“How is he?” Magnus asked.
The rain had started not long after they reached the cave, and she could hear it splattering against the rocky ground. “Weak,” she said. “But his wound doesn’t look any worse and there is no sign of a fever.” She tucked the plaid more firmly around the sleeping king. “If we weren’t in a cave on a mountain in a rainstorm, I should think he would be resting quite comfortably.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She tilted her head.
“For keeping him alive. Your women told me how you left your hiding place to help him.”
She blushed. “I had to.”
He gave her a look as if he thought that was debatable.
After ensuring that she and the king were as comfortable as they could be, he handed her the dirk again. “You are going to look for them?”
He nodded. “Aye. I won’t return until daybreak.”
Her heart squeezed with fear. She longed to cling to him and beg him not to go, but she knew there was no choice. After all he’d done to keep them safe, she could be brave for him. “Be careful.”
The boyish grin tugged at her heart with aching familiarity. “Always. Besides, I have something to protect me.” He withdrew a small piece of glass from his sporran and held it out in his palm. “I didn’t know how else to preserve it.”
She sucked in her breath. Greenish-tinged in color, it was the size and shape of a coin, and suspended in the middle were the dried petals of a purple flower. Her flower. The one she’d given him all those years ago.
Emotion strangled her throat. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He really had loved her. All this time. This big, strong warrior—proud, noble, and stubborn to a fault—had given her his heart and never taken it back.Steadfast.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Their eyes held, and the ghost of all that had been lost passed between them. He reached out and stroked the side of her face, regret poignant in his gaze. “I am, too,m’aingeal.”
Helen watched him stride away, feeling as if her heart were going along with him. He would come back to her.Please, come back to me.
Twenty-four
Magnus climbed higher on the ridge, moving with extra care. His shoulder was on fire and every muscle in his body felt shredded with fatigue. Of course the storm only complicated matters, making his footing and handholds slippery.
It took him twice as long as it should have to reach the ledge where he could keep watch overnight. There were still a few hours of light in the long summer days, but the clouds made it feel like midnight.
On a clear day, this vantage on the cliff would give him a view for miles—to Loch Broom in the west, the hills of Assynt in the north, An Teallach and Sgurr Mor in the south, and Loch Glascarnoch, from where they’d come, in the east. In the storm, however, he couldn’t see more than a hundred yards. But those hundred yards would be all he needed if someone approached. The narrowest part of the path was just beneath him and fell off sharply on the opposite side. It was the perfect place for a surprise attack.
He settled in for the long night. He ate a small ration of food and drank his fill of the water he’d replenished in the burn before they’d started up the hill. Leaning back against the rock, he stretched his legs out before him and rested his very weary limbs.
The hours passed slowly. Somewhere in the middle of the night it stopped raining, not that it mattered—since the ledge was only partially protected, he was soaked through.
No longer focused on the threat against getting them to safety, his thoughts slid to Helen. He was determined to put the past behind them and give them a chance. He could forget, damn it.
Was it so wrong of him to want a little happiness?
But in the long hours of the night, Helen’s face wasn’t the only one he saw. The nightmares returned.
Would he ever forget?
It seemed like eternity before dawn broke and chased away the ghosts.
He focused on the road, waiting for any signs that they’d been followed. He’d begun to think that perhaps they were in the clear when suddenly he caught a movement.
Damn. Two men. Although one, it appeared, was limping and had something wrapped around his leg. A satisfied smile curved his mouth. He hadn’t fallen to his death, but he suspected the man had come close.
The tenacity of the two men surprised him. They were going to a lot of trouble for one woman whomightknow something about the Highland Guard. It seemed more likely that this was about the king. But he couldn’t be sure. Bruce had told him the men had specifically mentioned “the lass.”
