The Saint (28 page)

Helen was surprised—and grateful—to have Donald come to her defense.

Will had the belligerent look in his eye of a man who knew he’d been beaten but didn’t want to admit it. “If you go, you will leave us without a healer.”

“You have a healer if you want one, Will. Muriel will come back if you ask her.”

A strange look crossed his face. Longing? Regret? Anger? Helen didn’t know, but she was certain she’d guessed correctly: there was something between Will and Muriel.

Or, at least, there had been.

His mouth thinned. “She puts too high a price on her return.”

Helen smiled sadly. She suspected the source of conflict for her brother, and perhaps more than anyone, understood his struggle. Love and duty rarely twined together. “Then I suppose you must decide how badly you need her.”

Muriel pulled the cloak over her head and hurried across the narrow streets and wynds of Inverness. As the sun fell over the horizon, a damp mist had descended over the royal burgh, blanketing the hills and rooftops in a murky haze.

Normally the short walk from the guild to the small room the Earl of Ross had rented for her above the cobbler’s shop was a pleasant way to stretch her legs after a long day’s work. But on a ghostly night like tonight, she wished she’d accepted Lord Henry’s offer to escort her.

Lord Henry was a new master physician, and she was grateful for his friendship, of which she’d had precious little since arriving in Inverness. To say that the physicians of the guild did not welcome her was an understatement.

But friendship was not all Lord Henry wanted, and she knew it would be wrong to encourage him. Right now her focus was on knocking down whatever obstacles the venerable physicians put in her path, and not making any mistakes while she completed her apprenticeship. She couldn’t give them any excuse to get rid of her. And so far, to her surprise as much as she suspected to theirs, she was doing just that—and perhaps even winning a few supporters along the way.

But focus on her work was not the only reason she did not wish to encourage Lord Henry. Her chest pinched. Someday she would put the Earl of Sutherland behind her. But that day had not yet come. It would, though. By all that was holy, it would.

When she’d first realized Will was looking for her, she’d foolishly thought he’d wanted her back. Not trusting herself to be strong enough to refuse, she’d avoided his messengers. It wasn’t until Donald cornered her as she left the guild that she’d learned the truth: Will hadn’t wanted her back at all. It was the king who’d needed her.

Stung, she’d sent her reply, knowing well that in issuing the petty challenge she was ensuring he would never come for her. William Sutherland of Moray, the proud Earl of Sutherland, would not lower himself to chase after anyone. Even the woman he professed to love. Not when she’d spurned that love—or rather, his “offer.”

As she turned the corner onto the high street, her step slowed. The street was well lit, a hubbub of activity, filled with merchants, alehouses, and even an inn. The noise was oddly reassuring.

Her room was just up the road ahead. She could make out the torch that the cobbler had left for her as she walked past the alehouse. The sounds of shouts and breaking glass weren’t all that unusual. But a moment later, a man stumbled out—or more accurately, was shoved out—right into her path. Unable to avoid a collision, she bumped into him and barely caught herself from falling.

“Pardon,” she murmured, instinctively trying to move away. But he caught her around the waist and spun her back to him.

“What do we have here?” he slurred, the stench of ale heavy on his breath. He was a big man, heavy and blunt-featured.
A soldier
. Ice ran down her spine. His arm tightened around her waist and he drew his heavily bearded face closer. “Ye’re a pretty littl’ piece, aren’t ye?”

Helen recoiled from the look in his eyes. Panic rose to wrap around her throat.
No, no, no! Not again!
She couldn’t go through it again.

“Let go of me!” she choked, trying to pull away.

He laughed. “What’s the hurry, pretty? We’re just getting to know one other.”

He wiggled her against his body. The feel of his hardened member sent a fresh burst of panic surging through her. She went half-crazed, hitting him, pushing against him with everything she had, knowing she had to get away.

“What the—?” His voice was cut off.

A black shadow crossed in front of her, and suddenly she was free. She heard the crush of bone as a fist slammed into the jaw of the brute who’d accosted her. He flew backward, landing on the stone ground in front of her. She could see the flash of steel in the torchlight from the blade at his throat.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you,” her rescuer said.

Muriel gasped. “Will!”

The dark, shadowy figure turned toward her. Their eyes caught, and she staggered.

He swore, lurching forward to catch her before she fell. He tucked her to his chest with one arm, the other still holding the sword, and she collapsed against him. “It’s all right,” he said softly, holding her up. “You’re safe.”

Will. He was really here! The soothing sound of his voice was like a dream come true.

The man on the ground took the opportunity to escape. Will started after him, but Muriel clung to him like a lifeline. “Just let him go,” she sobbed, the fear that had gripped her releasing in a flood of tears. “Don’t leave me.”

He held her close as he led her down the street to her room at the cobbler’s. He must have been waiting for her when he’d seen the man accost her.

He’d been waiting for her
. Could it mean …?

Treacherous hope kindled in her chest.

He opened the door and led her into the shop. After lighting a candle, he sat her in a chair, while he went to the back of the shop and rummaged around for something. A moment later, he was back at her side, holding out a cup. “Here, it’s all I could find.”

Her nose wrinkled at the smell, but she drank the foul-tasting, fiery brew without protest. The whisky burned a path down her throat, warming the chill from her blood.

When some of the shock had worn off, she stared at him in disbelief. “You came.”

His handsome face hardened. “It’s a good thing I did. Damn it, Muriel, what were you thinking? You should know better than to walk alone at night. Don’t you know—”

He stopped, a look of shame washing over him.

She flinched. “Aye, I know what could have happened.”

“I didn’t mean …”

She laughed at his discomfort. “To remind me? God, Will, do you think I could ever forget? Do you think I didn’t see the men who raped me in his eyes? Do you think I wasn’t remembering every moment of that day in my head?” He reached for her, but she turned away. Pity wasn’t what she wanted from him. “Do you think I could forget what those men cost me?”

She’d been fourteen. The war had reached Berwick-upon-Tweed, and King Edward’s men had flooded the city. Her father had been at the hospital caring for the wounded when the soldiers came. Eight of them. Each one taking a turn raping her before they tossed her in the street like garbage. One of her neighbors had found her battered and bleeding to death in the street. Someone had sent for her father. He’d managed to save her life, but not all of her could be healed.

Because of what those men did to her, she would never be able to give Will a son and heir. Nothing she could do would change that.

They never should have fallen in love, the earl’s heir and the physician’s daughter. The first couple of years after she arrived at Dunrobin he’d barely seemed to acknowledge her. But perhaps she’d just been too wrapped up in her own pain to notice. Their friendship started out slowly at first, she’d thought, by accident. He’d be walking along the beach at the same time she was, or she’d run into him on the way back from tending one of the clansmen.

She’d been nervous around him at first—scared, really—the handsome young heir to the earldom. But after a while the wariness lessened. She began to trust him. She began to like him. He was kinder than she’d realized. Funnier, too. Single-handedly, he’d wooed her back into the realm of the living.

She’d begun to dream.

And miraculously, it seemed her dreams were answered. When she finally shared the truth of her past with him, he’d held her in his arms and comforted her. And then he’d kissed her—so tenderly—and told her that he loved her. She’d never forget the hope of that moment. It was beyond her wildest dreams. She thought it surprised even him. They reveled in their newfound feelings—in her slowly awakening passion—for months.

Until he asked her to marry him. He would have ignored his duty to marry for the benefit of the clan and taken a woman with only a few pounds to her name as his wife. But then she told him she would never be able to give him a son. That was the one duty he could not ignore.

They’d existed in a state of perdition for nearly two years, the hopelessness of the situation making them both miserable. But it wasn’t until he’d made his “offer” that she’d broken it off. He’d refused to accept it, in anger reverting to the cold, imperious earl he appeared to everyone else.

But now he was here. Thank God, he’d come just in time. She cleared the emotion from her throat with a hard
swallow and lifted her gaze back to his. “I let my guard down. It’s a short walk from the guild, and I’ve grown accustomed to walking by myself. I shall take precaution next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

The imperialistic tone in his voice should have alerted her, but she couldn’t tamp the pang of hope. Had he reconsidered? Had he decided to put aside his duty to marry her?

She didn’t believe it. Not really. But the ache of hope in her chest proclaimed her a liar.

“Why are you here, Will?” she asked quietly.

He bristled. “I’ve come to fetch you back myself as you commanded.”

“But why?” She held his gaze, but he turned away.

“You are needed.”
Not “I need you.” Not “I can’t live without you.” Not “I love you.”
“Helen decided to accompany the king on his progress.”

How was it possible that she still could feel disappointment? She took a deep breath. “So you came to bring me back as your healer?”

He flinched at the hollowness in her voice. Had she pricked his elusive conscience? “Aye.”

I’m a fool
. Nothing had changed. She couldn’t blame him for not marrying her. She understood his duty. But she did blame him for not letting her go.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave right now. I’m in the middle of—”

“I shall speak to them. You will be allowed to return when you wish.”

His disregard for her work, as well as his certainty that the men would bow to the great Earl of Sutherland, infuriated her. “No, Will. I said no!”

His eyes sparked dangerously. God, how he hated to be denied! “Damn it, Muriel.” Before she realized what he intended to do, he grabbed her arm, hauled her up against him, and covered her mouth with his.

Her traitorous heart shattered at the contact. The first familiar taste of him drenched her with heat and happiness. Emotions she’d been trying to suppress broke free in an instant.

His kiss was bruising, punishing, his lips plundering with every demanding stroke. His passion for her had always been her weakness. He’d never kissed her like a damaged piece of china, he’d kissed her like a woman who could feel passion.

And God help her for a fool, she did. She slid her tongue against his and kissed him back every bit as ravenously, every bit as desperately. She loved him so much and wanted every inch of him. She clutched the steely muscles of his back, pressing herself more firmly against him. She loved the way he felt against her. Hard and strong. Warm and safe.

He groaned into her mouth, digging his fingers through her hair to bring her mouth more firmly against him. He opened her mouth wider, slid his tongue in deeper, stroking her harder and harder.

He was losing control. She could feel the stiff facade of the earl start to break apart and the warm, passionate man she’d fallen in love with begin to shine through.

But then he remembered himself.

With a fierce groan, he tore away. In profile, she watched the heaviness of his breath start to slow as he composed himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” His eyes locked on hers. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not why I came.”

Muriel thought her heart was done breaking, but she was crumbling inside. He’d remembered his duty. The stiff, formidable earl had returned. The man who wouldn’t be denied. The man whose love would make her a whore.

“It will only be for a short while. Until a suitable replacement can be found.”

Her chest burned.
A wife. The woman who would take her place. Oh God
. She couldn’t bear it.

She would have refused him again, but he knew her weakness.

“You owe me, Muriel. You owe my family.”

She staggered at the blow. The expertly wielded dagger that pierced her heart. He was right. She did owe him. His family had taken her in and given her a place to heal. When her father died, Will had not forced her to take a husband like anyone else would have done. It didn’t matter that his motivation was selfish. But she hated him for using her gratitude against her. He’d given her freedom; now he was taking it away.