“Aye, it looks quite fetching,” Donald said with a laugh that was a little too intimate.
Helen bit her lip, realizing Muriel was right.
“They’re here,” Muriel whispered excitedly as the first of the mail-clad riders came streaming through the gate. It was an impressive sight: the gleaming mail and colorful tabards of the knights and men-at-arms on their enormous warhorses, carrying banners, pikes, and all manner of weapons, followed by the carts carrying the king’s household plate and personal attendants. Her brother was right to have anticipated so many: there must be over fifty men.
“Is that the Bruce?” Muriel whispered.
Even were it not for the gold crown forged into his helm or the red rampant lion on the colorful yellow tabard, Helen would have known the king by the regal aura that surrounded him. She nodded.
The men started to dismount and remove their helms. She was so focused on the king that it took her a moment to realize who stood beside him.
A gasp escaped from between her lips.
“What is it?” Muriel asked, noticing her reaction.
But Helen couldn’t speak. Her heart had leapt and was lodged in her throat.
Magnus! He was here. What did it mean? Was it possible…
Had her prayers been answered? Had he forgiven her?
Six
Helen was so happy to see him, she forgot everything and everyone else around her. For a moment it was one of those times years ago when she’d been hiding, and he’d caught her by surprise. Her heart jumped in an excited burst, and she almost yelped in girlish pleasure. Unconsciously, she took a step toward him. “You’re here!”
Magnus turned at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met, and all at once she realized her mistake. The smile fell from her face, her hopes crushed before they’d a chance to rise. Whatever reason Magnus was here, it wasn’t for her. He was looking at her aghast, as if he would rather be anywhere but here, as if she’d done something to…
Suddenly, she looked around, realizing the men had stopped talking and everyone was staring at her.
Heat crawled up her face as she realized the cause for that look. She’d embarrassed him. Again. Although this time, she was old enough to know better.
The king came to her rescue. Robert Bruce gave her a courtly bow, as if he were the one to whom she’d been speaking. “And it’s nice to be here after so long on the road. I thank you for your gracious welcome, Lady Helen. I hope we have not put you to too much trouble?”
She shook her head like a simpleton, too embarrassed to manage more than something like “of course not.”
But the king had earned her undying gratitude with his gallantry. She’d been impressed with “the Bruce,” as his men called him, at Dunstaffnage. It wasn’t hard to see why so many had been willing to risk so much to rally to his banner. A gallant knight in the prime of his manhood, a formidable warrior and shrewd commander, Bruce was good-natured, charming, and charismatic. Her brothers (and most of Christendom) had not believed it possible to best Edward of England. The Bruce had proved them wrong.
“We are honored to have you, Sire,” Will said with more graciousness than she would have thought possible. A year ago, the two men had been facing each other across a battlefield. But her eldest brother was pragmatic and would not let his considerable pride stand in the way of doing what was best for his clan. If that meant making friends with his former enemy, he would do it. Grudgingly.
With one former enemy, at least.
Her brothers did not hide their animosity when they saw Magnus. Will and Kenneth, as well as Donald, all looked ready to draw their swords. The challenging look Magnus was giving them wasn’t helping matters any. He was just as bad as they were. The feud ran deep between the two clans. It was difficult to push aside years of hatred, distrust, and suspicion. But she prayed that day would come. Unfortunately, it wasn’t today.
Helen stepped forward to defuse the tension, presenting Muriel to the king, a few of the other knights standing nearby, and Magnus.
Unable to avoid it, he nodded stiffly in her direction after greeting Muriel. “My lady.”
His curtness hurt. She looked at him, willing something from him that was no longer there.
“Your arm,” she said. “It has healed well?”
Their eyes met, and for an instant he was her Magnus again, looking at her with his soft caramel-brown eyes full of the gentleness and tenderness that she’d always taken for granted.
“Aye,” he said gruffly. “It’s as good as new.”
“What he means is ‘thank you.’” Another man came forward. When he removed his helm, she gasped in surprise. Gregor MacGregor took her hand and bowed. “Lady Helen, I’m delighted to see you again.”
Helen beamed at him, her eyes pricking with heat. Six months ago, he’d been close to death. But look at him! And the change was because of her. “As I am you, my lord. You are well?”
