She tried to cover her reaction, but feared the other woman could see through it. “I’m afraid not.”
Before she could add an excuse, the countess said, “Good. Then I shall look forward to more of your help with the tapestry after the meal. You’re obviously out of practice, but your stitches are competent when you concentrate.” Helen supposed that was high praise coming from her. “You can tell me how it is that a daughter of Sutherland came to be a loyal attendant of King Hoo—” She stopped herself, realizing the man she’d been about to call King Hood was seated five feet away. “King Robert,” she smiled thinly, unable to fully conceal her aversion.
Some thought the Earl of Ross’s ongoing resistance to Robert Bruce had stemmed from his English wife’s sympathies. There was undoubtedly some truth to the rumor.
Helen swallowed hard. The sharp-eyed birds or hours alone with the sharp-eyed countess—she didn’t know which was more terrifying.
She opened her mouth, trying to think of an excuse to get out of this predicament, but slammed it shut again when she realized she was stammering.
Suddenly, she felt someone behind her. She turned, surprised to see Magnus. Their eyes caught, and from the flicker of sympathy she realized he must have heard enough to understand the nature of her predicament.
“Lady Helen, I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but your assistance is required in the barracks.”
The Countess of Ross’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter? Why is Lady Helen—”
“I’m afraid the matter is of some delicacy, my lady,” he said, implying that it was a matter for the king. “Lady Helen?”
He held out his hand, which she readily slipped hers into. Big and warm, his strong, callused palm swallowed her tiny fingers in a protective hold as he helped her from the table and led her out of the boisterous Hall.
She looked behind her, half-expecting her brother or Donald to come racing after them demanding an explanation, but realized that Gregor MacGregor had both men locked in conversation with their gazes drawn away from the door.
“Your doing?” she said with a glance in their direction.
He grinned and shrugged, a devilish look in his eye. “Might be.”
She laughed with a sense of joy and freedom that she hadn’t experienced in a long time, feeling so much like the naughty girl who’d snuck away at the Highland Games to meet her secret love.
She slowed her step as soon as they exited the Hall into the bright and sunny courtyard. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Thank you for rescuing me. I fear I was not relishing the thought of a long afternoon with Lady Euphemia.”
He made a face. “I don’t blame you. The woman terrifies me. But come, we need to hurry.”
He steered her across the courtyard toward the barracks.
Surprised, Helen immediately became alarmed. “You were serious? I thought it was a ruse. What’s the matter?”
“You are needed,” he said simply.
The words filled her with an unexpected warmth.
Rather than opening the door to the barracks, a large wooden structure that had been built against a section of the wall, Magnus drew her around to the side of the building in the narrow space that separated it from the stables.
She was about to ask him why they were there, when she saw a child kneeling at the back edge of the wall.
The little girl, who appeared to be about seven or eight, turned as they approached. Even from a distance, Helen could see that she’d been crying. Fearing the child had been hurt, she rushed forward and knelt down beside her.
She did a quick scan, but could see no obvious signs of injury. “Where are you hurt, little one?”
She little girl shook her head mutely, staring at Helen as if she were an apparition. She was a funny-looking little thing with a mop of bedraggled brown hair that hung in her eyes and a dirt-streaked face on which the tears had cleared paths of freckled skin.
Magnus had knelt beside her, his big body blocking the narrow passageway. “Lady Helen,” he said. “I would like you to meet Mistress Elizabeth, the cook’s youngest daughter.”
The girl sniffled wetly. “My da calls me Beth.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Beth. What seems to be the—”
A soft meow coming from under the back corner of the building forestalled her question. There was a small gap between the ground and the wooden foundation where the cat had obviously taken refuge.
“It’s a kitten,” Magnus explained. “It wandered away from the rest of the litter in the kitchens and got underfoot. One of the servants stepped on its leg.”
