The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Page 6

  “I feel nothing,” he’d told her. God, how he wished it were true!

  A small part of him had thought she wouldn’t be able to do it. That despite what he’d said, she would not bind herself to someone else forever. That she loved him enough to do what was right.

  But she didn’t. Not then and not now.

  He sat on his pallet, leaning his back against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, and drank. He drank to find peace, to reach the mindless oblivion where the torture of his thoughts wouldn’t find him. Instead he found hell. An angry, black hell where the fire of his thoughts raged and burned in the farthest reaches of his soul.

  Was it happening right now? Was Gordon taking her in his arms and making love to her? Was he giving her pleasure?

  The torture went deeper, became more explicit, until he thought he’d go mad with the images.

  How much time had passed, he didn’t know, before the door opened. A man strode in.

  When he saw who it was, blood raged through his veins. “Get the hell out of here, Sutherland.”

  Despite the slur of drink, there was no mistaking the warning in his voice.

  The blasted fool ignored it. He crossed the room with his usual arrogant swagger. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Gordon was looking for you. I think he wanted you to accompany him to the bridal chamber. But he left without you.”

  Nothing could have dulled the stab of pain that hit him then. It was happening right now. Oh, Jesus.

  The bastard smiled. Magnus’s hand squeezed around the neck of the jug until the blood fled from his knuckles. But he wouldn’t give Sutherland the satisfaction of showing him how well his dagger had stuck. “Is that all you wished to tell me or is there something else?”

  Helen’s brother stopped a few feet away from him, looming over him. Despite the obvious intent, Magnus wasn’t threatened. The disadvantage of his position on the floor wouldn’t last long if he didn’t want it to. Sutherland didn’t know just how much danger he was in. This wasn’t the Highland Games. Magnus had three years of war behind him, fighting alongside the best warriors in Scotland. Sutherland had fought with the English.

  “I think they’re going to be quite happy together, don’t you?”

  Magnus flexed his hand. God, how he itched to smash it through Sutherland’s gleaming-white sneer!

  “Or maybe you don’t want that at all? Maybe you still fancy yourself in love with my sister? Maybe that’s the reason why you never told Gordon about your illicit little romance?”

  “Have care, Sutherland. Your friend isn’t here to protect you this time.”

  He was rewarded with an angry clench of his enemy’s jaw.

  “I wonder whether he’ll still be your friend when he hears the truth.”

  Magnus was on his feet with his hand around the other man’s neck before he could react. “You’ll keep your damned mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.” He shoved him up hard against a wooden post. “It’s in the past.”

  In a move that would have made Robbie Boyd proud, Sutherland pushed up with the back of his arm, breaking Magnus’s hold, and twisted out of the way. “Damned right it’s in the past, and there’s not a blasted thing you can do about it. I’ll bet right now he’s—”

  Magnus snapped. He let his fist fly right into the bastard’s sneering grin. He heard a satisfying crunch. The force of the blow would have felled most men, but Sutherland absorbed the shock with a snap of his head and returned the blow to Magnus’s gut with enough force to exact a grunt.

  Either Sutherland had become a much better warrior or the drink had taken more of a toll than Magnus realized. Or perhaps both. The result was that in the exchange of blows that followed, Sutherland gave him more of a battle than he expected. It had been a long time since Magnus had brawled with only fists for a weapon, but it didn’t take him long to get the upper hand. He let off a barrage of blows that would have knocked Sutherland senseless if someone hadn’t pulled him back.

  “Stop! Damn it, MacKay, that’s enough!”

  He was grabbed from behind, an arm around his neck. He reacted instinctively, twisting and intending to use the momentum and leverage to throw the other man over his head, but recognition broke through the haze.

  It was Gordon. What the hell was he doing here?

  From the look on Sutherland’s face, he was wondering the same thing.

  “What is this about?” Gordon looked back and forth between them. His eyes narrowed with an intensity that gave Magnus an uneasy prickle. “Or perhaps I don’t need to ask? If you two want to kill each other, do it someplace else. This isn’t the time.”

  He was right. Magnus was ashamed he’d let the bastard get to him. He didn’t try to offer an excuse.

  He and Sutherland exchanged a look. Despite his taunts, it was clear Sutherland had no intention of telling Gordon about Helen. His intent had only been to torment Magnus with what he knew.

  Gordon looked at them both in disgust. “Leave us,” he said to Sutherland. “There is something MacKay and I need to discuss—alone.”

  Magnus suspected Sutherland was more concerned by Gordon’s pronouncement than he let on. But he ceded to his demand with a curt nod to Gordon and a look toward Magnus that promised this was not over.

  Magnus poured some cold water into a basin and dunked his face, as much to clean the blood left by Sutherland’s fists as to shock the whisky from his blood. He suspected he was going to need a clear head for what Gordon was about to say.

  He wiped the water away with a drying cloth and turned to face his friend.

  His trepidation spiked. Now that they were alone, he could see the rare signs of fury in Gordon’s normally cheerful face. Even before he spoke, Magnus knew.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “There was—is—nothing to tell.”

  Gordon’s eyes flared with anger. “You didn’t think I might be interested to know that my closest friend was in love with my betrothed?”

  “Whatever existed between Helen and me was over before I met you.”

  “Is that right?” Gordon challenged. “So you are telling me that you no longer have feelings for her?”

  Magnus clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He wanted to deny it, but they both knew it would be a lie.

  Gordon shook his head. “You should have told me. I would have stepped aside.”

  “So that she could marry someone else? It wouldn’t have mattered. Her family hates me. You see how well her brother and I get along. I’d rather see her with someone who deserves her. Someone who could make her happy.”

  “How bloody noble of you,” Gordon said, not hiding his bitterness. “But how in the hell is that supposed to happen when she’s thinking about another man each time I make love to her?”

  Magnus flinched. Was that how it had happened? Was that how Gordon had discovered the truth? God, he felt ill.

  Gordon was about to say something when the door opened, and MacRuairi burst into the room. He looked back and forth between them, obviously wondering what was going on, but duty overruled curiosity. “Pack your things,” he said to Magnus. “We’re leaving.”

  He didn’t bother with questions; if they were leaving in the middle of the celebration it was serious. Snapping into warrior’s mode, he immediately began to gather his things.

  “What’s happened?” Gordon asked.

  “The new Lord of Galloway is in trouble.”

  Gordon swore, knowing that if the king’s proud brother Edward was sending for reinforcements, it must be bad. “Who’s going?”

  “All of us.”

  Gordon nodded. “I’ll get my things.”

  “Not you,” MacRuairi clarified. “No one expects you to leave your bride on her wedding night.”

  “I know,” Gordon said. “But I’m coming all the same. You may need a distraction.” He exchanged a look with Magnus. “My bride probably won’t even have a chance to
miss me.”

  Three

  “Gone?” Helen echoed, stunned.

  Bella frowned. “Aye. The men were called away late last night on a mission for the king. Did William not tell you?”

  Helen fought to control the rise of heat to her cheeks but failed. She shook her head. “I … I must have been asleep.”

  Christina ascribed her reaction to maidenly modesty. “He probably didn’t want to wake you. You must have been exhausted after such a long … day.” She smiled.

  “Aye, no doubt he was just being considerate,” Bella agreed, although it was obvious she was concerned.

  Helen took another piece of bread from the platter and smothered it with butter to cover her embarrassment. She’d stayed awake most of the night anxiously waiting for the door to open to give William her answer. She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she remembered was waking to an ice-cold room. The young maidservant who came to light the fires in the morning must have been told not to disturb them. A consideration that had proved unnecessary.

  Why hadn’t William returned? Was he giving her more time to decide or had something prevented him? Fearing the reason might have something to do with Magnus, Helen had hesitated to leave her room. But hunger and curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d made her way down to the Great Hall to break her fast.

  The success of the celebration was evident in the number of guests still sprawled out on the floor sleeping. Bella and Christina, however, were awake, and—much to Helen’s surprise—had immediately expressed how sorry they were on her behalf that the men had been called away right after her wedding.

  “Did your husbands go as well?” Helen asked.

  “Aye,” Bella answered. “A number of the men were called away.”

  Her heart jumped. Magnus? Did he go, too? Bella must have guessed the direction of her thoughts because she nodded in response.

  “Where did they go?” she asked.

  The women exchanged looks. “I’m not precisely sure,” Christina said carefully.

  Too carefully. Helen sensed there was something they were not telling her.

  “They never tell us exactly where they are going,” Bella added dryly.

  Helen frowned. “Does William usually fight with your husbands?”

  “Not all the time,” Christina offered in another vague response.

  “When will they be back?”

  “A week,” Bella said. “Maybe longer.”

  Helen knew she shouldn’t feel so relieved, but she was. William’s departure gave her plenty of time to prepare herself for what was to come. For she did not delude herself—if she took William’s offer, it would make all her previous “wayward” decisions pale in comparison.

  “It seems odd that they would be called away in the middle of the celebration like that,” she said. Especially the groom. According to Kenneth, William had been a man-at-arms for his uncle Sir Adam Gordon—the head of Clan Gordon. When they’d had a falling-out, he’d joined Bruce, then the Earl of Carrick, in his rebellion. That William had distinguished himself on the battlefield was evidenced by the king’s insistence that the wedding be held at his recently acquired castle of Dunstaffnage. But beyond that, she knew little about his place in Bruce’s army. “What is it exactly that William does for the king?”

  Both women appeared decidedly uncomfortable—even nervous—about her question. “It’s best if William explains it to you,” Bella said.

  Christina leaned closer, so as to not be overheard. “I know you have questions, but try to keep them until William returns. It’s safer that way. Questions sometimes have a way of reaching the wrong ears.”

  Helen didn’t understand the warning, except to know that she’d been given one. She decided to let it go—for now.

  She would recall it, however, a short while later when her brothers and Donald Munro entered the Great Hall. Dreading their questions, she would have tried to avoid them by accepting Bella’s offer to join the women with their children in Lady Elyne’s chamber—apparently her husband, Erik MacSorley, had gone as well—but then she caught sight of her brother’s face.

  She rushed forward to intercept them before they sat at one of the trestle tables that had been set out for the meal. Her hand went to Kenneth’s bruised and battered cheek. “What happened?”

  It was obvious that he’d been struck—repeatedly. He had an enormous bruise on the left side of his mouth and jaw, a split lip, a bruised and swollen left eye, and a large cut on his cheek.

  He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “It’s nothing.”

  “You were fighting.” It wasn’t unusual for her quick-tempered brother. He was quick to take offense and quicker to exact retribution.

  “Aye, he was,” her eldest brother replied. Unlike she and Kenneth, Will and she had never been close. He’d always seemed a stranger to her. At ten years her senior, he was being fostered with the Earl of Ross when she was born. By the time he’d returned to Dunrobin, he was more concerned with improving his battle skills and learning the duties that would be his as earl than troubling himself with a ten-year-old sister who clearly baffled him. He was not unkind or uncaring, but simply preoccupied. Stern and more than a little intimidating, he’d assumed the duties of the earldom upon her father’s death with the ease of a man who’d been trained for the role since birth. “It seems that young MacKay hasn’t learned any discipline in the past few years. But what can you expect from a cur—young or old.”

  Helen gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “Magnus did this to you?”

  Will’s gaze sharpened; he didn’t like being reminded of her “ill-conceived” acquaintance with their enemy.

  “Aye,” Donald said. “He attacked your brother without cause.”

  That didn’t sound like Magnus. The frown Kenneth sent in Donald’s direction seemed to suggest there might be something more to the story. She hoped that something didn’t concern her. She knew that Donald, too, hated Magnus—even more so since his defeat that fateful day.

  “Being forced to abide the usurper is bad enough, but MacKays? Your new husband keeps unfortunate company, my lady,” Donald added.

  Will shushed him harshly under his breath, looking around as though the walls might have ears, though they stood to the side of the Hall a good distance from anyone. “Have care, Munro. I like it little more than you do, but ‘the usurper’ is now our king.”

  Donald had been vocal in his objections to submitting to Bruce, and his continued disgruntlement was plain in his face. But he clenched his jaw and nodded. Donald’s loyalty to their father had passed to his son. As had his sword. He’d retained his position as the An Gille-coise, the chief’s personal henchman, for her brother.

  “Where is your new husband?” Kenneth said, scanning the room behind her. “I should have thought to find him here with you.”

  There was something pointed in his question that caused her to flush. Recalling Christina’s warning, she said, “He was called away for a few days.”

  “Called away?” Will repeated, voicing the surprise evident on all the men’s faces. “What do you mean ‘called away’?”

  She gave a careless shrug. “The king had need of him.”

  “The day after his wedding?” Kenneth didn’t hide his incredulity.

  She forced a smile to her face. “He will be back soon.”

  “Where did he go?” Will demanded.

  “He did not say, and I did not ask,” she answered truthfully, neglecting to mention that he’d never given her the opportunity.

  Donald was clearly outraged on her behalf. He’d always been protective of her. “I wonder what could be so important to take a groom from his bed and send a dozen men sailing out in a birlinn in the middle of the night?” he asked.

  How would he know that? Her brothers had a solar in the main donjon, away from the boathouse and the barracks.

  Seeing the frown on her face, he explained. “I thought I saw something on my way back from the garder
obe—I assume it was he and the other men leaving.”

  “Perhaps you should ask the king,” she suggested.

  “That I will, sister,” Will said. “Although I’m not sure the Bruce is ready to take us in his confidence.”

  He was right. The king might be eager to welcome the earls and powerful magnates, such as Sutherland and Ross, back into the fold in the interest of a united realm, but that did not mean he trusted them. The Sutherlands were in a precarious position, and Helen hoped her decision to dissolve her marriage didn’t make it worse.

  Will and Donald joined the rest of her brother’s large retinue at the trestle table. Helen would have returned to her room, but Kenneth held her back. Blue eyes, so like her own, bored into her. Though Kenneth shared her father and Will’s penchant for treating her with a mixture of fond befuddlement and exasperation, he had always had a knack for sensing when she wasn’t telling the truth. And though he rarely lost his temper with her, Kenneth didn’t show the same exaggerated patience, as if he were a shepherd tasked with minding a constantly straying lamb, that her father and Will did. “Are you sure you are telling us everything, Helen?”

  “I’m telling you all I know.”

  He stared at her until she felt like shifting her feet. When their father died, it was Kenneth who’d stepped into the role of shepherd to her straying lamb. But he wasn’t her father—although he certainly sounded like it.

  “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with why I saw your husband in the boathouse looking for MacKay last night not an hour after he left the Hall to be with you.”

  He’d surprised her, and her expression showed it.

  He dropped her arm and swore. “What did you do, Helen?”

  She hated to see the disappointment on his face, but the worst part was that it was only going to get worse. “I didn’t do anything.”

  His temper flashed. “Don’t be a fool, sister. Gordon is a good man. He will make you a good husband. MacKay has known about this betrothal for years. If he’d wanted you, he would have told him. But he didn’t.”