He turned, for the first time noticing Magnus. “Saint, took you long enough to find us.”
“Saint?” Helen looked at him in surprise. “You?”
Magnus bit back a smile, helping the king to his feet. He’d explain later. “I apologize for the delay, Sire. Someone did a good job of leading me on a false trail.”
The king grinned and turned to Helen. “It seems your plan worked. That was quick thinking on your part, my lady. As was the knife in the leg.”
She blushed under the praise.
Magnus had lost a few years of his life when he’d seen her plunge the blade into the warrior. But he wanted to know all of it. “What happened?”
The king quickly explained how they’d been forced to flee deeper into the mountains, how his injury had weakened him, and how Helen had set the false path, and then led them down the hill to hide in the rocks.
When he finished his tale, it wasn’t only the king who was impressed. He’d always thought of Helen as fragile—something to be cherished and protected. But she was tougher than he realized. And had far more grit and determination than he’d given her credit for. “How did you navigate the hill in the darkness?”
When Helen appeared confused, he gestured to the hill behind him. She blanched when she saw what she had done. Even though they hadn’t descended from the summit as he had, it was a treacherous “path” all the same.
“It didn’t seem that steep in the darkness. We walked slowly.”
Magnus held her gaze. He tried not to let himself think of what could have happened, but it didn’t work. He was tempted to take her in his arms again, but that would have to wait.
“We need to get back to the others. There might be more of them around. Can you walk, Sire?”
Despite his pale, blood-streaked face, Bruce looked affronted. “Of course I can walk.” He straightened, and in the process swayed. He would have fallen had Magnus not caught him. “Ah hell.”
Helen rushed to his side and inspected the bandage on his forehead. “It’s started to bleed again. The bind isn’t strong enough. I need to seal it closed.”
Magnus noticed she carried the bag he’d made for her across her shoulder. “But you didn’t have a fire?”
She nodded.
“We’ll do it as soon as we get back to camp. I’ll help the king. I don’t want to stay here…”
His voice dropped off. He swore.
“What is it?” Helen asked.
But Bruce had seen what he had. “Horsemen.” He nodded to the ridge above them from which they’d all descended. “Three of them.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “And they’re not …?” her voice dropped off.
“Nay,” Magnus said. “They’re not ours.”
Helen’s gaze met his. “What are we going to do?”
His mouth fell in a grim line. If it were just him or if the king wasn’t about to fall at his feet, he would stay and fight. But as he’d learned from Bruce, sometimes you had to know when to pick your battles. This wasn’t one of those times. His first duty was to protect Helen and the king.
But they’d never make it back to camp.
He looked at the looming cliff on the other side of the river. They’d lose them in the mountains—his mountains. “We’re going to take the high road to Loch Broom.”
When Helen realized what he meant, she paled but gave him a look of such trust it made his chest tighten. “I hope you aren’t planning on running?”
He grinned. “Not this time.”
Twenty-three
Helen’s lungs were bursting and her legs burning when Magnus finally stopped to let them rest, while he filled the skins with water from the lochan in the center of the wide corrie.
