The Saint (49 page)

He still couldn’t believe the attack in the forest hadn’t worked. Damn, MacKay and Helen both! How they’d managed to fend off some of the best warriors in Christendom …

Fury shot through his veins in a hot rush. But not him. They wouldn’t defeat him.

But ten men lost. After all that training. All that money. MacDougall had been furious. And worse, he was losing faith. Two men had been all he’d sent to aid Donald in this final attempt.

MacKay was already suspicious enough to have him watched. Time was running out.

He looked at the two men as they stood near the edge of the loch. “Are you ready?”

He couldn’t see their expressions beneath the dark helms, but they nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

Munro gazed toward the old tower. Was Bruce in there? He hoped he’d guessed right.

Helen knelt before the king, taking his hand in hers. “Thank you, Sire. You won’t regret this.”

“I already do.” The king laughed. “I have the feeling a certain Highlander isn’t going to be very happy with our plans.”

Helen didn’t argue. Magnus was going to be furious. But she was going to do it anyway. She shrugged. “He’ll come around eventually.”

The king was too much a knight to argue with her. “You’re sure you want to leave so soon?”

“My brother and Muriel are sailing to Dunstaffnage tomorrow. I am anxious to get started.”

The king held her gaze a moment longer. She feared he was about to reconsider, but instead, after a long pause, he nodded. “Very well. Safe travels. You will have my letter before you go. You know whom to give it to?” She nodded. “Then take care.”

“I will.” Helen made her way from the king’s solar before he could change his mind. She bit her lip, feeling a prickle of apprehension. What she contemplated was not only dangerous but “unconventional”—to put it mildly. But it was also exciting, and, more than anything, important. She would be putting her healing skills to use. To the very best use.

She had just entered the stairwell when she heard a series of muffled sounds followed by a loud clank coming from a room just off the the landing. The garderobe, she realized.

Although her first instinct was to blush and move away quickly, she realized the sounds were not the normal sounds someone might make while relieving himself.

And what was someone doing up here anyway? There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in this tower except the king and the guards who were stationed at the entry below.

The next sound stopped her cold. Whispering, and at least
two
voices.

Grateful for the darkness that had descended over the castle and the sky in the last hour, she hugged the wall and slowly inched closer toward the small room. The door was closed, but there was just enough of a gap between two wooden slats to make out the dark, shadowy figures of men bent over the hole in the rock and looking down.

Helen sucked in her breath, realizing what they were doing. The garderobe was positioned on the outside wall of the tower to empty directly into the water of the loch. Somehow, these men had figured out a way to climb up it.

Although her first instinct was to cry out and attempt to warn the guards below, she wasn’t sure they would hear her from here. But the men in the garderobe certainly would. They would have time to kill her and the king before the guards could reach them.

No, her best chance was to warn the king and try to get past them before—

Too late. The door started to open.

She sank back into the shadows and retreated up the stairs and down the dark corridor to the king’s chamber. The men’s footsteps were just behind her.

Heart hammering in her chest, she opened the door, slid inside the narrow opening, and quickly closed it behind her.

“Lady Helen!” the king exclaimed, surprised to see her again. “What is it?”

Helen was looking around the room, praying for a miracle, at the same time she answered, “Men, Sire. At least three of them, coming this way. Blow out the candles. We don’t have much time—it won’t take them long to search the rooms for yours.”

It was a small donjon with only a few solars on each of the three levels. And they would guess the king would be placed up high.

Bruce had already grabbed his sword, but they both knew they were doomed if it came to that. Three men were too many for the still weakened king. And there was always the fear that there could be more.

“You try to summon help,” Bruce said. “I’ll hold them off.”

But Helen had another idea.

*   *   *

Magnus and the others stormed through the gate just as the first cry was raised. They raced to the tower where the king had been moved after the fire.

The wall of guardsmen he’d left to keep watch on the tower was in disarray. Without stopping to ask questions, he pushed through the guardsmen and raced up the stairwell, MacGregor, Sutherland, and Fraser right on his heels.

He heard the clash of swords above him and then the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the wooden floor. Reaching the third level, he exited the stairwell into the outer area of the three chambers on this floor—the largest at the end serving as the king’s temporary solar.

The body of one of his men was on the floor, a man in black standing over him. The horrible stench that filled the air told him how they’d gotten in. Magnus let out a roar, pulled the mail-piercing dirk from his waist—the area was too small to use a sword or hammer effectively—and attacked.

But he feared they were already too late when he noticed two more men had come out into the corridor from the king’s chamber.

The space wasn’t large enough to accommodate so many. But it didn’t take him long to rectify that by one.

After the first man fell, Magnus went for the man on the left, whom he recognized despite the helm, and MacGregor took the one on the right.

They squared off, blades drawn. “You wanted your rematch, Munro,” Magnus said. “You have it.”

“You figured it out, did you?” Munro laughed and jerked off his helm, which would be a detriment in such close combat.

Magnus recoiled from the sight of blistering skin on the left side of his face. Most of his hair on that side had been singed off as well. “Get caught in the blast? Looks painful.”

“Bastard.” Munro came at him. There was little room to
move about, and both men knew it would come down to the first few blows. Munro’s missed. Magnus’s didn’t.

Munro’s weakness was his arrogance and aggressiveness. As Magnus anticipated, the other man went on the immediate attack. He was waiting. As the blade came toward him, he sidestepped at the last minute. Turning, he jabbed his elbow into Munro’s nose. If Munro had space to retreat it would not have been as deadly a mistake. But he had nowhere to go. Magnus used the moment of distraction to insert his blade right through the mail and into his gut.

Munro slumped against him in shock. Magnus held him there until his body went limp. Tossing him to the side, he saw MacGregor do the same with his man, and then followed Sutherland, who was ahead of them, into the king’s chamber.

It was dark.

Fearing the worst, he tore open the shutters, allowing moonlight to spill into the chamber.

His gaze scanned the chamber. No body. Nothing.
What the hell?

“Where is he?” MacGregor asked, voicing Magnus’s question.

Suddenly they heard a loud thump as someone dropped from the fireplace. “Right here,” Bruce said. He turned around to help someone down.

Magnus’s stomach dropped as he recognized the light blue of a gown. The light blue of the gown Helen had been wearing earlier.

Oh, Jesus
. “Helen?” His voice was filled with the same sick disbelief churning in his stomach.

“Helen?” Sutherland echoed at his side.

“Damn it, what are you doing here?” Magnus said.

The king gave him a sharp look. “Coming to my rescue. Again,” he added to Helen with a wink.

She blushed.

Magnus listened with blood pounding in his ears as the
king explained—with a few clarifications from Helen—how Helen had been returning to her chamber when she’d heard the men coming up the garderobe. She’d come back to warn the king, but not wanting to alert the attackers to their location, she’d had the idea of throwing items out of the king’s window to alert the guards. Then, to give them more time, they’d blown out all the candles, tried to clear the room of all traces of the king, and she’d found a hiding place in the fireplace. It didn’t look large enough to hold one person, let alone two.

“Clever of her, wasn’t it?” the king said with another smile. “I would never have thought of it.”

Magnus might have appreciated the irony of their game coming to such good use, might have been impressed, and might have been proud of her, if he could see anything but the red haze in front of his eyes. When he thought of the danger … how close she’d been …

Helplessness. Rage. Panic. He felt like killing someone all over again. He tried to rein in his temper, but patience eluded him. For the second—third?—time in the space of a week, he’d nearly lost her.

His instinct was to sweep her into his arms and never let her go. He took a step toward her, but then stopped, remembering. Wait. He
had
lost her. She’d refused him.

Their eyes caught. A fierce surge of emotion passed between them, but it was too tangled and confused for him to decipher. All it did was make the hole in his chest deepen and burn hotter.

She turned back to the king. “I believe I shall retire. I’ve much to do before tomorrow.”

She was hiding it well, but Magnus knew she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. Her hand trembled at her side before she caught it with a clench of her skirts.

“Wait, I will escort you,” he offered.

“That won’t be necessary.”

His mouth hardened. “There are men outside.” He paused. “One of them is Munro.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said.

“I see.”

“I’ll take you,” Sutherland said.

Helen seemed to take notice of him for the first time. Her too-red lips drew in a thin line and her blue eyes flashed in anger. “I’m dead to you, remember?”

Sutherland shot Magnus a black glare. “Does that mean you’ve decided to marry him?”

Magnus stilled. But she didn’t even glance in his direction. “No,” she said in a soft voice.

Sutherland immediately brightened and started to say something, but she stopped him.

“I intend to take you up on your threat in any event. I’m tired of your interference.” She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “You two can kill one another if you want. I’m done trying to stop you.”

“I’ll take you to your room, my lady,” MacGregor said.

Helen gave him a grateful look. “Thank you. There is something I should like to speak with you about.”

What did she mean by that? Magnus watched them go, wanting to go after her, but …

But what? She’d refused him.

He steeled himself for some kind of taunt from Sutherland, but the immediate concerns of the situation took over when MacAulay, Sir Neil, and some of the other high-ranking members of the king’s retinue burst into the chamber.

Magnus spent the next couple of hours again trying to make order out of chaos. The men were apprised of what had happened, the bodies removed, the shocked Earl of Sutherland questioned about Munro, and finally, the king put safely to bed. So much for his “peacetime” mission.

His duties done for the night, Magnus poured himself a tall flagon of whisky and sat down, for the first time in what seemed like days, on a bench near the fireplace in the
Great Hall. The trestle tables had been removed, and some of the men—the higher-ranking members of the king’s party enjoyed the Great Hall, while the rest of the men slept in the barracks—were already abed.

But he was wound too tightly right now to think about sleep. He couldn’t believe it. He heard her words all over again.
“I love you, Magnus, but I won’t marry you. Not like this.”
He’d been too stung by the refusal to understand what she meant, but he did now. But how could he do what she wanted? God knows, he’d tried to put it behind him. But how could he forgive himself? Yet it was that or lose her.

Sutherland entered the hall. He scanned the large room, and seeing Magnus, headed toward him. Magnus’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“Not now, Sutherland,” he warned. “We’ll end this, but not right now.”

Ignoring him, Sutherland plopped down on the bench beside him.

Magnus stiffened.

“I thought you might want to apologize,” Sutherland said.

“What the hell for?”

“I don’t know, maybe accusing me of trying to blow up the king?”

Magnus’s mouth tightened. “It wasn’t without cause.”

Sutherland just stared at him, a contemplative look on his face. “You’re more like Munro than you want to admit.”

Magnus muttered an expletive and then told him what he could do with it.

“He was too stubborn and proud to see what was right in front of him.”

“Your sister refused me, or didn’t you hear that part?”

“I heard it. But if I cared for someone as much as you
appear to care for my sister, I would do whatever the hell I needed to do to change her mind.”

“Coming from you, that’s ironic. From what I hear, you’ve never cared about a woman in your life.” Magnus looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you doing this? You’ve been doing everything you can to prevent this for years.”

“Aye, but the difference between you and me is that I can admit when I’ve made a mistake. I thought you were lying about Gordon.”

“I was.”

“But not for the reasons I thought. Helen told me—well, actually she told Will, as she’s not talking to me—what happened. I’m only going to say this once, so make sure you’re listening. You did what no one hopes they are ever called upon to do, but something that could happen to any one of us. It’s part of war—an ugly part, but a part nonetheless. I would have done the same thing in your place, as would Gordon.”

Magnus didn’t say anything. The burning in his chest had crawled up his throat.

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to carry this burden. Nor would he have demanded a lifetime of penance.”