He was a fool—a rude fool. Kaden was the captain of his own guarded silence. When asked about his past, he had no idea how to tell her that the last woman he held dear was responsible for his brother’s hanging. Nae, that was wrong. She wasn’t responsible. He was, for trusting her.

Kaden released a breath that curled from his mouth in a thick steam. Helena seemed relieved to be off Donald land, which, if he was honest, relieved him. However, if it wasn’t the Donalds she journeyed to, that meant she was likely traveling to the MacLeods. That troubled him. And he didn’t like being troubled over a woman.

Why had she been wandering in the woods alone? It was none of his business. Even the bruises on her arms weren’t his business—just as the business of his clan was not his business.

The sewing of her bodice shouldn’t take long, but Kaden took his time in fetching more wood. He returned to find Helena sound asleep, and her bodice more tightly fitting. His cock pulsed. He’d been too long without a woman. Two years since he’d left his clan. Since Rhona told his father that Liam had stolen the famed MacLeod Faery Flag, given to the MacLeod bairn by the Fae Queen herself. Kaden’s chest tightened. If the flag truly offered protection as legend said, his brother would still be alive.

 

An hour later, a whimper caused Kaden to snap his head up from the book he was reading. Helena twitched in her sleep. She flung an arm aside and cried out. Kaden leapt to his feet, his mother's journal tumbling from his lap onto the floor. Helena twisted and flailed. He took three quick steps to the bed, but she stilled as he reached down to grasp her arm. He watched, heart pounding. She must be dreaming about her fall through the ice.

Helena whimpered again and muttered something he couldn't distinguish. She began to cry. “Malcolm,” she whispered.

Kayden stiffened. Malcolm? Her husband, no doubt. Was he the man who left the bruises on her arms? He had to be, for no husband would stand idly by while another man abused his wife. She’d seemed relieved to be off Donald land. Was her husband a Donald? Malcolm Donald. Kaden started. Not Malcolm Donald, Captain to Domhnall Donald, the Donald chief? Nae. Last Kaden had heard, Malcom Donald hadn’t married. But Kaden had been away from Skye these last two years. Malcom could have married. Still, the name was common. He couldn't be the lass’ husband.

Her crying intensified. Kaden sat on the bed, grasped her shoulders and gently shook her. She bolted upright and buried her face in his chest. He stiffened and remained still as a statue when she fisted his shirt and cried. At last, she quieted and lifted her head. Eyes wide, she stared up at him.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Ye cried out in your sleep,” he said. “I came to see what was wrong and you burst into tears against my chest.”

Her cheeks pinked. She brushed hair from her face and his gaze caught on the bruises on her arm. Her eyes shifted to her arm. She yanked the cover up over her breasts.

Kaden realized the room had cooled. He rose and went to the fire, which had burned low. He knelt and added more wood.

“I cannae thank ye enough for saving me,” she said.

“Think nothing of it, lass.”

“Have you lived here long?” she asked.

This croft had belonged to his great uncle. They’d spent many a day here, fishing and hunting. He’d brought a lass or two here for a few stolen kisses. But he replied, “Nae.” Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie.

“ ‘Tis a cozy cottage,” she said, her voice sleepy. “

“Aye,” Kaden agreed. He wanted to ask about the bruises on her arms, about the man named Malcolm. Would she twist truth as he had? Kaden rose and turned. She lay on the bed, fast asleep.  

 

The day passed too slowly. Kaden took care to remain quiet, and sat before the fire most of the day, trying to read his mother’s journal. Helena slept on. He would have worried, but the color returned to her cheeks and the steady rise and fall of her breasts told him she was beginning to mend. The blankets should cover her shoulders, so she didn’t catch a chill. He debated whether or not he might disturb her but, in the end, rose and gently pulled the plaid up to her shoulders. She sighed in her sleep and shifted. He jumped back, heart pounding. If she woke to him bending over her bed, she was sure to think he intended to dishonor her. But she slept on.

* * *

The following morning, Kaden awoke early. He rubbed the stiffness from his left shoulder. “You are no’ as young as ye once were,” he murmured, but shrugged into his furs and went out to bring in more wood. Helena would wake and want to be up and about. To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to sharing another companionable meal with her.

He returned to the cottage, the cart filled with enough wood to last through the day, then halted in the doorway, his arms full of logs. Helena stood near the table, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. God’s teeth. She intended to venture into the woods alone, again.

She stared for a moment. “Kaden, I am sorry if I said something to upset you.”

He frowned, then realized she spoke of their conversation yesterday. He closed the door, crossed to the hearth and stacked the logs. “Ye didnae upset me. Besides, that was yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” she blurted.

“Aye. Ye slept through the day and night.”

“I-I didn’t know.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You are kind to allow me to stay. I feel much better.”

He shrugged. “Ye will be happy to know the storm has passed and the sun is shining. It should prove to be a good day to travel.”

“I dinnae know how I can repay ye.”

An awkward tension filled the room. He knelt on one knee and began stacking more logs on the fire. “If you wish, I will escort ye to wherever you need to go. These woods are dangerous for a lass to travel alone, and ye have no horse.”

She shook her head. He thought he saw sadness in her eyes, but it vanished, and she said, “I do no’ have far to travel. I will arrive safely. But I thank ye for the offer. You have been so kind.”

He should let her go and forget her. Instead, he rose and said, “At least take my horse.”

“In due time, you will find a way to return him. He is a strong horse. He will outrun any brigands ye encounter.”

She hesitated. “Surely, you must need him?”

Kaden shook his head. “Nae. I have enough supplies to last the winter. Besides, I cannae keep him locked up in the barn till spring. The run will do him good, and it will give me peace knowing ye are safe.”

“Thank you, Kaden. I-I dinnae know what to say.” She smiled and his heart leapt. “May God smile down upon ye,” she said.

He yanked his gaze from her face and started for the door. “Come, along.” He led her to the barn, brought the horse out of his stall and stopped beside her.

Helena’s face lit. “He is beautiful. What do ye call him?”

“Valor.”

“A befitting name.”

Kaden saddled the animal, then extended a hand toward Helena. She laid her hand in his and he was startled by the jolt that passed through him. She grasped the pommel and her grip on his hand tightened as she stepped into the saddle, then swung her leg over the horse’s rump and dropped onto the saddle. She pulled her hand free of his and he took an involuntary step back.

“I hope we meet again someday, Kaden.” Helena smiled down at him. “If anything, at least to return your horse.”

“Valor will take good care of ye. God speed, lass.”

Kaden led the horse from the barn, then handed the reins to Helena and stood aside as she nudged his ribs with her heels. Valor started forward and Kaden forced back the desire to call her back. Her journey was her affair. He whirled and started back toward the croft. He’s saved her life. That was more than many men would do. Still, he couldn’t shake the guilt that niggled. Should he have done more?

He reached the cottage, then he sat in his chair and stared into the flames. Strange, how quiet the cottage was with Helena gone.

Retrieving his mother’s journal from the bedside table, he began reading. Her words gave him comfort, but his mind kept returning to Helena as she rode away on Valor’s back. He’d reread the same paragraph three times when a draft whipped down the chimney, causing the fire to dance wildly. With a sigh, Kaden set aside the book and rose. He had enough wood to last the month, but he needed to occupy his mind. He put on his furs, then headed out to the shed for his axe.

Kaden grimaced at sight of the shed up ahead. Wind had blown the most recent powdery snow across the crusted snow and created a waist-high drift against the door. He’d have to dig through the drift in order to open the shed door. He was glad he’d given Helena Valor. She wouldn’t have lasted more than a mile or two in this biting wind. Kaden glanced at the loch, but the surface was once again a sheet of white that extended to the tree line on the far shore.

He started to return his attention to the shed, but his gaze caught on something metallic near the shore. He headed toward the object and realized as he neared that it was the buckle on a leather strap. The satchel Helena had lost. He reached the spot and grasped the strap. Kaden was forced to pull hard, for the satchel had frozen to the ground. It freed, and he stumbled backward with the force of his yank. His foot slipped, but he caught himself and straightened. The damned snow would be the death of him.

Kaden examined the satchel. The leather was finely tooled. Once it thawed, it would, it would be useful again. Helena would sorely miss it. He could return it to her when she brought back Valor. How long might that be? It had been plain she didn’t want to talk about where she was from or where she was going. But he suddenly wished he’d asked about her destination. He worked the strap so that it was pliable, then slipped it over his head and continued to the shed.

Two hours later, Kaden returned to the croft, his muscles burning with the exertion of swinging the axe, and he prayed he would sleep well that night. He set Helena’s satchel on the table, then removed his furs. The fire had died to embers. Kaden added more logs to the hearth and stoked the embers into flames. He poured a cup of wine, then sat down at the table.

He’d known all along that he was going to go against his nature and invade her privacy—and worse—further involve himself in her life by looking inside the satchel.

He drank two gulps of wine, then opened the satchel and removed a folded parchment, a small dagger and a frozen, cloth-wrapped bundle. Kaden examined the jeweled, polished-steel dagger. Something this expensive would have been forged for a lady of a castle or to be presented to a highly-ranked officer. It was not made for everyday use.

Biscuits were in the cloth. They were no good after being soaked in the loch. Kaden tossed them onto the fire.

He carefully unfolded the sodden parchment. A poorly drawn floorplan of a castle covered the upper half of the page. Arrows pointed to a room in one tower. Kaden frowned. There was something oddly familiar about the castle. The answer slammed into him. Dunvegan.

His home.

What was Helena doing with a map of Dunvegan?

Not just Dunvegan, he realized. Below the map were two paragraphs written by two distinctly different hands. The first, written in beautiful penmanship, told the story of a magical treasure. He knew the legend all too well of how the Faery Flag.

Kaden quickly scanned the paragraph below the legend, but it was smeared. His blood chilled. She had circled the hidden treasure room in the east tower.  

Holy God, Helena intended to steal the MacLeod Faery Flag.