The Saint (48 page)

He and MacGregor were standing in the courtyard, which—despite their efforts—was still mildly chaotic. In addition to the castle patrol, which had been increased, MacGregor had a team of men keeping watch on the tower shell to ensure the smoldering embers did not once again catch flame. Then, of course, there were the folks who couldn’t stay away.

“Where did they go?” Magnus asked about the scouting party.

“We had a report of brigands attacking a group of pilgrims making their way home from Iona just north of here. They went to investigate.” MacGregor’s mouth hardened. “Sutherland wasn’t supposed to go; he joined at the last minute.”

Magnus swore. “Get the horses. I don’t care how much of a head start he has, we’re going after him.”

MacGregor didn’t argue. Magnus went to inform the king, who for once was in agreement about Sutherland. The use of the black powder all but pointed to him.

Magnus closed the door to the king’s room behind him and nearly ran into Helen in the corridor. Though he was glad to see her—she’d gone off with MacAulay’s wife to help calm the fears of the clansmen who thought the explosion had been a sign of God’s wrath—he wished it wasn’t at this moment.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You’re wrong. My brother had nothing to do with this.”

Damn
. “Listening at doors, Helen?”

“I was about to knock when I heard you. You weren’t exactly whispering.”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” He started to walk down the stairs, not surprised to hear footsteps behind him.

He walked faster, but she had no intention of letting him go.

“Wait!” She caught up with him, grabbing his arm as he stepped into the courtyard.

He could see MacGregor waiting for him with the horses near the gate. He turned impatiently. “We’ll speak when I return.”

“Kenneth didn’t do what you are thinking.”

He fought to control his temper, but he was damned tired of her family coming between them. “Then who did? You
said it yourself: your brother had knowledge of black powder just like Gordon. It isn’t exactly common knowledge.”

Denial reverberated from every inch of her. “But why? Why would he do such a thing?”

“He wasn’t exactly eager to submit to the king.”

She pursed her mouth and shook her head adamantly. “Perhaps not initially, but my brothers have come to believe in the king as much as you do. Kenneth wouldn’t do something like this. He wouldn’t be so rash.”

“Hell, everything your brother does is rash. You saw how angry he was earlier.”

Her cheeks heated. “At
you
, not the king.”

“Are you sure about that? Perhaps this was his intent all along.”

“You’re not suggesting he had anything to do with the men in the forest or—”

Suddenly she stopped.

“What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

But he’d caught something in her eyes: the flash of guilt. He took her arm and forced her to look at him. “Tell me.”

She bit her lip nervously, but he wasn’t going to let it distract him.

“If you know something …”

“I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. But I thought—I thought there was a possibility that the king’s illness might not have been the sailor’s malady.”

He dropped her arm, stepping back as if scalded. “Poison? My God, you thought the king had been poisoned, and you said nothing to me?”

She bristled at the accusation in his voice. “Because I know you would react exactly the way you are now. I knew you would blame my family.”

He made a harsh scoffing sound. “Why the hell would I do that? Maybe because they were guilty?”

He couldn’t believe he’d trusted her. He hadn’t questioned
her conclusion about the king’s illness at all, but had accepted what she’d said without thought. If he’d known, he would have been on his guard. What had happened in the mountains could have been avoided.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have said something, but—”

“But you didn’t trust me.”

“You aren’t exactly rational when it comes to my brothers. And I wasn’t the only one who was keeping secrets.”

He ignored the quip about the Highland Guard—warranted or not. “By God, you are still defending them?”

Their eyes met. He stood there, blood pounding through his veins, trying to keep a rein on his temper and not saying something he would regret.

But it wasn’t necessary. She could see it.

He saw her sharp intake of breath. “You still haven’t forgiven me. Not for any of it. For choosing them over you. For marrying William. For doing what you had to do to protect me.”

“Not now, Helen.” He seethed between clenched teeth. He was trying, damn it. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“That’s the problem. You never want to talk about this. And never will.”

His eyes narrowed at the finality in her voice. “What do you mean? We have plenty of time to talk. For God’s sake, I asked you to marry me, what more do you want?”

She held his gaze for one moment before looking away.

Oh God. His chest squeezed with disbelief—with memory.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

He knew what she was going to say before she spoke. “I love you, Magnus, but I won’t marry you. Not like this.”

He couldn’t help himself. He was so angry, he grabbed her. How could she do this? How could she refuse him
again
, after all that they’d been through? His heart hammered. “What do you mean, ‘not like this’?”

“I won’t spend the rest of my life putting myself between you and my brothers.” Tears streamed from her eyes. “Nor will I spend it with a ghost.”

Whether he’d let her go or she’d wrenched away, he didn’t know, but the next moment she was walking away. And as before, he didn’t go after her. He stood there with acid pouring down his chest, leaving him with an emptiness he’d never thought he would feel again.

She didn’t love him enough. Not then. Not now.

Helen knew she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t stop her heart from feeling as if it were being ripped in two. Slowly. Twisting and squeezing along the way.

Refusing Magnus had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. She’d loved him for so long, she’d thought nothing would make her happier than to marry him. For months it had seemed an impossible dream, with winning him back her only goal. It was strange to realize that now that she had what she wanted, it wasn’t enough.

She loved him with all her heart. But she would not live in constant fear of saying the wrong thing or evoking the wrong memory. She would not live with a ghost of guilt and blame between them.

Until he forgave himself, he would not be able to forgive her. She hoped it didn’t take him too long, but she wasn’t going to keep banging her head on a stone wall waiting for something that might never happen.

It was time for her to take control of her own happiness. To follow her own path.
Carpe diem
. The past few months had given her an inkling of how to do that.

With her future in her own hands, she went to find the king.

Magnus didn’t say a word as he strode across the courtyard and joined MacGregor. His friend was wise enough not to speak until they were well beyond the castle, heading
north in the direction in which the castle guards had seen the scouting party ride off.

His chest felt as if it were on fire. His heart pounded in his ears. His throat felt dry and parched, as though he hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks.

He couldn’t believe it.

She’d refused him again, and the sting hadn’t lessened any the second time around. Part of him told himself not to believe it. She was angry; she would change her mind. But the other part of him knew she’d meant every word. She’d learned the truth about Gordon and understood. Far more than he wanted her to.

How could he have let this happen again? How could he let himself believe that they had a chance? He was a fool. How could he have thought to find happiness at the cost of his friend’s life?

They’d ridden about half an hour before MacGregor broke the silence. “I take it the lass was not happy to hear you were going after her brother.”

Magnus gave him a blank look. “You could say that.”

“You have to admire her loyalty.”

Magnus didn’t say anything, but his mouth tightened. Just once, he wished that loyalty was for him.

“She loves you.” The famous archer smiled. “I’ve seen enough women in love to recognize the look.”

Normally, that might have elicited a laugh or jest about it hardly being a surprise with that “pretty” face, but Magnus was in no mood for prodding. “Aye, well, it doesn’t matter.”

He’d tried, but it wasn’t enough. She’d refused him, damn it. The lash of pain in his chest tightened.
Don’t think about it. Focus
. Forcing it from his mind, he scanned the road ahead of him. “I think I see something.”

He kicked his heels and the horse sped off ahead.

“It’s them!” he shouted back, a moment later.

Magnus wasn’t surprised to see some of the scouting
party riding toward them—he’d assumed Sutherland would have used it as a ruse to effect his escape. He was, however, surprised to see that one of the two men was the man he sought. The other was MacLeod’s young brother-in-law.

Magnus felt the first prickle of uncertainty.

He and MacGregor drew their horses in, coming to a stop on the road in front of them.

Sutherland’s eyes narrowed. “So eager to finish what we started?”

He was too cool, Magnus realized. Sutherland wasn’t acting like someone who’d just tried to kill the king. He and MacGregor exchanged glances, and Magnus could see that he was thinking the same thing.

Magnus ignored the offer—though it was bloody tempting. “Where are the rest of the men?”

“We separated a few miles back. What’s wrong?” he said with more concern. “Did something happen to Helen?”

“Your sister is fine,” MacGregor answered. “But someone tried to kill the king.”

Both men greeted the news with too much astonishment to be feigned.

“Again?” Sutherland said.

“How?” Fraser asked at the same time.

“You’ve heard of the Saracen powder?” Magnus said, and the young knight nodded.

Sutherland’s gaze shot to Magnus’s. His mouth hardened. “So naturally, you assumed it was me?”

“Do you know anyone else with familiarity with black powder?”

“Aye, but you killed him.”

Magnus flinched, as he knew was Sutherland’s intention.

But suddenly the hatred cleared from Sutherland’s expression, replaced by something else. Dread. “Ah hell,” he said.

“What is it?” Magnus asked.

“Munro,” Sutherland said. “We have to go back.”

“He’s not with you?” Magnus said.

Sutherland shook his head. “He rode out with us, but turned around a few minutes later with some excuse. I warned my brother he could do something like this. He was furious when Will agreed to submit to Bruce. But Will has a blind spot for his old foster brother.”

“How would he know how to use the powder?”

“I don’t know,” Sutherland said. “I sure as hell never showed him what I knew—and I never knew half as much as Gordon did. Look, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. But if it is Munro and he’s alive, you can sure as hell bet he hasn’t given up.”

Magnus didn’t wait to hear any more. In what was becoming an alarming frequency, he and Sutherland were in agreement. Hell-bent for leather, they rode back to the castle.

It hadn’t worked.

When Donald saw the king and MacGregor race out of the burning tower just before he’d jumped down the garderobe into the sea to escape the fiery inferno, he’d had to bite back the cry of pure rage. He was in agony, not only from another failure, but also from the burning beam that had nearly taken his life.

He’d miscalculated how long it would take to light the bags. The first had exploded as he was trying to light the fourth, causing a burning beam from the ceiling to land on his head. The helm hadn’t completely protected him from the melting heat.

The pain had been excruciating. It still was excruciating. But he harnessed it, using it to motivate him for the task before him.

Donald knew this was his last chance.

He’d been so certain the explosion would work. That the four sacks he’d stolen all those months ago would end this.

The night of the wedding at Dunstaffnage, he’d thought it the luckiest piss he’d ever taken. He’d spied Gordon moving across the courtyard and followed him—not to the bridal chamber where he should have been, but to the armory. When he’d seen Gordon remove a number of linen
bags from a large storage box and slip them into his sporran, it had piqued his curiosity. He’d waited until Gordon left, and then had gone in to investigate. Though at the time he wasn’t sure it was actual black powder, he’d been smart enough to take a few bags for later.

When he’d heard about the explosion, his suspicions about what he had were confirmed.

He’d thought the bags would be his salvation. His means of restoring glory and honor to his clan. All he did, he did for the Sutherlands.

Will would come around, he reasoned. When the false king was dead and the rebel cause put down for good.