The Saint (26 page)

She stood squarely in front of him, forcing him to look at her one more time. “Except me.”

His eyes met hers. “Except you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

Helen let him go, resisting the urge to go after him. She knew he wouldn’t change his mind right now. He was too angry. Too determined.

He wanted her, but he was intent on resisting her. Why was he being so stubborn? Why was he trying to hard so make her give up?

Her eyes widened. Was that it? Did he want her to give up? Was this some kind of test to see if she was as feckless and inconstant as before?

Helen straightened her spine, shaking off the discouragement of moments before. She wouldn’t give up. She would fight for him for as long as it took. If seducing him didn’t
work, she would wear him down in other ways. She could be stubborn, too.

But how to prove it when he was leaving, and she would remain at—

She stopped, remembering something the king had said earlier. A smile crept up her features. “What am I going to do without you?”

Perhaps they didn’t need to find out.

“Absolutely not.”

The king lifted a brow at Magnus’s bold pronouncement.

Magnus gritted his teeth and amended, “I mean, I do not believe that is a good idea, Sire. Our delay at Dunrobin means we will have much ground to cover and many places to visit. It will not be a pace for ladies.” Especially
that
lady. “Besides, you do not appear to be in any need of a healer. I thought you declared yourself healthier than you’ve felt in years?”

The king smiled. “All due to Lady Helen. That peasant diet of hers is unpalatable, but it is not without effect. She has graciously offered to continue serving as my healer on our progress.”

Graciously I’ll bet—the devious little termagant. Magnus could kill her. When the king had asked him to come to his chamber after breaking his fast to discuss their journey, he hadn’t anticipated having to fend off another one of Helen’s ploys. He was still in a rage after the trick she’d pulled last night. When he thought of some of the things he’d said to her …

A sickly heat crawled up his face. He would never have talked that way if he’d known it was Helen. Hell, he would never have done any of it, if he’d known it was Helen.

When he thought of how he’d touched her …

Damn it, he couldn’t
stop
thinking about how he’d touched her. He could still feel the lush weight of her breast in his hand, still taste her honey-sweet skin on his lips, and still hear the echo of those frantic little pants in his ear as he’d stroked her. She’d been so soft and wet, her body warm and ready for him. All he could think about was slipping inside that tight little glove and …

Devil take the little temptress, he’d been seconds away from taking her from behind like a rabid dog!

Pulling back when his body had been primed to the point of pain had taken every ounce of his strength. Then she’d pushed harder when she’d covered him with her hand. The feel of her dainty fingers wrapped around his cock had set off every primal instinct in his body. He’d been a hair’s breadth from giving in to his body’s demands. From giving in to her.

Jesus
.

Shame bit at him. How could he not have known it was her? The room had been dark and heavy with the scent of ale. He’d been drunk. But he hadn’t been
that
drunk. He should have known. Perhaps he had. Perhaps on some unconscious level he’d known it all along.

The ramifications of that were too wretched to contemplate. He’d thought he was free of her, but what if he could never be free?

And now that he’d touched her, felt her body respond to him, it was even worse. She was in his blood. He’d unleashed his passion and there was no pulling it back.

Damn her, this was all her fault. And now she was trying to insinuate herself further into this living hell of his consciousness by attaching herself to their progress. A fresh wave of anger hit. “If you would like someone to accompany us, your grace, I can send for the royal physician in Edinburgh.”

The king’s gaze hardened. “I don’t want the royal physician,
I want Lady Helen. None of the concoctions that Lord Oliver forced down my throat did a tenth of the good that Lady Helen has done.”

Magnus could hear the king’s heels digging in and knew he’d better switch tactics. Perhaps an appeal to his chivalrous nature? “I will ensure that Lady Helen’s instructions are seen to. It is not necessary to put her in danger. We might be at peace, but the roads are still no place for a lady.”

But Bruce waved off his concern. “Women are usually part of a royal progress. Indeed, were my wife and daughter not in England, I would have them here with me. The lady will be safe enough with you and her brother to protect her.”

Magnus stilled. He clenched his fists, trying to hold back his anger. But this battle he was losing. “Sutherland?” he spit out. “You can’t be serious!”

The first spark of anger flashed in the king’s dark eyes. He allowed Magnus more leeway than he gave most, but he would not have his judgment questioned. “Quite serious,” he said stonily. “I’ve been impressed with Sutherland. We can use more men like him.”

Magnus bit back the caustic retort but could feel the blood pounding in his temples. “Sutherland is dangerous. I don’t trust him.” Any of them, for that matter.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have cause for this concern?”

“A lifetime of experience.” Knowing that would not be enough, he added, “As I told you, he’s guessed Gordon’s place in the Guard and suspects mine. I’ve tried to impart the danger those kinds of suspicions could have to his family, but he’s never known when to keep his mouth shut.”

Bruce frowned and seemed to consider his response. “There is an old Saracen adage: keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. If it is as you say, it is better to have him close where we can keep an eye on him and ensure
that he is not tempted to repeat his suspicions to others.”

Magnus attempted to argue, but the king forestalled him. “What is this really about? Is there another reason you do not wish Lady Helen to accompany us that you are not telling me? I thought you and the lass were longtime friends? Childhood companions, isn’t that how you put it?”

Magnus’s mouth fell into a hard line. “I might have understated the nature of our relationship.”

“I thought you might have. I’ve noticed the lass’s efforts to catch your eye the past few weeks. I take it you are not eager to rekindle this relationship?”

Magnus shook his head.

“Because of Templar?” the king asked softly. Bruce was one of the few men who knew the truth. Magnus nodded. “Aye.”

The king studied him a moment longer. That he didn’t choose to question him further indicated he understood the nature of Magnus’s struggle and perhaps even agreed with it. “Very well. I shall do without Lady Helen’s eagle-eyed scrutiny of my meals on our journey. I will not say I won’t miss her personal attendance, but perhaps it is best that she is not drawn back into danger. We are fortunate that Gordon’s identity as a member of my ‘phantom’ guard has not been discovered. I do not wish to see the lass endangered.”

The king’s words proved ironically prophetic. Barely had Magnus enjoyed the relief of knowing that Helen would not be tormenting him for weeks on end, when disaster struck in the form of a messenger with news that changed everything.

The sun was high in the sky when the rider came thundering through the gate. Magnus was training with the men at the time and didn’t pay him much attention. Messengers were always arriving for the king. He suspected
something was wrong, however, when the king immediately summoned him and MacGregor to the laird’s solar.

They were still thick with dirt and sweat when they entered the small chamber off the Great Hall. The earl had relinquished the room for the king’s use during his stay, and it was usually filled with Bruce’s large retinue. The room was empty, however, but for Bruce and Sir Neil Campbell.

He could tell by their grim expressions that the news was not good.

“I’ve news from England,” the king said.

At first Magnus thought it must have something to do with the king’s family, who were still being held by King Edward. But then he realized that given the current occupants of the room, it must have something to do with the Guard.

It did.

“A body was retrieved from beneath the rubble at Threave.”

Magnus tensed. “He won’t be identified.”

The king gave him a sorrowful look. “I’m afraid he already has been.”

Magnus shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir Adam Gordon was sent to Roxburgh to make sure of it.”

Magnus sat, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight. “How?” he said tonelessly. “I made sure …” He let his voice fall off, unable to say the words. The horror of thinking about them was enough. He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded strained. “None of us carry anything on missions that could identify us. Gordon was careful. He wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake.”

“He didn’t,” Sir Neil responded. “But were either of you aware that he had a mark on his skin from birth?”

Ah hell
. He felt ill.

“Aye,” MacGregor said grimly. “It was on his ankle.”

Sir Neil nodded. “Aye, well apparently it was a common mark in his family. His grandfather had one as well—as did his uncle Sir Adam.”

The nausea grew worse. Magnus didn’t want to believe that it could all have been for nothing. The nightmares of his dreams had just found daylight. “If they know the truth, then why haven’t we heard anything about it?”

Bruce held up the missive. “My source says they are keeping it quiet for now until they can figure out how best to make use of the information. We were fortunate to learn of it at all.”

“How did you learn of it?”

Bruce shrugged. “It isn’t important, but I have no doubt as to its truth.”

It wasn’t the first time the king had received a message from a secret source. The spy must be trusted and important for the king not to share his identity with the members of the Guard. Magnus and some of the other guardsmen speculated that it might be De Monthermer, who’d helped the king before in the early days of his kingship. But in the end, the identity of the spy didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the king trusted the information.

God, it was true! Gordon had been unmasked.

If the English knew about Gordon, it wouldn’t take long for the information to lead them to Helen. The potential threat looming since Gordon’s death had just become real. Everything Magnus had done to protect her hadn’t been enough. She was in danger anyway.

The king’s gaze was not without sympathy. “It’s probably nothing to worry about. But in light of this new information, we must take precautions.”

Magnus hardened his resolve, but he knew he had no choice. It probably wasn’t good enough. “Lady Helen must accompany us on the progress as your healer.”

There was nothing else he could do. Everything had just
changed. He wasn’t going to be able to walk away. He’d made a promise to protect her.

He wished to hell that was all there was to it. But Magnus knew his promise to Gordon had very little to do with the fierce emotion driving him right now. The urge to protect, the fear from the thought of her being in danger—those emotions stemmed from a vicinity much nearer his heart.

The realization that Helen was in danger stripped him of all his carefully constructed walls of delusion and forced him to admit the truth. His feelings weren’t as dead as he wanted them to be. His feelings weren’t dead at all.

He might not want to love her, and God knew it was wrong of him to do so, but heaven help him, he still did.

It was late when Helen returned to the castle. Though the midsummer days were long, the last breath of daylight was flickering over the horizon.

She’d stayed longer than she had expected. But after she’d tended the arm of the fletcher’s son, who’d broken it when he fell out of a tree he’d been climbing, the family had been so grateful, they insisted she stay to eat something with them.

In addition to the five-year-old tree-climber Tommy, the fletcher had seven more children, ranging in age from sixteen months to four and ten. Once their awe at having “the lady” in their home had worn off, they’d bombarded her with questions and enchanted her with their songs; she’d lost track of time. If only she’d thought to ask for a torch before she left.

She hurried through the forest, wondering whether the king had made his decision yet. Helen had approached the king first thing in the morning with the possibility of her accompanying them on the royal progress as his healer. She’d been encouraged by his initial response—he’d seemed
quite amenable to the idea—but she knew there would be resistance from at least one of his men.

She bit her lip, acknowledging that avoiding that particular Highlander might have something to do with her lingering at the fletcher’s hearth.

But she’d lingered too long. The darker it grew, the faster her pulse raced. The forest wasn’t her favorite place at night.