The Saint (14 page)

Helen admired the other woman’s determination and courage. It wasn’t easy for a young woman to live on her own—especially a pretty, unmarried one. But her friend had done it, heedless of what anyone said. Helen was surprised that Will hadn’t attempted to find a husband for her. It seemed strange. But then again, when it came to Muriel, much of what her brother did was strange. She’d never known him to be so hard on anyone—even her.

A light breeze swept up from the sparkling waters of the firth to Helen’s right, ruffling her hair and filling her nose with the tangy, briny scent of the sea.

It was a spectacular day, the sun already bright and hot in the cloudless blue sky. After the cold, dreary May they’d had, the hint of summer as the first week of June came to a close was a welcome reprieve.

She waved to some of the villagers as she passed. The stone and thatched houses were more sporadic along the coast, belonging to the fishermen and kelpers. Most of the clansmen lived closer to the castle or the crofts in the glen where the small black cattle typical in this part of the Highlands grazed.

A few young children, the eldest no more than three, screeched with laughter as they tried to catch a butterfly in an old piece of hemp net, no doubt discarded from one of their father’s boats, not realizing the weave was too big. She laughed along with them, feeling more like herself than she had in months.

Slowly, she was coming back to life, taking pleasure in the simple things she’d always loved. A beautiful spring day. The sound of children’s laughter. A cool ocean breeze.

But pain and regret were lasting companions. She wished …

God how she wished she’d done things differently. If she’d married Magnus all those years ago, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be angry with her. He wouldn’t hate the sight of her. He’d look at her the way he used to. With love, though she’d been too young and foolish to realize it.

Now it was too late. Her smile slid. She should never have married William. And now it was a mistake that could never be undone.

“None of that,” a familiar voice said. “It’s so good to see you smiling again, lass.”

Helen glanced up, not surprised to see Donald approaching along the path in front of her with a few of her brother’s men. It seemed as if at least a few times a week, their paths crossed as she made her way to Muriel’s cottage and he returned to the castle from patrol.

Her brow furrowed. He seemed to ride out on patrol quite often of late. Although with the king’s visit, perhaps it was to be expected. Will wanted to ensure that nothing went wrong when the king was here. Roaming war bands weren’t as common in the past few months, but there were still plenty of people who opposed Robert Bruce and “renegades” like her brother who’d turned on his compatriots to come to Bruce’s side.

And there was always the MacKays. Her heart tugged. It seemed there was always trouble with the MacKays. Feud or not, disputes over land broke out frequently between the neighboring clans. Descendants of the Moarmers of Caithness, the MacKays refused to answer to the Sutherlands for their lands.

When they’d first received the king’s missive, her foolish heart had leapt, wondering if Magnus would be with him. But of course he wouldn’t. He could barely stand to look at her.

Don’t think of him
.

Focusing on healing had been a boon in more ways than one.

She forced a smile back to her face and greeted the men. To Donald she said, “You rode out early this morning; I did not see you at the morning prayers.”

He broke out into a broad smile, clearly pleased by her observation. “Aye, with the usurper arriving any day, the earl has us covering a lot of land this morning.”

Before she could remind him that he shouldn’t be calling the man her brother was trying to curry favor with a usurper, one of the other men added, “The captain insisted on being back for—”

“That’s enough, Angus.” Donald hopped off his destrier. The enormous mail-clad warhorses were scarce in this area—and impractical in the mountainous Highlands—but her brothers and Donald took their roles as knights seriously.
“Take the horses back. I’ll escort the lady the rest of the way.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she protested. But the men had already hastened to do his bidding.

“I insist,” he said with a wink.

Helen couldn’t help but laugh. Donald had always been protective of her, from the time she was a young girl. He didn’t approve of her walking about unescorted. Fortunately her father, and now Will, didn’t mind as long as she stayed within the castle environs.

They walked a few minutes in companionable silence before he spoke again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Muriel.”

She caught the note of disapproval in his voice and sighed. Truly, it was like having another brother. “I like spending time with her. I’m learning so much.”

Since she’d returned from Dunstaffnage, Helen had thrown herself into learning as much as she could from her friend. She’d never before attempted anything as dangerous as removing the arrow from Gregor MacGregor’s neck. She might have appeared confident, but in truth, she’d been terrified.

But when it was over, she’d also been proud.

She was good at healing, she realized. And with Muriel’s instruction she would be even better. Muriel’s father had been a university-trained physician in Berwick-upon-Tweed, and he’d taught his daughter everything he knew. Even though the guilds of physicians were closed to women, the Earl of Ross had offered to sponsor her. But Muriel had refused the rare opportunity, claiming that the only recognition she needed was from the local clansmen she cared for. Helen was happy that she’d decided to stay, but wondered if there was something else keeping her here.

Whatever the case, working alongside Muriel gave Helen something to do and kept her mind from straying to painful places.

From the expression on Donald’s face, she could see her reason hadn’t impressed him. She thought of another way to do so. “Is it not my responsibility as lady of the keep to tend to our guests?”

Donald frowned, unable to argue her point. “Aye, but Muriel is not a proper companion for an unmarried lady—”

“A widow,” Helen reminded him firmly. “And just because Muriel has decided not to marry does not mean she’s improper.”

“The lass is young and fair of face. She should be married with a handful of children nipping at her heels. Not roaming the countryside alone.”

The way he’d expressed it, it sounded like a pack of pups would suffice just as well. Helen tried to remain patient, knowing Donald spoke as most of the others felt, but it infuriated her that some believed Muriel must be of questionable morals because she chose not to marry. “She is my friend,” she said. “And I would caution you to remember it.”

For Helen, friends were a rarity, so she valued her all the more highly. Muriel never judged her. Muriel didn’t think she was odd. Perhaps because she was as “wayward” as Helen. And she didn’t even have red hair as an excuse, Helen thought with a laugh.

Donald must have realized he’d gone too far. He took her hand and patted it as if she were a child. “Of course she is. She’s lucky to have a loyal friend like you.” He stopped, Muriel’s small stone cottage having just come into view, the ruins of the old broch looming in the distance beyond. He turned and tipped her chin to him. “You know I only want what’s best for you, don’t you?”

Helen met his gaze, thinking his voice sounded somewhat gruff. Perhaps he was catching a chill?

She nodded uncertainly. “Aye.”

He smiled, dropping her chin. “Come, don’t be cross
with me.” He pointed to a patch of grass along the cliffside. “Look, a primrose! Rare this late in the season.”

Helen’s heart caught. The delicate purple flower native to the far north coast of Scotland stirred cruel memories.

It was a year after the first time she’d met Magnus. The games were being held at Freswick Castle that year, and she’d been weaving a chain of the beautiful purple flower that grew only along the coast of Scotland’s far north when Magnus had found her. She was only fifteen, and Magnus, at twenty, had just learned that he’d drawn the unfortunate position of facing the legendary Tor MacLeod in the first round of the sword challenge. Helen knew it must have seemed impossibly daunting to a young warrior and had desperately wanted to do something to boost his spirits. She’d plucked a large primrose and pinned it to his
cotun
with one of the pins from her dress.

“A talisman,” she’d said. “For luck.”

His face had turned a little red, but Helen hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

It was only later when she’d caught sight of him with a group of young warriors, which included her brother Kenneth, that she realized he’d been anticipating their reaction to the flower.

“What’s that, MacKay? A favor from your lady?” one of the men said.

“He must think he’s a bloody English knight,” someone else said.

“Or maybe it’s meant for his grave,” the first man countered. “MacLeod is going to kill him.”

“How sweet,” her brother said. “It really brings out the rosiness in your delicate complexion.”

The men all laughed, and Magnus stood there taking their taunts without saying a word. She knew how proud he was and seeing him forced to endure their laughter because of her …

She wanted to rush over there and tear the offending
flower off his
cotun
herself. But he left it there the entire time.
To please me
, she realized. It was at that moment she knew how different he was—how special—and she’d lost her heart to him.

Her chest squeezed. How could she have been uncertain in her feelings? Why hadn’t she trusted herself? How could she have been so weak and failed to seize the chance given her?

Donald dropped her hand to bend down, snapping the stem in half. Heat gathered behind her eyes as he tucked the stem behind her ear, wishing with all of her heart that he was someone else. “You look like a May Queen.”

Not knowing what to say, she was glad when she heard the sound of a door opening. Seeing Muriel standing in the doorway watching them, she thanked him and hurried to join her friend.

It wasn’t until much later, when she and Muriel were returning from visiting one of the crofters who had tripped on a spade and had fortunately only twisted rather than broken his ankle, that Muriel made a comment on what she’d seen. “Your brother’s henchman has been around often of late.”

“Donald?” Helen shrugged. “Aye, Will has him patrolling our borders to the north.”

Muriel’s mouth twisted as if she were trying to hold back a smile. “I very much doubt a sudden fear of raiders from the north is the cause.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then why?”

Muriel shook her head, this time unable to hold back her smile. “He’s wooing you, Helen.”

Helen came to an abrupt stop. Her body pulled back in surprise. “Wooing me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

But even as she made her denial, she realized it could be true. Since William Gordon’s death, she’d sensed a shift in Donald’s attentions to her. He’d always been protective, but lately that protectiveness had seemed more intense. More personal. More intimate.

Muriel watched as understanding dawned.

Horror drained Helen’s face. “Oh God, is it true?”

“Is the idea so unpleasant?”

Helen bit her lip. “Yes … No … I’ve just never thought of him that way.”

She’d only thought of one man that way.

“It would not be an advantageous alliance, but it would not be a bad one either.”

Helen felt the reflexive burst of panic at the thought of marriage. She knew her friend was only trying to be helpful, but she couldn’t even think of marriage right now. Or maybe ever.

“You must have loved him very much,” Muriel said compassionately.

“I—” She stopped, nodding as if in agreement. She
had
loved him very much, just not the man her friend thought. Though they’d spent virtually every day together since Helen had returned from Dunstaffnage, she had not confided the details of the nightmare that had been her wedding. Muriel assumed her unhappiness was the result of losing her husband. Helen’s shame prevented her from confiding the truth.

They started to walk again. The square keep of the castle perched on the cliffside overlooking the kyle loomed ahead of them.

“Have you ever regretted not taking a husband?” Helen asked.

Muriel shook her head. “I love what I do, but it does not leave much time to be a wife.”

“No man has ever tempted you to want both?”

With her fair hair and skin, it was impossible for Muriel to completely hide the heat that rose in her cheeks. Though she was five and twenty, her delicate features and big blue eyes gave her an appearance of a girl much younger.

“Nay,” she said firmly. “I’m not sure it is possible to have
two lives—one as a wife and one as a healer. And no one has ever made me an offer that I was tempted to try.”

It was an odd way of phrasing it, but Helen thought of something else. “What of children? I’ve seen how much you love them. Do you never want any of your own?”

The look of raw pain that flashed in Muriel’s eyes disappeared so quickly, Helen wondered if she’d imagined it.

Muriel looked straight ahead and shook her head. “Nay. God has given me another path. I will never have children.”

There was a finality to her voice Helen didn’t understand. Muriel rarely talked about her past, but Helen suspected she had one. She and her father, the famous Nicholas de Corwenne, had arrived at Dunrobin about ten years ago. It had seemed a boon to have such a venerable physician agree to move from Edinburgh to the wilds of northern Scotland—even if it was to be the personal physician of an earl. Now, Helen wondered if there had been another reason.

“And what of you, Helen? What will you do?”

The question startled her. It made it seem as though she had a choice. But women in her position had a duty to marry to further the interests of the clan. The only other “choice” was a convent. She couldn’t do what she wanted, even if she knew what that was. She wanted … everything.