The little girl started to cry again. Her small face scrunched up. “My d-da said n-nothing done and l-let it die,” she sobbed uncontrollably. Helen tried to soothe her, looking to Magnus.
“I ran into Mistress Beth on my way to the Hall and told her I knew someone who might be able to help.”
Their eyes locked. The echoes of the day that had bound them together long ago passed between them.
She held her breath as he reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her heart tugged at the contact. She savored the gentle touch that lasted only an instant before he seemed to remember himself.
His hand fell. “What do you need?”
“Help me get him—”
“It’s a her,” the little girl wailed.
“Help me getherout,” Helen amended, “and we shall see.”
For the next two hours, Helen worked diligently on the tiny ball of fur with the mangled leg. Magnus was by her side the entire time. He helped when needed and whittled some tiny splints for the kitten’s leg, while Beth fetched the things that Helen needed for a cast and a draught that would put the poor little thing to sleep. Helen made sure to not tell her all the items at once, knowing that fetching things kept the little girl too busy to cry.
It was delicate work, and Helen feared accidentally giving the tiny creature too much medicine, but when she finished, the kitten’s leg was held with tiny wooden splints, bound with thin swatches of egg-and-flour-coated linen, andshewas sleeping peacefully in a wooden crate that Beth carried carefully back to the kitchens.
Helen couldn’t help smiling as she watched them go. Magnus helped her to her feet. Her legs wobbled in protest after kneeling for so long, and he slid his hand around her waist to steady her.
He smiled. “You’ve earned someone else’s undying gratitude today.”
“I’m glad you thought to come find me. Thank you.”
She looked into his eyes. For a moment neither one of them said anything.
“We should get back.”
She nodded, disappointed but not wanting to push him. They walked back in silence to the tower. Her skirts were dirty and dusty from kneeling beside the barracks; she would need to change for the evening meal.
“I will leave you here,” he said.
He started to walk away, but she stopped him. “Magnus.” He turned. “I won’t give up.”
She spoke softly, but he’d heard her. With a tip of his head, he left her.
Seventeen
Dunraith Castle, Wester Ross
“Have you seen the lady, my lord?”
Magnus glanced up from the shaft of yew he was working on to see a lad of about four and ten standing before him. One of Macraith’s foster sons, he guessed from the boy’s clothing. He wore the heavily paddedcotunand steel helm of a warrior-in-training. Macraith, one of MacKenzie’s chieftains, was one of the Highlanders who’d given shelter to Bruce on his escape across the Highlands.
Magnus didn’t need to ask to which lady the boy referred. Since the day Helen performed her latest miracle on the kitten, word of her skills had spread, and “the lady” had been in almost constant demand for the rest of their stay at Dingwall and continuing on their next stop, a few miles west at Macraith’s castle, on what had been an ancient Norse fort.
Magnus knew he was somewhat responsible, having pointed more than one person in her direction. But watching her that day, he’d been struck, as he had been when she aided MacGregor and the king, with how alive she seemed.
Nay, “alive” wasn’t exactly right. Perhaps “thriving” was the better word. It was the same way Hawk looked when he was holding the ropes of his sail: at home and in control. As if this was exactly where she was supposed to be. Clearly it made her happy, and just as clearly he liked seeing her happy.
Magnus didn’t need to turn his head and look through the postern gate down the ravine to the river to catch a glimpse of auburn blazing in the sunlight to answer the lad’s question. He’d seated himself on this bale of hay by the practice yard for a reason. For the better part of the three weeks since word of Gordon’s body being discovered had arrived at Dunrobin (and the day after he’d nearly taken her in the alehouse), he was painfully aware of exactly where “the lady” was.
The role of vigilant protector had taken its toll, eroding the barrier he’d erected between them like waves on a wall of sand. Every time her eyes lit up when she saw him, every time her hand fell on his arm as if it belonged there, every time she asked him for help added to his torment. He knew his feelings were wrong, but he couldn’t stop them.
He should be glad that they would be beginning the final stage of their journey through the mountains tomorrow. In a handful of days they would be at MacAulay’s castle of Dun Lagaidh on the northern banks of Loch Broom. From there they would board abirlinnfor the quick sail to the final stop of Dunstaffnage for the Highland Games. His guard duty to the king on his royal progress would be over.
But what about Helen? When would his duty to her end?
