The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  “We are honored to have you, Sire,” Will said with more graciousness than she would have thought possible. A year ago, the two men had been facing each other across a battlefield. But her eldest brother was pragmatic and would not let his considerable pride stand in the way of doing what was best for his clan. If that meant making friends with his former enemy, he would do it. Grudgingly.

  With one former enemy, at least.

  Her brothers did not hide their animosity when they saw Magnus. Will and Kenneth, as well as Donald, all looked ready to draw their swords. The challenging look Magnus was giving them wasn’t helping matters any. He was just as bad as they were. The feud ran deep between the two clans. It was difficult to push aside years of hatred, distrust, and suspicion. But she prayed that day would come. Unfortunately, it wasn’t today.

  Helen stepped forward to defuse the tension, presenting Muriel to the king, a few of the other knights standing nearby, and Magnus.

  Unable to avoid it, he nodded stiffly in her direction after greeting Muriel. “My lady.”

  His curtness hurt. She looked at him, willing something from him that was no longer there.

  “Your arm,” she said. “It has healed well?”

  Their eyes met, and for an instant he was her Magnus again, looking at her with his soft caramel-brown eyes full of the gentleness and tenderness that she’d always taken for granted.

  “Aye,” he said gruffly. “It’s as good as new.”

  “What he means is ‘thank you.’ ” Another man came forward. When he removed his helm, she gasped in surprise. Gregor MacGregor took her hand and bowed. “Lady Helen, I’m delighted to see you again.”

  Helen beamed at him, her eyes pricking with heat. Six months ago, he’d been close to death. But look at him! And the change was because of her. “As I am you, my lord. You are well?”

  He gave her a roguish grin that would fell half of the hearts of Scotland—the female half. Helen was not immune, and her heart skipped a little beat. Gregor MacGregor was the most dazzlingly handsome man she’d ever seen, with his bronzed skin, golden-brown hair, sparkling white teeth, brilliant blue eyes, and divinely chiseled features that even Adonis would envy. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular, he looked ready to take his place on Mount Olympus.

  “Very well, my lady. Thanks to you.” His expression sobered for a moment. “I owe you my life. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you have but to ask.”

  Helen blushed, both pleased and embarrassed. To cover her embarrassment, she introduced Muriel. “Lady Muriel is the best healer in the North. She has taught me everything I know.”

  Gregor flashed one of those gorgeous grins in the direction of her friend, who seemed to be in something of a stunned trance. Helen could hardly blame her. Gregor MacGregor tended to have that effect.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. He looked back and forth between the two women. “Had I healers as beautiful as you, I should have always been ill.” His magnificently blue eyes actually twinkled when he smiled. “In fact, I have every intention of coming down with a chill while I’m here.”

  Helen giggled like a simpering maid and was surprised to hear her serious friend doing the same.

  “Helen,” her brother Will said sharply, causing her to startle. From his dark expression, she gathered Will was annoyed with her again. Except he was looking at Muriel. “The king has had a long journey.”

  Her cheeks burned at the reminder of her duty. “Of course. I shall show you to your chamber, Sire, and send some wine and bread with cheese before the evening meal.”

  “That sounds perfect,” the king said, trying to ease her discomfort once again.

  Magnus, who also looked irritated for some reason, and a few of the other men started to follow, but Will stepped in front of him to block him.

  He addressed Bruce, not Magnus. “Munro will show the rest of your party to the barracks. I’m sure they will be quite comfortable there.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Magnus said calmly. “But we go with the king.” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement, lifting a brow with a not-so-subtle taunt. “I assume there isn’t a problem with me staying in the tower?”

  Will, Kenneth, and Donald all glanced in her direction. They weren’t much for subtlety either. Will’s jaw was clenched so tightly, she was surprised he could talk. “Nay,” he managed. “No problem.”

  Why did Helen suspect one of them would be sleeping outside her door?

  “Glad to hear it,” Magnus said. “I shall look forward to partaking of the famous Sutherland hospitality.”

  Will, trying not to choke on the sarcasm, let him pass.

  Helen sighed, leading the king and a few of his men—including Magnus—into the tower. She had no doubt that the king’s stay was going to be filled with tension between her brothers and Magnus. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let her family interfere. Not this time.

  She knew why her future had looked murky when she was talking to Muriel earlier. She couldn’t imagine one that didn’t include Magnus. He was the only thing that had ever made any sense to her.

  He was here, and she intended to do everything in her power to do what she’d failed to do before: fight for him. The king’s missive had said he planned to stay two weeks. She wasn’t going to waste one minute of that time.

  She would seize every day. Even if he could barely look at her.

  Magnus was at war.

  With himself.

  In the middle of the damned feast. From where he was seated, he couldn’t avoid looking at the couple …

  Munro put his hand on Helen’s arm, and Magnus nearly shot off the bench. The urge to slam his fist into the smug bastard’s jaw was almost overwhelming.

  He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore them. But it was impossible. Which was probably intentional. No doubt this torturous seat was Sutherland retribution.

  Magnus might have forced his way into the tower, but the Sutherlands had seated him as far away from Helen as they could without giving offense. His position as the king’s personal bodyguard and henchman earned him a place on the dais, but he was at the far end of the table while Helen was near the middle, seated between the king and Munro. Giving him a perfect view …

  The Sutherland henchman leaned over and whispered something in Helen’s ear that made her smile.

  God’s blood! Magnus tamped down the flare of anger with a long drink of ale. One week. Thank God it had taken them longer to leave Kildrummy than anticipated, and that was all of this he would have to endure.

  It hadn’t taken him long to realize what was happening. Munro obviously had decided that Gordon’s death had opened the bloody floodgates to include him as a potential suitor for Helen.

  The irony was not lost on him. The man who Magnus had made a hurdle to conquer before he could ask Helen to marry him now thought to marry her himself.

  Magnus clenched his jaw. Oh, it was ironic all right.

  But why the hell was he letting this bother him? He should be glad of it. Whatever else he thought of Munro, he couldn’t fault his warrior’s skills. Munro would protect her. He would keep her safe, and Magnus would have no reason to feel guilty. A husband would absolve him of his promise to Gordon. There was probably no cause for concern as it was. Gordon’s identity as a member of the Highland Guard hadn’t been compromised.

  But Munro, damn it. He couldn’t stand the thought of them—

  “Is everything to your liking, my lord?”

  Hell no! Magnus stopped the thought from becoming words and turned to the woman seated to his left. Realizing he was scowling, he forced a smile to his face. “Aye, thank you, Lady Muriel. Everything is delicious.”

  It was the truth. However awkward their arrival yesterday, Helen had acquitted herself well as hostess today. The feast was magnificent, offering nothing to find fault with the young lady of the keep.

  He wasn’t surprised. Helen’s enthusiasm and joie de vivre were contagious. She made eve