His chest felt as if it were on fire. His heart pounded in his ears. His throat felt dry and parched, as though he hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks.
He couldn’t believe it.
She’d refused him again, and the sting hadn’t lessened any the second time around. Part of him told himself not to believe it. She was angry; she would change her mind. But the other part of him knew she’d meant every word. She’d learned the truth about Gordon and understood. Far more than he wanted her to.
How could he have let this happen again? How could he let himself believe that they had a chance? He was a fool. How could he have thought to find happiness at the cost of his friend’s life?
They’d ridden about half an hour before MacGregor broke the silence. “I take it the lass was not happy to hear you were going after her brother.”
Magnus gave him a blank look. “You could say that.”
“You have to admire her loyalty.”
Magnus didn’t say anything, but his mouth tightened. Just once, he wished that loyalty was for him.
“She loves you.” The famous archer smiled. “I’ve seen enough women in love to recognize the look.”
Normally, that might have elicited a laugh or jest about it hardly being a surprise with that “pretty” face, but Magnus was in no mood for prodding. “Aye, well, it doesn’t matter.”
He’d tried, but it wasn’t enough. She’d refused him, damn it. The lash of pain in his chest tightened.Don’t think about it. Focus. Forcing it from his mind, he scanned the road ahead of him. “I think I see something.”
He kicked his heels and the horse sped off ahead.
“It’s them!” he shouted back, a moment later.
Magnus wasn’t surprised to see some of the scouting party riding toward them—he’d assumed Sutherland would have used it as a ruse to effect his escape. He was, however, surprised to see that one of the two men was the man he sought. The other was MacLeod’s young brother-in-law.
Magnus felt the first prickle of uncertainty.
He and MacGregor drew their horses in, coming to a stop on the road in front of them.
Sutherland’s eyes narrowed. “So eager to finish what we started?”
He was too cool, Magnus realized. Sutherland wasn’t acting like someone who’d just tried to kill the king. He and MacGregor exchanged glances, and Magnus could see that he was thinking the same thing.
Magnus ignored the offer—though it was bloody tempting. “Where are the rest of the men?”
“We separated a few miles back. What’s wrong?” he said with more concern. “Did something happen to Helen?”
“Your sister is fine,” MacGregor answered. “But someone tried to kill the king.”
Both men greeted the news with too much astonishment to be feigned.
“Again?” Sutherland said.
“How?” Fraser asked at the same time.
“You’ve heard of the Saracen powder?” Magnus said, and the young knight nodded.
Sutherland’s gaze shot to Magnus’s. His mouth hardened. “So naturally, you assumed it was me?”
“Do you know anyone else with familiarity with black powder?”
“Aye, but you killed him.”
Magnus flinched, as he knew was Sutherland’s intention.
But suddenly the hatred cleared from Sutherland’s expression, replaced by something else. Dread. “Ah hell,” he said.
