Eoin glanced at his belly. Helen had tied off a half-dozen stitches, each one perfectly exact in a row just below his navel. Funny, he hadn’t felt any pain whilst she was stitching, but as soon as she left the room, the wound throbbed and ached as if he’d been gutted. Bloody oath, he could use a healthy swig of that whisky now. He pulled the stopper out of the pot, hit by a strong clove-like aroma. Spreading it over his wound, he let out a grunt. It stung and, holy hell, his eyes watered.
Truth be told, he’d wanted Helen to apply the salve with her deft fingers—wished she’d do it. He’d even closed his eyes and prayed she could hear his thoughts. Please. Smooth in the ointment. I need to feel your lithe fingertips upon my skin just once more.
He understood why she’d handed him the pot. He must have made the lady damn uncomfortable when he touched her hair…and her cheek…and examined her eye. God, he was daft.
If anything, the confrontation with MacIain, gave him the impetus to make up his mind. They hadn’t heard any news from the spies posted up the coast. It was about time someone paid them a visit. He and his men needed time for respite and a few days at sea would serve to ferry them away from Mingary for a bit. Besides, they could also do some spying of their own and discover more about what Alexander MacDonald was up to. The chieftain controlled a great deal of land around Skye—and his northern lands were far away from the scrutiny of the crown.
Eoin pushed the stopper into the pot and stood just as Fergus walked through the archway.
The henchman held out a shirt. “I fetched this from your kit—thought you might need it.” He glanced from side to side as if expecting to see Lady Helen. It was a good thing she hadn’t tarried. Eoin wouldn’t want the castle astir with any gossip about her, no matter how unfounded.
“My thanks.” Eoin took the shirt and pulled it over his head. “Tell the men we’ll be sailing at dawn on the morrow.”
“Had enough of the MacIain scoundrels have you?”
“Of sorts.” Eoin wouldn’t divulge the extent of his ire to one of his men. He supported King James’s cause, and that was all they needed to know. “Moreover we need to run a sortie to the north to discover what the MacDonald scallywags are up to.”
“After Aleck cut you today.” Fergus lowered his voice. “I cannot see why we don’t just sail back to Argyllshire.”
“Because that’s not what the king ordered.” Eoin picked up his weapons and headed out with his henchman on his heels. “If we tuck tail and head for home, MacIain could side with the MacDonalds, and then we’d have no foothold on the northwestern shore.” And Eoin wasn’t about to release his hold on Mingary for any length of time until he knew Helen would be safe. Aye, she’d survived Aleck’s brutality for the past five years, but something wasn’t right, and Eoin had a mind to fix it—somehow.
Fergus fell in beside him. “Are you coming with me to tell the men?”
“Nay, I’m off to find the chieftain of this keep and let him know our plans.” Eoin gave his henchman a wink. “Wouldn’t want him to gloat, thinking he’d scared us away.”
“Good luck with that.” Fergus chuckled. “Better you than me.”
Eoin gave him a jab with his elbow. “Aye, and kiss my arse while you’re at it.”
Chapter Eight
Helen sat in a beam of light shining through the narrow window in the nursery painstakingly making tiny stitches as she repaired Eoin’s linen shirt. Maggie napped in her cradle. Glenda and Sarah tended their needlepoint beside the hearth.
“You’ll go blind holding that shirt so close to your face,” Glenda said.
Helen looked up. “I’m trying to make it appear as if it weren’t slashed open. Sir Eoin told me he had only one to spare. And I feel responsible since Sir Aleck was the one who ruined it.”
“Sir Eoin is fortunate. Most soldiers have the clothing on their backs and that is all,” Sarah said as if she possessed a great deal of knowledge on the subject.
Helen pushed in her needle for another careful stitch. “Aye, but Eoin is a chieftain. I’d expect him to be a bit different.”
Glenda rose and crossed the floor. “Let me have a look.”
Helen held up the shirt. “I’m nearly finished.”
The chambermaid grasped the edges and pulled it taut. “You’ve done a fine job, m’lady. You can only see the join if you look closely.”
Sarah stepped beside her. “And no one will see it at all if he’s wearing a doublet atop.”
Helen regarded the shirt with a sigh. “Well, at least you scrubbed out the blood stain, Glenda.”
“Perhaps you should have made him a new shirt,” Sarah suggested.
Honestly, Helen had thought about it, but decided she might raise Aleck’s ire if she gave the Chieftain of Clan Gregor a new shirt that she’d handcrafted. “Mayhap, but Sir Aleck is still maddened about their disagreement in the courtyard. I wouldn’t want to upset him further”
“The men are saying the chieftain shouldn’t have lashed out at Sir Eoin after he’d offered a fair handshake.” Her eyes popping wide as if she’d just made a grand faux pas, Sarah pressed praying fingers to her lips. “Forgive me for being so bold, m’lady.”
Though Helen would never speak ill of her husband to the servants, she nodded. “I’m afraid you could be right in this instance.” She took in a deep inhale and smiled. “Perhaps Sir Aleck and Sir Eoin will agree to put their differences behind them once the MacGregor Chieftain returns.”
Glenda coughed. “You must be the most optimistic person I know, m’lady.”
Helen pursed her lips and returned her attention to her sewing. She didn’t care to have Glenda speak out in subtle disagreement. True, Helen always tried to find the good in every situation, but lately, her kindheartedness had been pushed to the ragged edge.
Sarah brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “When do you think the MacGregor men will return?”
Helen frowned. She had hoped they would have come back by now. The return trip up around the northwestern islands should have only taken a couple of days and they’d been away an entire sennight. “I’m sure they’ve a great many things to attend,” she replied as indifferently as she could manage.
As the women returned to their needlepoint, the chamber grew quiet, the crackling of the fire in the hearth the only sound.
After Helen tied off the last stitch, the ram’s horn sounded, piercing through the silence. The suddenness of the blast nearly made her heart hammer out of her chest.
Sarah’s gaze brightened with her grin. “I’ll wager ’tis them.”
Helen waved her toward the window. “Go have a look.” She made one more knot for good measure and snipped it with the shears. If Sir Eoin had indeed arrived, she could return his shirt this very day.
“’Tis the MacGregor men,” Sarah announced, her voice squeaking with excitement.
Why Helen’s insides were fluttering, she had no idea. Perhaps the lass’s exuberance was contagious.
Glenda gestured to the door. “I’ll stay here with Maggie if you’d like to greet them.”