He nodded. “Then we shall hope he continues to improve. But promise me to tell no one.”
“I promise.”
“Good. I will tell Will. It will be up to him as to whether to inform themeinie”—her brother’s closest warriors, who formed his retinue. “But I doubt he’ll risk it. The fewer people who know of this, the better.”
Kenneth left to find Will, and Helen made her way down to the kitchen vaults to see to the king’s meal. She thought she probably shouldn’t have said anything, but then again, under the circumstances perhaps it was better to err on the side of caution.
Robert the Bruce was the king, whether her brothers liked it or not. He’d won the people’s hearts by his defeat of the English at Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill, and he was on his way to winning most of Scotland’s barons as well. If he’d come to harm under their care, there would have been repercussions.
It was her other problem, however, that weighed upon her now. Kenneth was right. The dress had been a silly idea. Magnus was not the type of man to be tempted by something so obvious. She vowed to change before the midday meal. And then…
She sighed. Then she’d have to think of something else.
***
Magnus lingered at the beach. From his rocky seat by the sea, he watched the waves crash against the dark cliffs below the castle, hurling great plumes of water into the air. A few gannets dipped and soared over the water, hunting their next meal.
He savored the rare moment of peace. But the sharp glare of the sun high in the sky reminded him of the hour. He should get back for the midday meal.
Where he would see Helen.
“I love you.”
He pushed the words away and jumped off the rock. It didn’t matter, damn it! Hadn’t she said as much before? Look how well that had turned out for him—three and a half years of misery. She’d left him standing like an arse while she rode away with her damned brothers only to dig her knife even deeper by marrying his closest friend.
But the words had affected him more than he wanted to admit. After nearly three weeks at Dunrobin, including two by her side while she nursed the king, seeing the way she looked at him he could almost believe she meant it—that she regretted what had happened and wanted to make it right.
But it could never be right. Excising Helen from his heart had cost him too much.
Yet no matter how much his body wanted to forget, he flared up like a stallion with a mare in heat whenever she was near. Hiding his reaction in the king’s small chamber had become impossible.
Fortunately, Bruce’s improving health allowed him to spend more of his time away from his bedside—and from Helen. Unfortunately, that meant he was spending more time with her brothers in the training yard.
He grimaced. Kenneth Sutherland was proving to be annoyingly tenacious. He refused to let go of the matter of Gordon’s death. His questions were growing increasingly dangerous, and increasingly closer to the truth. The only way to shut him up, it seemed, was to distract him in the yard.
His boyhood competitor had proved to be distracting to him as well. He frowned, admitting that Sutherland’s skills had improved more than he’d expected. Mindful of the king’s admonition to the Guard not to draw too much attention to their skills, Magnus had kept to sparring and light competition. But ignoring the challenges was getting harder and harder to resist. He longed to shut Sutherland up once and for all.
There was a bright side. At least he wasn’t being forced to endure Munro’s blatant wooing of Helen. The Sutherland henchman had been gone for well over a week searching for the healer. If he stayed away another week or so, he and the king’s party would be gone.
The king was recovering swiftly under Helen’s care. Bruce said he felt better than he had in years, and only Helen’s threats kept him in bed. Hell, Magnus had no liking for vegetables, but perhaps there was something to this peasant diet she’d implemented. The king’s color was healthier than it had been in a long time.
He made his way back to the castle. Unfortunately, the path took him right by the place where he’d come upon Helen and Munro. Seeing the tree where Munro had kissed her sent a primal surge of anger running through him. He should chop the damned thing down.
But the reminder of his weakness only served to further infuriate him. He never should have kissed her. He’d been jealous, he admitted. Blind with jealousy. He hadn’t been thinking rationally.
He wasn’t fool enough to think she would not remarry. It was just Munro, he told himself. He couldn’t stand to see the man who’d humiliated him too many times when he was young—and never missed the opportunity to remind him of it—win her.
It wasn’t a competition. But it sure as hell felt as if he were losing.
The man known for his cool, level-headed temper was in a foul mood by time he entered the castle. A mood that only got worse when he entered the tower and saw Helen standing by the stairwell.
She wasn’t alone. Munro—the whoreson—was back. But something was wrong—or right, depending on your perspective—the Sutherland henchman had a fierce look on his face and seemed to be fighting for control.
“Don’t be silly,” Helen said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a tray—”
“I insist,” Munro said, relieving her of the king’s meal. “You should return to your room and get some rest. You look tired.”
Helen sounded as though she was trying to contain her impatience. “I’m not tired. I told you I’m fine. I need to check on the king.”
