The day was by far the warmest this winter. They’d ridden at least two hours and Helena’s thighs had begun to ache. She shifted in an effort to ease the cramps.

“Do ye need to stop for some privacy?” Kaden asked. “We still have over an hour to go.”

That, she realized, wasn’t a bad idea. “If ye dinnae mind,” she said.

Kaden guided Valor off the road and stopped near a group of trees. He dismounted, then helped her down. They parted ways for some privacy. Helena finished quickly and hurried back to Valor. Exposing her backside to the cold made her wish for the warmth of the fire at the croft.

As she came into view of the horse, Kaden stepped from the trees a few paces ahead of her. Helena jerked when what she thought was a bird flew past her ear. Kaden twisted to the side and stumbled. Birds took flight from the trees and scattered in the sky above them.

Helena registered the arrow protruding from Kaden’s furs just below his shoulder. She tried to scream, but the sound lodged in her throat. She lunged toward him and reached his side an instant later. He shoved her back between him and Valor. 

“Kaden—”

“Hush,” he ordered.

Her mind snapped to attention. He was scanning the area for their attackers. Where had the arrow come from? Why hadn’t they fired more arrows? Her heart pounded. Who were their attackers? Terror gnawed at her stomach. Had the MacLeods discovered the Fary Flag missing? They couldn’t possibly know she had taken it.

Kaden shifted and she realized he was reaching for the arrow. He broke the end off with an audible snap. He faced her. Sweat beaded his brow. His face had gone pale.

“We must go,” he said. “Hurry. Into the saddle.”

Helena stepped into the saddle. Kaden grasped the pommel and pulled himself up onto the saddle behind her.

He loosely held the reins. Helena took them from him and snapped the leather across the horse’s flanks. The animal shot forward and she prayed Kaden could stay mounted until they reached the croft. His arms remained tight around her and she periodically glanced at his hands to ensure he still gripped the pommel.

The hour’s ride seemed like forever before the croft came into view, nestled amongst the trees. Helena brought the horse to a stop in front of the cottage and dropped from the saddle. Kaden swung his leg over the pommel and nearly fell from the saddle. Helena grabbed his arm and steadied him. He smiled weakly and allowed her to pull his arm over her shoulder. She could tell he was trying not to put his full weight on her. They reached the door and she stumbled with him inside. He fell onto the bed.

The room was freezing cold, but Helena whipped off her cloak and tossed it over the foot of the bed. Her hands shook as she removed Kaden’s fur coat. Blood spattered the front of his tunic, but he hadn’t bled much. That would change once they removed the arrow.

Helena slid the tunic up and over the arrow, careful not to snag the fabric on the point. She urged his arms upward. He flinched as she pulled the tunic over his head. Seeing the arrow protruding from the smooth tanned muscle of his shoulder made her stomach roil. Then she caught sight of the arrowhead sticking out of his back. The arrow had gone clean through. This was good, but her head still spun. This was her fault. She should have refused his help, sent him home, no matter his objections. If he bled to death, she would never forgive herself.

“Ye must pull the arrow out,” he said in a strained voice.

Helena had known they would reach this point. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to tend a wound. But she’d never had to pull an arrow from a man’s flesh—and without aid from anyone else.

“There are fresh cloths on the counter,” he said. “Use them to staunch the blood. But first, start a fire. We will need the fire to heat the poker.”

Tears threatened. God help her, she wasn’t sure she could do this. She jumped to her feet and went to the hearth. She knelt, and quickly started a flame that she stoked into a fire that would burn the small logs she stacked atop the kindling. She glanced at Kaden. Eyes closed, he leaned his shoulder against the wall. Thank God, his chest rose and fell with an even breath. There was no time to waste. Helena picked up the poker and stuck it into the flames, then rose and fetched the cloths. She returned to the bed and sat beside Kaden.

“There is a bottle of whisky in the cabinet,” he whispered without opening his eyes.

She hurried to the closed cupboard on the left wall and opened the doors. The dusty bottle of whisky stood behind an empty ceramic container.

She hurried back to Kaden. “I can use this to wash the wound.”

He gave a hoarse grunt. “I would rather bleed to death.”

Kaden extended his hand and motioned for her to give him the bottle. Helena frowned, then, with a sigh, handed it to him. He took a large swig.

He handed her back the bottle. “Get on with it.”

She set the bottle on the floor, then settled on the mattress beside him. She hesitated. “This is my fault. Had I no’ left, ye wouldn’t have followed me, and… I am so sorry, Kaden.”

“Tis no’ your fault,” he said.

“Ye asked me to stay. I didnae listen.”

He didn’t reply and, for an instant, she feared he did blame her. Then the deep furrow of his brow registered. God forgive her, she was worrying about guilt while he was in pain. Helena laid a hand on his shoulder then eased him forward. She scooted behind him and reached to grasp the arrow, then realized she couldn’t hold it without the point cutting her. She scooped up several cloths, wrapped them around the point, then wrapped her hands around the base between the point and his back and levered herself.

“Are ye ready?” she asked.

 He gave a tiny nod and she discerned the tensing of his back muscles. Without warning, she yanked. Kaden sucked in a loud breath as her shoulders collided with the wall. Blood flowed from his shoulder. Helena tossed aside the arrow. It clattered to the floor as she grabbed the rags and pressed them firmly against the wound in his chest, then seized his hand and jammed it against the cloths.

“Hold that,” she ordered.

Thankfully, he complied, and she pressed more clothes against the exit hole in his back. She picked up the whisky and poured some on the exit wound.

He sucked in another breath. “By God, Helena, that burns worse than when the arrow hit me.”

She could well imagine. She poured some on the front wound. This time, he only drew a sharp breath.

“Ye will need stitches,” she said.  

He shook his head. “Tis too deep. Ye must burn it with the poker.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She’d forgotten about the poker. Helena look at the poker. The tip glowed red.

She swung her gaze back to Kaden. “I am no healer.”

He nodded, eyes dark with pain. “Never mind, lass. Bring me the poker. I will do it.”

Helena hesitated, then she said, “Lean against the wall. I want the cloths on your back to stay in place. He did as she said, and Helena got the poker and returned to the bed. Kaden pulled his leather belt from around his waist, then lifted a hand for the poker. His large hand trembled slightly.

She released a shuddering breath and shook her head. “I will do it.”

He gave her a gentle smile mingled with pain. “Ye dinnae have to, lass.”

“I do.” She nodded at the belt. “Bite down on the leather.”

He released a sigh, then fitted the belt to his mouth and bit down.

“On the count of three,” she said.

He nodded.

“One.” Helena positioned the poker over the wound on his chest. Two—

She jammed the poker against the wound.

He groaned and stiffened. Helena jerked, but he seized her hand and pressed the poker hard against the flesh.

Mother of Saints. 

The smell of burnt flesh caused her stomach to roil. The wound had stopped bleeding.

He released her hand. “Now my back,” he said through teeth that still clenched the belt. “Hurry before the poker cools.”

This time, she didn’t flinch. Kaden tensed, but remained firm as she jammed the poker against the open wound on his back. When she finally pulled the poker away, the bleeding had stopped.

Kaden removed the leather from his mouth, and muttrered, “Christ Almighty.”

Relief flooded Helena. He would live.

She leaned the poker against the table near the bed and examined the exit wound. The flesh around the cauterized area had begun to bruise. That was normal. Helena turned him so that she could examine the wound on his chest. The flesh was more badly torn than the exit wound but had closed nicely.

She released a shaky breath and began wiping blood from his chest. “Who were our attackers?”

“I dinnae know, but this arrow was no’ shot from a MacLeod bow.”

She snapped her head up and met his gaze. “How do ye know?”

“The arrowhead had no barbs—which is damned lucky for me. The feathers on the end are no’ goose feathers. MacLeod bowyers and blacksmiths are particularly proud of their weaponry, and their arrows are very distinct. This arrow was no’ created to kill. Its blade is too short. ‘Tis more like a training arrow. This land is used for hunting, but deer are scarce this time of year. I would guess a lad was practicing and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His brows furrowed. “The arrow came close to slicing your cheek.” 

Her heart warmed at the concern on his face. She placed the bloody cloth on the night table and used a cleaner cloth to wipe the blood from his back. “Someone was training?” Helena waited for the lie she knew was coming.

He nodded. “Had it been a lad out playing in the field, he would have pissed himself had he learned the arrow’s mark.”

She couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t her their attackers had been chasing, but Kaden. She wasn’t as good an archer as sixteen-year-old Blair—Malcom was beside himself with glee at the girl’s talent—but Helena had used a bow and arrow since she arrived at the abbey, and knew something about practice arrows. Kaden was right, a practice arrow had a shorter blade and wasn’t designed to kill. But the arrow she’d pulled from his shoulder had a blade longer than that of a practice blade.

She suspected that the MacLeods had discovered the theft of the Faery Flag, and perhaps the men she had encountered had identified her. But Kaden was too cool about the incident. If he thought the laird was after her, he would have ridden until he fell from his horse in an effort to get her as far away from their pursuers as possible. She didn’t know him well, but that much she knew. Fear stabbed. Whatever cloud he’d left the clan under was coming back to haunt him. Perhaps Mrs. Hays was wrong and he couldn’t return home.

“Ye are fortunate. It could have been worse.” Helena stood and wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “Have ye more clean cloths for me to wrap the wounds?”

“In the chest.” He twisted slightly and nodded toward the wall to the right.

Helena hurried to the chest, knelt and opened the lid. As she began to pull out folded cloths, she noticed a small metal pin in the right-hand corner. She picked it up and examined it. The gold pin was of two half-moons with a sword along the middle. The words Hold fast were etched along the blade of the miniature sword.

Hold fast. The MacLeod clan motto. Helena had seen similar pins worn by the eldest son of a clan and the next heir in line. She had known Mrs. Hays was telling the truth about Kaden. Still, seeing the pin, the proof that he was the rightful heir to the castle, made her stomach do a somersault. Why had he denied his place as leader of the MacLeods? Had this Caeleb forced him out? Anger shot through her. Had someone shot at him in order to keep him away from his clan, away from his rightful place as laird?

“Helena?”

She jarred from her thoughts.

“God’s teeth,” he muttered. “Ye found the pin.”

She rose, the pin in hand, and faced him.

“How much did Maggie tell ye?” he asked.

“Enough,” she replied.

His eyes were still dull with pain, but he gave her a narrow-eyed scowl. “I have come to know ye well enough by now, lass, to know that you will allow me to think you know more than you do.”

She was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to shake the truth from him. “I know that that arrow is no’ a practice arrow.”

He stared at her for two heartbeats. “You know how to handle bow and arrow?”

She nodded. “Aye. And I know you left the MacLeods under a cloud. ‘Tis clear they forced you out, and someone tried to kill ye today in an effort to keep you away from your inheritance.”

He gave a hoarse laugh that turned into a coughing fit. She hurried to his side. “I am upsetting you. I am a fool,” she muttered.

He chuckled, this time low and without effort. “A beautiful fool. Lass, you are only half right, and the half you have wrong is very wrong.”

Helena hesitated, then said. “Stay still while I fetch the cloth to wrap your wounds.” She jumped to her feet and hurried back to the chest. She put the pin back in the chest and pulled out the cloths, then returned to the bed.

Helena sat beside him, then said, “I told you my story. Now you will tell me yours.”

He sighed, then began, “You're right. I was to be laird. But I wasnae forced out. I left of my own accord.”

“But why?” she asked.

“Two years ago, my father hanged my brother, his son, for treason.”

Helena drew a sharp breath. “God have mercy. What did your brother do?”

He leaned against the wall. “Give me that whisky.”

She handed him the bottle.

He took a long swig, then rested it on the mattress between them and looked at her. “Three years ago, my brother stole the Faery Flag.”

“What?” Helena blurted. “He stole the flag?”

“Aye. I was furious. But it was my fury that got him charged with treason and hung.”

Her head whirled. “How did ye get him hanged? It was he who stole the flag.” She couldn’t believe it.

Kaden took another drink of whisky. “There was a woman, someone I… She testified against him.”

Helena’s pulse quickened. Someone he what? Loved? Aye, loved. He hadn’t said it, but the truth was clear.

“You confided in her and she told your father,” Helena said.

He nodded. “My brother was guilty. Still, I didnae believe my father would hang Liam, especially given that the flag was a forgery.”

“A forgery?” She had entered a nightmare. “I-I dinnae understand.”

He gave her a gentle look. “Love, the real Faery Flag, if it ever existed, was lost long ago. Who knows how.” He laughed. “Someone probably stole it. When I was a lad, my father told me it was a forgery. Each laird is told the truth—but we are sworn to tell no one. That’s why Liam didn’t know.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why maintain the lie?” But before he answered, she knew. “The flag is the MacLeods’ greatest treasure.”

He nodded.

“But why hang your brother? Why not just replace the forgery with another forgery?” she asked.

When my mother died four years ago, my father changed.” His eyes clouded. “He saw conspiracy where there was none. He was convinced Liam intended to kill him and claim he was laird. Still, I never believed he would hang Liam. I thought he simply intended to punish him, but when Rhona came forward it pushed him over the edge.”

The pain in his voice made her want to cry. “A forgery or no, that flag is cursed,” she muttered. A thought struck. “If ye knew I stole the forgery, why protect me?”

He brushed her cheek with a finger. She was relieved to see his hand no longer shook. “I told ye. I did no’ want anything bad to happen to ye.” He shrugged. “And you had to decide on your own to return it.”

“Just as your brother should have.” She laid a hand on his and he turned his hand, palm up, and clasped her fingers. “It wasnae your fault your brother stole the flag,” she said.

“Nae,” he said. “But I had a hand in his death.”

She cupped his face with her hands. “You no more had a hand in his death than you did in his stealing the flag. Did he offer to return it?”

Kaden shook his head and she reluctantly released him. “Two days after he stole it, my father’s men caught him on Donald land with… By God,” he blurted in unison with her gasp.

“Sweet heaven,” she whispered. “Is it possible your brother…” She couldn’t finish.

“Really did commit treason?” Kaden finished for her. The dull look was gone from his eyes, replaced by blazing fury. “I cannae believe it is a coincidence that he was on Donald land and Malcom sent ye here to steal the flag.”

Helena shook her head. “He has lusted after the flag for many years. I wondered why he sent me in the dead of winter to steal it.” Understanding struck. “Gwen.”

“What?” he demanded.

“Gwendolyn, the laird’s new wife.”

“She is Malcolm’s spy,” he said.

Helena nodded. “When she didnae return to the abbey, we thought she met an ill fate. Malcolm must have been furious when she married the laird.”

Kaden gave a slow nod. “And he decided to extract revenge by stealing the MacLeod’s greatest treasure.” Kaden slammed his hand down on the small table beside the bed. Helena jumped.

His head snapped in her direction. “Forgive me, lass.” He released a breath. “I didnae mean to frighten ye.” His eyes narrowed. “Is Malcolm responsible for the bruises on your arm?”

She flushed.

“Son of a whoreson,” he cursed.

Shame heated her cheeks to flaming.

His expression abruptly gentled. “It isnae your fault, lass.” She started to argue, but he lifted a brow and added, “No more than is it my fault that my brother was hanged.”

She couldn’t help a small smile. “Ye dinnae mind using my words against me when it suits ye.”

A corner of his mouth lifted in a tired smile. “I cannae argue with sound logic.”

A strange sense of relief washed over her. “We are two lost souls, aye?”

“So it would seem.”

“What now?” she asked.

“You are going to give the flag to Malcolm and let him believe ‘tis the real Faery Flag.”

Helena blinked. “But the MacLeods—”

“—will immediately learn that Malcolm has their Faery Flag,” he cut in.

She couldn’t believe it. The answer was so simple. Malcolm wouldn’t have time to worry about her. She would leave, begin a new life, just as she’d planned.

Her heart began to pound. “Once I give Malcolm the flag, I will have to slip away, for when the MacLeods catch him, he will tell them I am the thief and they will hang me as they did your brother.”

Determination lit his gaze. “Ye will go nowhere near Malcolm Donald—ever.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “Malcolm will receive the flag with a letter from you telling him ye have left Skye.”

“I am leaving Skye?” It was what she had planned, but now…

He hesitated. “I am no longer laird—I am no one, in fact. I cannae offer ye much, but—”

“Aye,” she interrupted.

“Aye?” he repeated.

“Aye, if ye want me, I will stay.”

“If I want ye?” he whispered. “Aye, lass. I want ye.”

But it couldn’t be, she realized. “The MacLeods.” Helena shook her head. “I willnae have them coming after you because of me.”

He locked eyes with hers. “Do ye trust me, lass?”

She was startled to find she did, and nodded.  

His eyes dropped to her mouth. Butterflies skittered across the insides of her stomach. His lips were just a hair’s breadth from hers. When Kaden covered her mouth with his, she melted into his warmth. Was this love? He broke the kiss and her head spun when he nuzzled her neck.

“I will protect you from Malcolm, from the MacLeods—from the world,” he whispered.

Tears pricked. “I cannae ask you to do that.”

He drew back and tilted her face upward with a finger beneath her chin. “Ye didnae ask.”

“I—”

“Hush,” he cut her off. “Would ye argue with a wounded man?”

She drew a sharp breath and he kissed her again. This time, much longer.

 

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