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