His gaze pierced hers, his mouth a thin line. “What purpose does this serve, Helen? It is all in the past. You have no need of absolution from me. You owed me nothing.”
“I loved you.”
He stilled. “Obviously not enough.” The soft parry sent a blade right through her heart. He was right. She hadn’t trusted her feelings. Then. She’d been eighteen. She hadn’t known what she wanted. But she did now. She knew in her heart that he was the man who’d been meant for her. She’d been given a rare chance to have love, and she’d failed to grasp it. “I still—”
“That’s enough.” He crossed the distance between them in a few strides and grabbed her by the arms. The feel of his big hands on her was like a brand. For a moment, her heart had leapt, thinking that he’d snapped. That the calm indifference of his response had proved to be an act. But as he held her up so that her toes dragged on the ground, he looked perfectly in control. “Whatever you have to say, it’s too late.” He released her and took a step back. “For Christ’s sake, you are about to marry a man who is like a brother to me.”
The blasphemy, the small hint of emotion, urged her on. She moved closer to him—much closer—and put her hand on his arm, feeling a jolt of awareness as the muscles leapt at her touch. She looked up into the handsome face that had haunted her dreams, locking her gaze on his. “And it means nothing to you?” She moved her hand to cover his heart; beneath the hard shield she felt the thump against her palm. “It doesn’t bother youhere.”
He looked down at her completely still and achingly silent, his expression unreadable. She looked for a sign that it mattered. Instinctively, her gaze went to the small muscle below his jaw. But beneath the shadow of dark stubble, there was no tic to betray him. He was perfectly controlled—as always.
Carefully, he extracted himself from her touch, setting her away from him. “You are embarrassing us both, Helen.”
She sucked in her breath, feeling the knife of shame cut through her heart.
He looked into her eyes and said, “I feel nothing.”
He turned on his heel and left her standing there, watching as her chance for happiness slipped silently away. This time she could not delude herself that he would come back for her.
Two
Helen didn’t know how long she stood there in the woods, frozen with heartbreak. Of course it was too late. What could she have been thinking?
By the time she returned to the castle, the women were in a mild panic. Bella took one look at her face and took charge.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked quietly.
Helen stared numbly at her. No. Yes. She didn’t care. What difference did it make?
She must have nodded because she soon found herself gowned, perfumed, and coiffed, with a circlet of gold upon her head, retracing the steps she’d taken only hours before.
Only once did she falter. As her brother Will, now the Earl of Sutherland, led her to the place where her betrothed waited for her outside the chapel door, she took in the crowd that had gathered to stand witness to the ceremony. There, in the front, standing beside a handful of other warriors, she saw him. Magnus had his back to her. The once familiar form was broader, more muscular, and much more formidable, but she would know him anywhere.
Disappointment sank like a stone to her gut. His presence did away with any lingering doubt she might have had that this mattered to him—that she mattered to him.
“Is everything all right, Helen?”
She blinked up at her eldest brother. “You stopped,” Will pointed out.
“I…”
Every instinct clamoredstop, do not do this.
“She’s fine.” Kenneth had come behind them. “Come, sister, your betrothed is waiting.”
Though he said it gently, there was a look in his eyes that cautioned her against doing something “wayward.” It was too late to change her mind.
For once, he and Magnus were in accord.
Swallowing through the hot ball of longing and regret that seemed lodged in her lungs, Helen nodded. When her brothers stepped forward, she moved along with them.
If her hand trembled as her brother placed it in her betrothed’s, she did not notice. In a trance, she stood to the left of William—as women had been formed from the left side of Adam—and faced the church door. As was tradition, the first part of the ceremony would be conducted outside, with the final blessing to take place inside the chapel before the altar.
Thus it was that she was married to William Gordon in the same place she’d made a fool of herself earlier, with the man she’d thrown herself at not five feet away.
She was aware of Magnus the entire time, a solid, dark presence, hovering on the periphery of her vision, as she responded to the vows that would bind her to another man forever. He did not move, did not voice an objection when the priest asked if anyone knew of any reason this couple should not be married (had she really hoped he would?), and did not once look in her direction.
With William’s betrothal ring firmly on her finger, she followed the priest inside the dark chapel and knelt beside William as the marriage was solemnized before God. When it was over, William kissed her lightly on her dry lips, took her hand, and led her out of the chapel as his wife to a roar of cheers.
