“Christ.” Eoin lowered his gaze and stared at Maggie for a moment. “What in God’s name was he scheming?”
“Deep in my heart, I know he was planning my death.” She drew in a stuttered breath. “He told me he’d been in love with Mary even before our wedding. She was his leman the entire time I lived at Mingary.”
He simply shook his head. “How awful for you.”
Helen’s problems came flooding back tenfold as silence cut through the cottage with the weight of five hundred stone.
Her whole sordid marriage looked like a farce performed by players at the king’s court. But still, now the ugliness was in the open, Helen desperately needed to confess her deepest secret—the one no one knew.
Licking her lips, she wrung her hands. “He didn’t visit my bedchamber often and when he did it was insufferable.”
Eoin again looked away, his face unreadable. Helen was well aware that a lady shouldn’t speak of such matters to anyone. But Aleck’s behavior had always confused her. She’d seen couples in love before. Invariably, they acted as if they were mad for one another.
I’ll wager Sir Eoin now thinks me frigid just as Aleck did.
Helen cringed and returned her attention to the hearth. I shouldn’t have told him. Her palms moist with perspiration, she reached for a cloth and folded it over. Then she used it to lift the lid from the kettle scones. “These are ready,” she said softly.
Food was a nice diversion from their present conversation.
“Smells delicious.”
Helen kept her gaze lowered as she set the table and scooped the scones onto a trencher.
“Is Maggie eating with us?” he asked, running his palm over the sleepy bairn’s crown.
“Nay. She’s already supped.” Helen held out her arms. “I’ll put her down, she missed her afternoon nap.”
Eoin strolled in behind Helen and looked at the makeshift crate. “Now that’s clever.”
With a chuckle, she placed Maggie inside and covered her with a soft blanket. “’Tis the only thing I could find to suffice for a cradle.”
“It appears as if she hasn’t noticed the difference.”
“I daresay she hasn’t.” Helen gazed upon her daughter. The babe sighed and closed her eyes. Indeed, she was ready for sleep.
Eoin pointed to a jug on the table. “Is that wine?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll pour us some.”
Helen served up the pottage as Eoin collected two wooden cups from the shelf beside the hearth. There weren’t many dishes, but enough to make do. “What news of the rebellion?” Helen asked.
He filled her cup and then his. “We’ll be sailing into battle soon, I’ve no doubt.”
She hated the idea of Eoin being embroiled in more fighting. “Why is the king waiting?”
“They are outfitting all the galleys with cannons, but the work’s nearly done.”
She pressed her hand to her abdomen. “You’ll be expected back soon, then?”
“Aye.” He gave her a sheepish grimace. “Actually, no one kens I’ve left aside from my men, and they are awaiting me at Dunollie.”
“Oh heavens.” Her gaze shot to the door. “Do they ken I’m here?”
“Nay.” He patted her shoulder with a gentle hand. “Mr. Keith stressed how important it is to keep your location a secret and I most certainly agree.”
Helen sat on the bench across from where he stood. As proper, he followed suit and took his seat, then raised his cup. “To you, Lady Helen. The bravest woman I know.”
Goodness, he had an endearing way of making her feel important—respected. “You are very kind to say so, sir knight.” She sipped her wine. The fruity, oaken flavor enlivened her palette. “Thank you for coming. I am ever so happy to see you,” she added in a whisper.
“Lady Helen.” Eoin reached across the table and touched his fingers to her cheek. Though his pads were rough, his touch was feather light. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his hand. Kindness from a man was something she knew little of.
His gaze grew dark and intense. “I would have sailed around the world just to see you if only for a moment.”
A bit of her heart melted.
They’d never talked about what might happen after the annulment was granted—if it was granted. And if it was not, Helen could find herself at Aleck MacIain’s mercy. Perhaps that’s why she avoided thinking about her future.
She picked up her spoon and took a bite.
Eoin did the same. Through the entire meal, he held her gaze, staring at her with those intense blue eyes while the candlelight flickered amber across his sun-weathered skin.
Helen couldn’t remember ever gazing upon a man more ruggedly handsome. Moreover, merely with a look he expressed his love—his strength. With Eoin near, she needn’t fear. If only this eve would last forever.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The moment Mr. Keith had arrived and told of Helen’s incarceration and escape, Eoin had set sail for Dunollie with fury pulsing through his veins. Blast it all, he hadn’t been able to protect her from Aleck’s sordid treatment.
Without considering the consequences, he rushed to her to ensure she was safe and unharmed. At least that’s what he told himself.
But chatting with Helen over simple fare and sweet wine was like being sent to heaven. She’d changed since he’d last seen her. Aye, she’d dropped a few pounds which she could ill afford, but Helen carried her shoulders with more ease. Her mouth wasn’t pulled tight at the corners. Even her neck appeared longer. The stresses at Mingary most certainly had her wound tighter than a spring, but out there in the middle of the forest, she’d already relaxed some. She again looked like the winsome lass he’d fallen in love with so long ago.
Eoin listened thoughtfully to her banter, enraptured with the sultry lilt of Helen’s voice. Had she no idea of the extent of her allure? He swirled his second helping of wine and sipped. He held the cup to his lips for a time, watching her from behind it, hiding his smile. By God, her beauty surpassed anything he’d seen in all his travels.
At the cottage, she’d left her tresses uncovered and unbound. Her hair hung past her waist in waves of honey. Eoin’s fingers twitched. He reached across the table and grasped a lock. Ah, yes. It was spun of pure silk. “You should never cover your hair.” Gruff with longing, he hardly recognized his voice.
Helen’s hands flew to her crown. “My heavens. I’ve been in the forest for two days and already I’m forgetting propriety.”
“Not at all. It pleases me that you’re comfortable without a veil.” He held the lock to his nose and inhaled. “Mm. Purer than a bar of rose-scented soap.”
A nervous chuckle slid through Helen’s lips. “’Tis just my wily mop of hair.”
He lowered his chin and deliberately stared. “I beg to differ.”
She fanned her face. “My, the wine is making me flush.”
Eoin would wager the adorable blush blossoming in her cheeks wasn’t caused by the wine. He’d been willfully staring at her since arriving.
“’Tis growing late,” she said. “Are your men expecting you?”