“Aye.”
The man scratched his head, then turned back from the gate. “Stay with Lady Sutherland while I get Laird Alex.”
“Aye,” a male voice said as the gate opened wider, revealing a younger man with red hair. “Ye are a long way from home.”
“Aye.” And the farther she got, the better her chances for happiness.
“Here.” The soldier flung a wineskin at her. “Take a drink, it will warm ye from the inside out.”
Helen dinna care what was in the skin. She drank greedily, choking down the foul-tasting liquid. The guard chuckled as she handed the skin back. “Thank ye.”
He nodded and took a swig. “Makes a man unafraid of anything. Not sure what it will do to a woman.”
Helen could only guess as the warmth the strong spirits caused in her belly slowly spread to her arms and legs.
“The laird is coming,” the lad said, straightening as he hid the wineskin under his cloak.
Helen prepared herself for what she’d say to the man she’d never met but had heard so much about. Her sire hated Alexander MacKay and everything he represented. But her eldest brother respected the laird—he has bollocks of steel—that’s what Gawain had said after Alex had sent home her bastard brother, Struan, trussed up like a wild beast with a missive stuck in his mouth.
“Helen Sutherland?” The gates opened all the way.
“Aye.” Helen immediately felt at ease. Alex MacKay was fair-haired and tall. He possessed the noble features of a Highland laird, yet there was a savage air about him, like a crouching beast waiting to strike.
“I am Alex MacKay, Keely’s husband.”
Helen curtsied. “I know it is late, and I am sorry to disturb the peace in yer home. But my father is unreliable, and I had to get away before he married me off to a decrepit and cruel laird from the isles. This is the only place I thought of—Keely is my only friend. There is nowhere else for me to go.”
Would he accept her? She’d risked everything to get away from Dunrobin, and had done it with such ease because no one would ever suspect her of doing anything wrong. Helen had been the perfect daughter until her father announced her betrothal to Laird Munroe—a man fifteen years her senior with a violent reputation, six illegitimate daughters, and two dead wives. The man needed an heir.
“Ye are welcome here,” Alex said.
It took her a moment to understand what he meant. “I am?”
“Aye.” He offered his arm and she took it, her leather boots crunching through the snow as they walked together.
“Where is yer escort?” Alex asked, obviously surprised she would be travelling by herself.
“Escort?” she repeated as they stepped inside the great hall.
Alex ushered her to the hearth and into a chair. Helen removed her wet gloves and leaned close to the fire, rubbing her hands together.
“Not one man in service to my sire would dare help me. I am chattel, Laird MacKay, meant for one purpose.”
“And what is that?”
“To increase my father’s wealth through a strategic marriage. My heart and happiness have no value in my sire’s eyes.”
“What man did he choose for ye?”
“Laird Baran Munroe.”
Alex’s expression darkened. “No friend of the MacKays.”
“No friend to anyone from what I hear,” she added morosely. “Quick tempered, and a murderer if the rumors are true.”
“Aye,” Alex said. “His second wife gave birth to a stillborn lass, and he starved her to death soon after. I am sorry for yer misfortune.”
“As am I.”
