She barely noticed. It was almost as if she weren’t there. The pale, serene figure standing beside him wasn’t her. The shy smiles and murmured pleasantries in reply to the storm of congratulations heaped upon her did not come from her. That woman was a stranger.
It was as if part of her had died. The part with hopes and dreams. The part that thought everything would work out in the end. What was left was a shell of the woman she’d been before. In her place was the woman who did what was expected. The woman who sat beside her new husband throughout the long wedding feast and pretended that her heart had not broken. Who ate from among the endless platters of food and jugs wine and celebrated with the rest of the clansmen in the Great Hall of Dunstaffnage Castle.
She fooled them all.
“It’s about time.”
Helen turned to the king, who’d spoken. As in the morning, she’d been given the seat of honor to his right. Robert the Bruce, who’d won his crown on a battlefield, cut an impressive figure. Dark-haired and sharp-featured, he would have been considered handsome even if he were not a king and one of the greatest knights in Christendom. “About time for what, Sire?”
He smiled at her. “It seems your wedding feast is a great success. Everyone is having fun.”
William, who was on her right, must have overheard. He leaned forward and grinned. “Highlanders know how to celebrate as well as they know how to fight.”
Bruce laughed. “Aye, that they do.” He nodded toward a table to the right. “I’ve just never seenthatHighlander dothatkind of celebrating.”
Helen was smiling as she turned in the direction of his gaze. But the smile froze in a mask of horror. She could feel every ounce of blood drain from her face as pain stabbed like a knife of fire through her chest, claiming her breath.
In the midst of dancing clansmen and drunken revelers, Magnus sat on a bench with a serving maid in his lap. He had one big hand on her hip, holding her firmly against him, as the other gripped the back of her head and held her face to his. He was kissing her. Passionately. Every bit as passionately as Helen had longed to be kissed. The woman’s enormous breasts were crushed against his powerful chest. Helen couldn’t look away from her fingers. The way they dug into his wide, muscular shoulders as if she couldn’t get enough transfixed her.
The lash of pain that sliced through her was white hot, slicing the flesh from her bone. Nay, slicing was too clean. This pain was jagged, crudely wrought pain with little finesse.
“We might need to change his name, eh, Gordon?”
The king’s words snapped her out of her stupor. He obviously hadn’t noticed her reaction. She turned to her new husband. Perhaps, he hadn’t either—
She stopped. Their eyes met. One look at William’s face and she knew she’d not been so fortunate. He’d seen her reaction. His gaze shot to Magnus. She could see the fury in the white lines around his mouth.
Oh God, heknew.
When William answered the king, however, he hid his reaction with a tight smile. “Aye, I think you are right.” His gaze locked on hers. “I wonder what could have caused such a change.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. She tried to cover her anxiety with a question. “Name, Sire?” Her voice barely trembled.
The king smiled. “A wee jest,” he said, patting her hand. “That’s all. It isn’t much like our friend to uh…celebrate so enthusiastically. I’d begun to think we really might have one of the Templars hidden in our ranks,” he said with a mischievous wink to William.
It was rumored that Bruce had given sanctuary to many of the Templars when the order had been disbanded and excommunicated by the pope—the same pope who’d excommunicated Bruce for the killing of his rival John “The Red” Comyn before the altar of Greyfriars nearly three years ago.
“I always thought there was a woman,” William said slowly. His gaze pinned hers.
Me. Oh, God. Had Magnus avoided other women because of me?
“Well, if there was,” Bruce said, “I guess there isn’t anymore.” He chuckled and, thankfully, changed the subject.
With William temporarily engaged by Lady Anna on his other side, Helen ventured one more look in Magnus’s direction. The woman was still on his lap, but to her relief they were no longer locked in a passionate embrace.
He was looking at her. His gaze shifted away, but for one moment their eyes caught. And in that instant of connection, in that hard stab of pain, she knew the full horror of this day.
A muscle twitched under his eye. Something she’d seen only once before. And in that one small betrayal, she knew:He still cares for me. He lied.
But it was too late.
Dear God, what have I done?
Lady Isabella—Bella—set the comb down on the small table beside the bed. “You look very beautiful.”
“Your hair is exquisite,” Anna added. “The way it catches in the candlelight. It looks like liquid fire shimmering down your back.”
Not even the rare compliment about her hair could rouse her. Magnus had loved it, too, she remembered.
