To stifle her gasp, Helen clapped a hand over her mouth. When Aleck had referred to the Chieftain of Clan Gregor, she fully expected to see Sir Ewen MacGregor, but it wasn’t the old grey-haired man who approached. The tall, rugged warrior was Sir Eoin—Ewen’s son.
She took in yet another sharp inhale.
The tallest man in his retinue, Eoin hadn’t changed in the past five years. If anything, his shoulders had grown broader. Flanked by his men, his muscular legs flexed with each step.
But to gaze upon a dear old friend was almost like traveling back in time—before she’d ever seen Mingary Castle or knew that Aleck MacIain existed.
Eoin wore his chestnut hair cropped short, a new and attractive fashion for him. His bold eyebrows hadn’t changed. They formed two separate but angular lines over vivid sky-blue eyes. A straight nose, full lips—but the bottom lip was fuller. He even still had the wee scar on his chin.
A hundred childhood memories came flooding back when he grinned. Oh, how she’d enjoyed Eoin when they were children. What a carefree time of life that had been.
“M’lady.” He stepped up and grasped her hand.
She hadn’t remembered that he was so imposing or that he smelled like a vat of simmering cloves. “Sir Eoin.” She maintained a properly serene smile. “What a pleasure to see you.”
He bowed and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, then straightened and offered a controlled grin with a brotherly glint in his eye. “The pleasure is mine.”
She clapped her fingers to her chest to quell her hammering heart. “When Sir Aleck mentioned the Chieftain of Clan Gregor was here, I expected to see your father.” Goodness, it had been a long time since she’d seen anyone from her past.
He knit his brows. “Da’s been gone three years now. I’m surprised word hasn’t reached you.”
Helen rubbed the back of her hand, wiping away the tingling sensation that remained from Eoin’s brief peck. “Forgive me. Tucked away on this peninsula, I rarely ever receive news.”
Eoin proceeded forward. “Not to worry, m’lady.”
Helen followed, moving her feet quickly to keep up with his broad stride. “Aleck mentioned you would be staying for a time.”
He glanced sideways at her, a dark eyebrow arching. “Aye, to keep an eye on the MacDonald uprising to the north.”
“Oh no, how grave.” She hadn’t heard about the uprising either. “I hope ’tis nothing too serious.”
“Me as well, m’lady, I’d hate to pose a burden to you and Sir Aleck and be forced to remain past my welcome.”
“You could never be a burden.” She raised her voice to be heard as they passed the blacksmith’s shack. “It will be a pleasant change to have the MacGregors at Mingary. Besides, you must fill me in on all that’s happened in the past five years.”
His gaze trailed up the stone walls to the wall-walk—as if he had a great many things on his mind. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”
She chuckled. “I doubt that.”
Stopping beside the entrance to the kitchens, Helen beckoned a guard. “Mr. Keith, please show Sir Eoin to the guest chamber.” She turned to the MacGregor Chieftain. “Your men are welcome to the hay loft. Nearly all the winter stores are gone. There’s plenty of space for them to bed down.”
“My thanks.” He gave her a wink. “You needn’t worry about us. My men can bed down anywhere they find a bit of straw.”
“Very well, it has been a delight to see you again.” She pointed to the kitchen door. “I’d best see to the midday meal. Your arrival was a surprise to the cook.”
He bowed. “I do appreciate your gracious hospitality.”
She stopped, not wanting to draw away so soon. “I shall see you in the great hall, then?”
“Aye, m’lady. My men and I will stow our gear and will be there anon.”
Helen offered a smile and hastened toward the kitchen. What else had changed in the past five years? If Aleck had received word of the former MacGregor Chieftain’s death, he certainly hadn’t shared it with her. Had he sent condolences? What other news had her husband not shared? Scotland could have declared war and she would be none the wiser.
She pushed inside and suddenly felt lightheaded. Goodness, she’d nearly swooned when she watched the MacGregor Chieftain’s bold stride as he made his way from the beach. Such an errant lack of propriety—even if only on the inside—mustn’t ever happen again.
Patting her cheeks, she started for the hearth. As lady of the keep, Helen would be busy indeed, overseeing the meals and ensuring their guests were welcome. That, combined with caring for Maggie, would keep her occupied for certain.
After he watched Lady Helen disappear into the keep, Eoin dropped his things in the guest chamber, then headed to the stables to join his men. Satan’s bones, he shouldn’t have kissed her hand. He’d been in relative control of his faculties until then. Damnation, Helen hadn’t lost an iota of her radiance. In fact, she was more beautiful than he’d remembered. With her hair hidden under a blue veil, she’d appeared matronly—but by no means plain. Her face was as pure as a painter’s canvas—her expressive eyes the color of bluebells, her cheeks aglow like they’d been blessed by pink roses. As soon as he’d taken her palm in his, the silken softness of her skin ignited a flame deep in his belly. And when he bent to kiss it, he imagined himself in a garden filled with lilies.
He inhaled deeply.
Lilies.
Eoin couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s scent had practically brought him to his knees. And his lips still thrummed with a rhythmic pulse.
Damnation.
He swiped his arm across his mouth. Dragon’s breath, he would not allow old emotions to boil to the surface. He was in Ardnamurchan for one purpose and that was to quash the MacDonald uprising. In no way would he lose sight of his mission. Eoin was one of the best fighting men in Scotland and Clan Gregor was renowned for their unsurpassed tactics. He and his men had kept the English out of Scotland when the truce with James III fell apart. And by God they would now ensure the MacDonalds crawled back to their stony keeps and kept their greedy fingers out of the king’s coffers.
But this assignment to Mingary had to be the most miserable post of his life. Aside from being in the secluded region of Ardnamurchan, he rued being forced to be the guest of Aleck MacIain. The man hadn’t impressed him in Stirling and traveling with the bastard for the past two weeks hadn’t improved Eoin’s opinion.
And why the hell wasn’t Sir Aleck standing beside Helen when I approached?
That the man lacked manners was an understatement—and definitely none of Eoin’s concern. He was there to focus on training and fighting, and that’s exactly what he’d do. They’d be patrolling the northern waters as well. In fact, Eoin planned to spend more time sailing his galley than in the miserable guest chamber.
After climbing up the ladder to the stable loft, his feet crunched atop the straw strewn over the timber boards. The smell of musty hay filled his nostrils as he regarded his men. “Do not grow too comfortable. We’ll be sailing north a few days hence.”
Fergus, Eoin’s second in command, stepped beside him. “Running sorties, will we?”