By the time Kaden dished out two hearty bowls of stew and handed one to Helena, her stomach had begun to gnaw at her. Holding the bowl on her lap, she ate as Kaden sat at the table next to the hearth.
As they ate in silence, Helena studied her surroundings. His home was small, but clean. Two books sat on a shelf on the right-hand wall. He could read. Surprising. Many warriors read little more than their own names. Maybe he couldn’t read, but kept the books as some sort of memento. A dagger lay near the books, along with two pewter goblets.
Covertly, she turned her attention to him. He sat at the table, straight and proud, but Helena sensed loneliness. The croft was far from any village, and he didn’t appear to be accustomed to having guests. He didn’t even have the companionship of a dog. When Kaden spoke, he showed little emotion. Except his smile. That smile gave away a wealth of information. Kindness—though, that she’d deduced by the fact that he’d risked his life to save hers. He’d seemed glad she decided to stay. Was that due to loneliness or concern?
Helena abruptly remembered her satchel, and blurted, “I had a satchel. Where is it?”
He frowned. “I didnae see a satchel.”
Tears threatened. The only weapon she had was in that satchel. She dropped her gaze to her food and willed the tears back. “Are we still on Clan Donald’s land?” She held her breath, hoping to learn that she had crossed into MacLeod territory.
“Donald?” He shook his head. “Nae, lass, ye are far from the Donalds here. We are on the king’s land.”
She blinked. “What do ye mean?”
“This ridge is no’ owned by any clan. As the Donalds and MacLeods are feuding, the king proposed a neutral border between them.”
“If ye are from neither clan, where does your loyalty lie during times of war?”
“I am no longer a warrior.” Kaden ate another mouthful of stew.
She nodded and continued to eat. “But ye once were.”
He frowned, and she nodded toward the weapons hear the hearth.
“The weapons belonged to my family.” He pushed back his chair and rose. “We need more wood.” He crossed to the door and donned his fur. “I will be back soon.” Before she could reply, he left.
Helena stared at the closed door. What had she said to upset him? As she turned her head away from the door, her eyes caught sight of the large stack of wood already piled near the hearth.
Chapter Four
He was a fool—a rude fool. Kaden was the captain of his own guarded silence. When asked about his past, he had no idea how to tell her that the last woman he held dear was responsible for his brother’s hanging. Nae, that was wrong. She wasn’t responsible. He was, for trusting her.
Kaden released a breath that curled from his mouth in a thick steam. Helena seemed relieved to be off Donald land, which, if he was honest, relieved him. However, if it wasn’t the Donalds she journeyed to, that meant she was likely traveling to the MacLeods. That troubled him. And he didn’t like being troubled over a woman.
Why had she been wandering in the woods alone? It was none of his business. Even the bruises on her arms weren’t his business—just as the business of his clan was not his business.
The sewing of her bodice shouldn’t take long, but Kaden took his time in fetching more wood. He returned to find Helena sound asleep, and her bodice more tightly fitting. His cock pulsed. He’d been too long without a woman. Two years since he’d left his clan. Since Rhona told his father that Liam had stolen the famed MacLeod Faery Flag, given to the MacLeod bairn by the Fae Queen herself. Kaden’s chest tightened. If the flag truly offered protection as legend said, his brother would still be alive.
An hour later, a whimper caused Kaden to snap his head up from the book he was reading. Helena twitched in her sleep. She flung an arm aside and cried out. Kaden leapt to his feet, his mother's journal tumbling from his lap onto the floor. Helena twisted and flailed. He took three quick steps to the bed, but she stilled as he reached down to grasp her arm. He watched, heart pounding. She must be dreaming about her fall through the ice.
Helena whimpered again and muttered something he couldn't distinguish. She began to cry. “Malcolm,” she whispered.
Kayden stiffened. Malcolm? Her husband, no doubt. Was he the man who left the bruises on her arms? He had to be, for no husband would stand idly by while another man abused his wife. She’d seemed relieved to be off Donald land. Was her husband a Donald? Malcolm Donald. Kaden started. Not Malcolm Donald, Captain to Domhnall Donald, the Donald chief? Nae. Last Kaden had heard, Malcom Donald hadn’t married. But Kaden had been away from Skye these last two years. Malcom could have married. Still, the name was common. He couldn't be the lass’ husband.
Her crying intensified. Kaden sat on the bed, grasped her shoulders and gently shook her. She bolted upright and buried her face in his chest. He stiffened and remained still as a statue when she fisted his shirt and cried. At last, she quieted and lifted her head. Eyes wide, she stared up at him.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“Ye cried out in your sleep,” he said. “I came to see what was wrong and you burst into tears against my chest.”
Her cheeks pinked. She brushed hair from her face and his gaze caught on the bruises on her arm. Her eyes shifted to her arm. She yanked the cover up over her breasts.
Kaden realized the room had cooled. He rose and went to the fire, which had burned low. He knelt and added more wood.
“I cannae thank ye enough for saving me,” she said.
“Think nothing of it, lass.”
“Have you lived here long?” she asked.
This croft had belonged to his great uncle. They’d spent many a day here, fishing and hunting. He’d brought a lass or two here for a few stolen kisses. But he replied, “Nae.” Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie.
“ ‘Tis a cozy cottage,” she said, her voice sleepy. “
“Aye,” Kaden agreed. He wanted to ask about the bruises on her arms, about the man named Malcolm. Would she twist truth as he had? Kaden rose and turned. She lay on the bed, fast asleep.
The day passed too slowly. Kaden took care to remain quiet, and sat before the fire most of the day, trying to read his mother’s journal. Helena slept on. He would have worried, but the color returned to her cheeks and the steady rise and fall of her breasts told him she was beginning to mend. The blankets should cover her shoulders, so she didn’t catch a chill. He debated whether or not he might disturb her but, in the end, rose and gently pulled the plaid up to her shoulders. She sighed in her sleep and shifted. He jumped back, heart pounding. If she woke to him bending over her bed, she was sure to think he intended to dishonor her. But she slept on.
* * *
The following morning, Kaden awoke early. He rubbed the stiffness from his left shoulder. “You are no’ as young as ye once were,” he murmured, but shrugged into his furs and went out to bring in more wood. Helena would wake and want to be up and about. To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to sharing another companionable meal with her.
He returned to the cottage, the cart filled with enough wood to last through the day, then halted in the doorway, his arms full of logs. Helena stood near the table, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. God’s teeth. She intended to venture into the woods alone, again.
She stared for a moment. “Kaden, I am sorry if I said something to upset you.”
He frowned, then realized she spoke of their conversation yesterday. He closed the door, crossed to the hearth and stacked the logs. “Ye didnae upset me. Besides, that was yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” she blurted.
“Aye. Ye slept through the day and night.”
“I-I didn’t know.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You are kind to allow me to stay. I feel much better.”
He shrugged. “Ye will be happy to know the storm has passed and the sun is shining. It should prove to be a good day to travel.”
“I dinnae know how I can repay
ye.”
An awkward tension filled the room. He knelt on one knee and began stacking more logs on the fire. “If you wish, I will escort ye to wherever you need to go. These woods are dangerous for a lass to travel alone, and ye have no horse.”
She shook her head. He thought he saw sadness in her eyes, but it vanished, and she said, “I do no’ have far to travel. I will arrive safely. But I thank ye for the offer. You have been so kind.”
He should let her go and forget her. Instead, he rose and said, “At least take my horse.”
“In due time, you will find a way to return him. He is a strong horse. He will outrun any brigands ye encounter.”
She hesitated. “Surely, you must need him?”
Kaden shook his head. “Nae. I have enough supplies to last the winter. Besides, I cannae keep him locked up in the barn till spring. The run will do him good, and it will give me peace knowing ye are safe.”
“Thank you, Kaden. I-I dinnae know what to say.” She smiled and his heart leapt. “May God smile down upon ye,” she said.
He yanked his gaze from her face and started for the door. “Come, along.” He led her to the barn, brought the horse out of his stall and stopped beside her.
Helena’s face lit. “He is beautiful. What do ye call him?”
“Valor.”
“A befitting name.”
Kaden saddled the animal, then extended a hand toward Helena. She laid her hand in his and he was startled by the jolt that passed through him. She grasped the pommel and her grip on his hand tightened as she stepped into the saddle, then swung her leg over the horse’s rump and dropped onto the saddle. She pulled her hand free of his and he took an involuntary step back.
“I hope we meet again someday, Kaden.” Helena smiled down at him. “If anything, at least to return your horse.”
“Valor will take good care of ye. God speed, lass.”
Kaden led the horse from the barn, then handed the reins to Helena and stood aside as she nudged his ribs with her heels. Valor started forward and Kaden forced back the desire to call her back. Her journey was her affair. He whirled and started back toward the croft. He’s saved her life. That was more than many men would do. Still, he couldn’t shake the guilt that niggled. Should he have done more?
He reached the cottage, then he sat in his chair and stared into the flames. Strange, how quiet the cottage was with Helena gone.
Retrieving his mother’s journal from the bedside table, he began reading. Her words gave him comfort, but his mind kept returning to Helena as she rode away on Valor’s back. He’d reread the same paragraph three times when a draft whipped down the chimney, causing the fire to dance wildly. With a sigh, Kaden set aside the book and rose. He had enough wood to last the month, but he needed to occupy his mind. He put on his furs, then headed out to the shed for his axe.
Kaden grimaced at sight of the shed up ahead. Wind had blown the most recent powdery snow across the crusted snow and created a waist-high drift against the door. He’d have to dig through the drift in order to open the shed door. He was glad he’d given Helena Valor. She wouldn’t have lasted more than a mile or two in this biting wind. Kaden glanced at the loch, but the surface was once again a sheet of white that extended to the tree line on the far shore.
He started to return his attention to the shed, but his gaze caught on something metallic near the shore. He headed toward the object and realized as he neared that it was the buckle on a leather strap. The satchel Helena had lost. He reached the spot and grasped the strap. Kaden was forced to pull hard, for the satchel had frozen to the ground. It freed, and he stumbled backward with the force of his yank. His foot slipped, but he caught himself and straightened. The damned snow would be the death of him.
Kaden examined the satchel. The leather was finely tooled. Once it thawed, it would, it would be useful again. Helena would sorely miss it. He could return it to her when she brought back Valor. How long might that be? It had been plain she didn’t want to talk about where she was from or where she was going. But he suddenly wished he’d asked about her destination. He worked the strap so that it was pliable, then slipped it over his head and continued to the shed.
Two hours later, Kaden returned to the croft, his muscles burning with the exertion of swinging the axe, and he prayed he would sleep well that night. He set Helena’s satchel on the table, then removed his furs. The fire had died to embers. Kaden added more logs to the hearth and stoked the embers into flames. He poured a cup of wine, then sat down at the table.
He’d known all along that he was going to go against his nature and invade her privacy—and worse—further involve himself in her life by looking inside the satchel.
He drank two gulps of wine, then opened the satchel and removed a folded parchment, a small dagger and a frozen, cloth-wrapped bundle. Kaden examined the jeweled, polished-steel dagger. Something this expensive would have been forged for a lady of a castle or to be presented to a highly-ranked officer. It was not made for everyday use.
Biscuits were in the cloth. They were no good after being soaked in the loch. Kaden tossed them onto the fire.
He carefully unfolded the sodden parchment. A poorly drawn floorplan of a castle covered the upper half of the page. Arrows pointed to a room in one tower. Kaden frowned. There was something oddly familiar about the castle. The answer slammed into him. Dunvegan.
His home.
What was Helena doing with a map of Dunvegan?
Not just Dunvegan, he realized. Below the map were two paragraphs written by two distinctly different hands. The first, written in beautiful penmanship, told the story of a magical treasure. He knew the legend all too well of how the Faery Flag.
Kaden quickly scanned the paragraph below the legend, but it was smeared. His blood chilled. She had circled the hidden treasure room in the east tower.
Holy God, Helena intended to steal the MacLeod Faery Flag.
Chapter Five
To Helena’s right, beyond the sea gates, the village Caithlwyn rested along the shore of the loch that emptied into the sea. Tension coiled in her stomach. Atop the cliff, beyond the village, Dunvegan’s towers rose above the trees. According to her map, the castle was modest compared to ones she’d visited before and, unlike many other clans’ castles, no market or villagers’ homes surrounded it.
She breathed so deeply of the air that she could taste the salt. The long path had been interminable. Thank God for Valor. Without him, the trip would have been far longer and much colder.
Memory rose of Kaden’s firm grip on her fingers when he’d helped her mount. Warmth flushed through her. She was accustomed to the attention of men, so gave them little thought. But Kaden made her feel strange. Helena shook off the thought. He’d been kind—something she wasn’t accustomed to—that was all. Still, she wouldn’t forget him. Valor nickered as if aware she was thinking of his master.
Helena patted his sleek neck. “Aye, he’s a good man. I will see to it that ye reach home safely.” Afterwards.
Excitement mingled with her anxiety. Helena thought of the map in her satchel now at the bottom of the loch near Kaden’s home. The picture of map was burned into her memory. But she hated losing the dagger. Pray God she didn’t need it.
Helena urged Valor into the trees, then dismounted. She tied the reins to a tree and patted his neck. “I will return soon, lad. Never fear.”
She adjusted the cowl of her cloak over her head to better hide her face and pulled the cloak tight about her shoulders as she started up the hill. At the top of the hill, the open gate came into view. Head held high, she approached the guards. As expected, two guards manned the entrance. Helena neared and slowed as one stopped a woman ahead of her and checked the basket she carried. With a deep breath, she stepped forward when he let the woman pass.
“Pleasant day, aye, lass?” he asked.
Helena smiled. “Aye. We are blessed with the bright sun after such a cruel storm.”
“Ye are early for the wed
ding celebration.”
Wedding celebration? She smiled. “I wanted to be sure I wasnae late.”
The man laughed. “Enjoy the celebration. Laid MacLeod has a feast planned that will feed all of Caithlwyn. Mayhap I will see ye inside.” He winked, and she smiled before hurrying past him.
As expected, gaining entrance to the castle had been easy. In truth, it wasn’t getting into the castle that had her heart pounding—who would suspect a young, beautiful woman of stealing the most valued MacLean treasure—but escape with the treasure.
The layout of the grounds was exactly as shown on the map. Walking toward the keep, Helena passed a group of women gathered near the well in the middle of the courtyard. Many carried baskets. Immersed in conversation, they didn’t notice when she scooped up a small wicker basket filled with white linens and continued on her way.
She reached the keep, nudged the postern door open with her hip, and stepped into a small foyer. To the left, a narrow staircase twisted upward. To her right, an arched doorway opened into the great hall. Maids busied themselves setting tables and carrying trays of food and wine from the kitchen.
As the kitchen door swung open, a woman called, “Mary, put more pitchers of ale on my husband’s table.”
Helena froze. She knew that voice. The woman emerged from the kitchen. Helena took a quick step back out of view. The beautiful golden-haired lady dressed in MacLeod colors hurried across the hall to the table nearest the dais.
Gwendolyn.
Malcolm Donald’s prodigal daughter.
Helena’s sister in the Order of the Sinister Sisters.
“Does Malcom know ye are here, Sister?” Helena whispered.
Surely, he didn’t know, for their adopted father wouldn’t easily give up his favorite daughter.
Helena had been Malcolm’s favorite—until Gwen arrived at Glenwood Abbey. It mattered not that Helena had faithfully served Malcolm for two years as a master thief before Gwen arrived, he openly favored Gwen.
Treasures of Skye (Women of Honor Book 2) Page 2