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mattered to him—that she mattered to him.
    “Is everything all right, Helen?”
    She blinked up at her eldest brother. “You stopped,” Will pointed out.
    “I …”
    Every instinct clamored
stop, do not do this
.
    “She’s fine.” Kenneth had come behind them. “Come, sister, your betrothed is waiting.”
    Though he said it gently, there was a look in his eyes that cautioned her against doing something “wayward.” It was too late to change her mind.
    For once, he and Magnus were in accord.
    Swallowing through the hot ball of longing and regret that seemed lodged in her lungs, Helen nodded. When her brothers stepped forward, she moved along with them.
    If her hand trembled as her brother placed it in her betrothed’s, she did not notice. In a trance, she stood to the left of William—as women had been formed from the left side of Adam—and faced the church door. As was tradition, the first part of the ceremony would be conducted outside, with the final blessing to take place inside the chapel before the altar.
    Thus it was that she was married to William Gordon in the same place she’d made a fool of herself earlier, with the man she’d thrown herself at not five feet away.
    She was aware of Magnus the entire time, a solid, dark presence, hovering on the periphery of her vision, as she responded to the vows that would bind her to another man forever. He did not move, did not voice an objection when the priest asked if anyone knew of any reason this couple should not be married (had she really hoped he would?), and did not once look in her direction.
    With William’s betrothal ring firmly on her finger, she followed the priest inside the dark chapel and knelt beside William as the marriage was solemnized before God. When it was over, William kissed her lightly on her dry lips, tookher hand, and led her out of the chapel as his wife to a roar of cheers.
    She barely noticed. It was almost as if she weren’t there. The pale, serene figure standing beside him wasn’t her. The shy smiles and murmured pleasantries in reply to the storm of congratulations heaped upon her did not come from her. That woman was a stranger.
    It was as if part of her had died. The part with hopes and dreams. The part that thought everything would work out in the end. What was left was a shell of the woman she’d been before. In her place was the woman who did what was expected. The woman who sat beside her new husband throughout the long wedding feast and pretended that her heart had not broken. Who ate from among the endless platters of food and jugs wine and celebrated with the rest of the clansmen in the Great Hall of Dunstaffnage Castle.
    She fooled them all.
    “It’s about time.”
    Helen turned to the king, who’d spoken. As in the morning, she’d been given the seat of honor to his right. Robert the Bruce, who’d won his crown on a battlefield, cut an impressive figure. Dark-haired and sharp-featured, he would have been considered handsome even if he were not a king and one of the greatest knights in Christendom. “About time for what, Sire?”
    He smiled at her. “It seems your wedding feast is a great success. Everyone is having fun.”
    William, who was on her right, must have overheard. He leaned forward and grinned. “Highlanders know how to celebrate as well as they know how to fight.”
    Bruce laughed. “Aye, that they do.” He nodded toward a table to the right. “I’ve just never seen
that
Highlander do
that
kind of celebrating.”
    Helen was smiling as she turned in the direction of his gaze. But the smile froze in a mask of horror. She could feelevery ounce of blood drain from her face as pain stabbed like a knife of fire through her chest, claiming her breath.
    In the midst of dancing clansmen and drunken revelers, Magnus sat on a bench with a serving maid in his lap. He had one big hand on her hip, holding her firmly against him, as the other gripped the back of her head and held her face to his. He