Magnus clenched his jaw. Oh, it was ironic all right.
But why the hell was he letting this bother him? He should be glad of it. Whatever else he thought of Munro, he couldn’t fault his warrior’s skills. Munro would protect her. He would keep her safe, and Magnus would have no reason to feel guilty. A husband would absolve him of his promise to Gordon. There was probably no cause for concern as it was. Gordon’s identity as a member of the Highland Guard hadn’t been compromised.
But Munro, damn it. He couldn’t stand the thought of them—
“Is everything to your liking, my lord?”
Hell no!Magnus stopped the thought from becoming words and turned to the woman seated to his left. Realizing he was scowling, he forced a smile to his face. “Aye, thank you, Lady Muriel. Everything is delicious.”
It was the truth. However awkward their arrival yesterday, Helen had acquitted herself well as hostess today. The feast was magnificent, offering nothing to find fault with the young lady of the keep.
He wasn’t surprised. Helen’s enthusiasm andjoie de vivrewere contagious. She made every day feel like a feast day. A prized quality for a chatelaine. Ironically, the role had never seemed to interest her much. But she’d matured.
In some ways.
But when he thought of yesterday, the way her face had lit up with happiness when she’d seen him, how she’d blurted out the first thought in her head, it was exactly how she’d been as a girl.
She’d even looked like the Helen he remembered. Her fiery auburn hair pinned haphazardly atop her head, her skirts muddy and wrinkled. Hell, he’d even noticed a few freckles smattered across her nose. And that smile…
It had lit up her whole face.
His chest grew tight. Damn it. Did she have to wear her emotions so plainly? Why couldn’t she be a little circumspect just once?
But that wasn’t her. It never had been. Helen’s openness was one of the first things he loved—
He stopped the thought. Hehadloved about her.
“Don’t mind him,” MacGregor said from Lady Muriel’s other side. “Surliness is part of his charm.” He grinned. “I blame it on the arm.”
The lady immediately grew concerned. “Helen spoke of your injury. The bones in the arm, especially near the shoulder, can cause pain for a long time—”
“I’m fine,” Magnus said with a glare to MacGregor. “The bones have healed well. Lady Helen did a fine job. You’ve taught your pupil well.”
She shook her head, a wry smile curving her mouth. “Helen gives me too much credit. She is a natural healer—her instincts are pure. Her optimism is a great gift for a healer; it helps her get through the difficult times. She has an unusual aptitude for what I call blood and gore—the trade of a barber surgeon on the battlefield. My father would have been beside himself. I was a much slower learner.”
Magnus held her gaze. “Aye, I’ve seen what you speak of. She has a gift.”
He could tell she wanted to question him further, but politeness prevented her from doing so. “I will give Helen something to rub on your arm after you—”
Good God!“Nay!”
The thought of Helen’s hands on him…
He’d been in too much pain to notice when she’d treated his wounds, but the memories were enough to drive him mad. In the middle of the night, when his thoughts had nowhere to hide.
When his body grew tight, hot, and hard. Painfully hard.
Lady Muriel’s eyes widened at the intensity of his reaction.
The blood had leeched from his face, but returned quickly when he realized how loudly he’d spoken. A number of eyes were turned in his direction, especially those on the dais.
MacGregor was staring at him with a strange expression on his face—as if he’d just made a connection Magnus didn’t want him to make.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, attempting to smooth the gaffe. “That isn’t necessary.”
She nodded, eyeing him cautiously.
He’d scared her, he realized. Feeling like an arse, he would have attempted to put her at ease, but MacGregor had already drawn the lass’s attention back to him—where in Magnus’s experience it was likely to stay. Once MacGregor let his interest be known in a lass, it wasn’t often that it wasn’t returned.
