kill the king.”
Both men greeted the news with too much astonishment to be feigned.
The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Page 36