“I suspect eat far fewer vegetables,” Helen replied dryly.
The king was still laughing when her brother Will drew him back into conversation.
Helen took another fortifying gulp of wine—savoring the feeling of warmth from the flush it induced—before chancing another glance at Magnus.
To her relief, the serving woman had moved off, and he was laughing with MacGregor and some of the other men. He looked relaxed, she realized. Happier and more at ease than she’d seen him in years. What had wrought this change in him? Was it the drink? The ale was certainly flowing freely at that corner of the table.
Too freely. The ever-efficient Joanna was making her rounds again with the jug and headed in his direction. The smile of anticipation on her face turned Helen’s chest inside out. She felt exposed—vulnerable—knowing that whatever happened next, it would hurt.
It did.
Joanna brushed against him as she leaned over to fill his cup. Her generous breasts dangled before him like two ripe melons, waiting to be picked. The invitation couldn’t be much clearer.
Helen held her breath.Tell her no. Please, tell her no.
Magnus leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Something that caused Joanna to nod excitedly.
A knife twisted in Helen’s chest. His answer was clear, and it wasn’t no.
Don’t do this.
But her silent pleas had no effect. A few moments later, Magnus took another long drink of ale, slammed his cup down, and pushed back from the table. He stood, said something to his companions that caused them to laugh, and then made his way out of the Hall, his destination—or assignation—clear.
Every step he took landed on her heart, a heavy footfall that ground her hope into the dirt.
Why was he doing this? Was he trying to prove to her how little she meant to him? Was he trying to discourage her? Had she pushed him too hard?
Helen didn’t know. She just knew that she couldn’t let him do this. She wasn’t naive enough to think there hadn’t been other women in his past. But this wasn’t the past, this was now. She had to stop him before he did something…
Something that would break her heart for good.
She waited as long as she dared. But when she saw Joanna leave the Hall, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer.
***
A short while later, Helen had the information she needed and headed to the alehouse—more precisely, to the small storage room inside it. Like many of the larger and more modern castles, Dunrobin had an alehouse within its gates. The small wooden building adjoined the kitchens, and both buildings had vaulted floors with storage below.
In one of those rooms, Magnus was waiting.
Helen pursed her mouth, steeling herself for what was sure to be her second unpleasant conversation of the evening.
Joanna had not given up the information willingly. Helen bit her lip, feeling a tad guilty for the lies she’d told. But a “strange rash on his groin” could be completely harmless—just as she’d told her.
Her mouth twitched. Being the castle healer was not without its benefits. In any event, she didn’t think Magnus would be making any more assignations, at least not while he was at Dunrobin.
The pungent, yeasty smell of the ale hit her as soon as she entered the alehouse. A fire crackled in the brazier, and a candle flickered on a large table, but with everyone at the Hall, the room was empty. Unfamiliar with the building, it took her a moment to find the storeroom.
But no sooner had she pushed the door open than an arm reached out to snake around her waist and pull her inside. She gasped in surprise. In one smooth move, he spun her around so her back was to his chest and pushed her up against the door, closing it.
The room was nearly pitch black—only the barest hint of light from the candle outside flitted through the wooden planks of the door. The heady scent of yeast filled her nose, drowning out everything else.
For a moment her senses were cut off, blind to everything but the sheer masculine force of the body at her back. He was hot and hard. She could feel the proof of his profession in every inch of steely, ripped muscle. The years of war and training had honed him to the peak of physical strength.
His arm tightened, pulling her a little snugger, as his lips brushed against her ear and sent a shiver whispering down her spine.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said huskily, drink heavy in his voice.
Helen’s eyes widened.He doesn’t know it’s me—the wretch!
