The Saint (3 page)

She blanched, knowing he was right. She’d escaped a betrothal this long only because her father was ill and needed her.

Her heart stopped. Oh God, who would take care of her father? She looked at him helplessly, the enormity of the decision making her hesitate. She loved him, but she loved her family, too. How could she choose between them?

He must have read her indecision. “Don’t you see, this is the only way it can be. What we have …” His voice
dropped off. “What we have is special. Don’t you want to be with me?”

“Of course, I do. But I need some time—”

“There isn’t time,” he said harshly. But he wasn’t looking at her. A moment later, she knew why.

“Get the hell away from her!”

Her heart dropped. Helen turned around to see her brother flying toward them.

Magnus saw the blood drain from Helen’s face and wished he could spare her from this moment. But it had been inevitable. They’d been fortunate to escape discovery for so long.

Although if they were going to be discovered by anyone in her family, he would rather it had been her eldest brother, William, the heir to the earldom. He at least wasn’t a complete arse. If there was anyone he disliked more than Donald Munro it was Kenneth Sutherland. He had all the arrogance and all the snide mockery of Munro, with a hot temper to boot.

Instinctively, Magnus moved around to block Helen. He knew she was close to her brother, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Sutherland was unpredictable at best, rash at worst.

Magnus caught the other man’s fist before it could slam into his jaw and pushed him back. “This isn’t any of your business, Sutherland.”

Her brother would have come at him again, but Helen stepped between them. Next to her oaf of a brother she looked as diminutive as a child. Her head barely reached the middle of his chest. But she wasn’t a child. For two long years Magnus had been waiting for her to turn eighteen. He wanted her so badly he couldn’t breathe. This impish, fey creature, with her big blue eyes, freckled upturned nose, and wild mane of glorious deep red hair. Hers
was not a conventional beauty, but to him, there was no one more breathtaking.

“Please, Kenneth, it’s not what you think.”

Sutherland’s eyes sparked with outrage. “It’s exactly what I think. I knew there was something wrong at the competition, but I didn’t want to believe it.” His gaze softened as he met his sister’s. “Good God, a MacKay, Helen? Our clan’s most reviled enemy? How could you be so disloyal?”

Helen flinched with guilt, and Magnus swore. “Leave her out of this. If you want to take your anger out on someone, take it out on me.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “With pleasure.” He reached for his sword. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“A bold claim for someone who has never bested me in anything.”

Sutherland snarled with fury. Helen cried out and launched herself at her brother. “No, please,” tears were sliding down her cheeks, “don’t do this, I-I love him.”

Magnus had been reaching for his own sword, but her words stopped him. His heart slammed in his chest. She loved him. She’d never said so before, and after their recent conversation he hadn’t been so sure. Warmth settled over him. He’d been right. They were meant to be together. She felt it, too.

With more gentleness than Magnus would have thought him capable, her arse of a brother said, “Ah, Helen.” He stroked her cheek fondly. “You’re too young, love. You don’t know what you are saying. Of course you think you’re in love with him. You’re eighteen. That’s what young girls do, they fall in love.”

She shook her head fervently. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” he said. Had Magnus not seen it himself, he would never have imagined Kenneth Sutherland could be so—God forbid!—
tender
. But maybe Helen had a way of bringing out the softer side in everyone. He
just hadn’t realized Sutherland
had
a softer side. “You love to love,” Sutherland continued. “God chose the first of May for your saint’s day for a reason. Every day is like May Day to you. But how well can you know him?” Helen bit her lip, and Sutherland’s expression narrowed. “How long have you been meeting like this?”

She flushed, looking down at her feet. Magnus felt his anger rise, seeing her guilt.

“We met at the Games at Dunottar,” Magnus interjected. “By accident.”

Kenneth spun on her. “Four years ago?”

He swore when Helen nodded.

“By God, if he’s disgraced you, I’ll string him up by his bollocks and see him gelded—”

“He’s done nothing,” Helen interrupted, putting her hand on her brother to hold him back. Remarkably, it seemed to work. “He’s treated me with perfect courtesy.”

Magnus frowned, hearing something odd in her voice. It almost sounded like disappointment. “Have care what you say, Sutherland. You have a right to your anger, but I will not allow you to impugn your sister’s honor or mine.”

It might have taken every last shred of his control, but Magnus hadn’t done more than kiss Helen. He wouldn’t dishonor her like that. He’d wait until they were married, and then he’d dishonor her plenty. The sweet taste of her lips on his still haunted him. But it had been as much care for her innocence as lack of confidence in his own control that had caused him to pull away.

Sutherland’s face darkened, as if he knew exactly what Magnus was thinking. “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before you get the chance.” He shot Magnus a look that promised retribution and folded his sister under his arm as if to protect her from something repugnant. “Come, Helen, we’re leaving.”

Helen shook her head and tried to pull away. “No, I—”

She looked to Magnus helplessly. His mouth tightened.
She had only to say the word, and he’d claim her right now. He’d defeated the Sutherland champion—her brother would not stand in his way.

Sutherland put his cheek on her head, talking to her as if she were a child. “What were you thinking, lass? Your eyes are so filled with sunshine, you think it shines as brightly for everyone else. But you aren’t going to be able to make this have a happy ending. Not this time. Surely you didn’t think anything could come of this?”

Magnus had had enough. “I asked her to be my wife.”

Sutherland’s face turned so red, he appeared to choke. “God’s blood, you must be mad! I’d sooner see her married to old longshanks himself than a MacKay.”

Magnus’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword. Feud or no feud, nothing would stand in their way. “It’s not you I’ve asked.”

Both men’s eyes fell on Helen, whose pale face was ravaged by tears that looked so out of place. Helen never cried; that she was doing so told of her deep distress. She looked back and forth between them. Magnus knew she loved her brother, but she loved him, too. She’d just said so.

Magnus clenched his jaw, knowing how hard this was on her. He knew what he was asking of her. But she had to decide. It was always going to come down to this.

Sutherland did not show such restraint. “If you marry him it will renew the war between our clans.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Magnus said. He didn’t like Sutherland any better than Sutherland did him, but he’d do his best to put the feud behind him for Helen’s sake. But his father … he couldn’t be so sure.

Sutherland acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “You would turn your back on your family? On Father? He needs you.”

His voice sounded so certain. So bloody
reasonable
.

Her tear-filled eyes grew enormous in her pale face. She
looked at Magnus pleadingly and he knew. His chest started to burn.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t …”

Their eyes met. He didn’t want to believe it. But the truth was there in stark, vivid blue.

Jesus
. His gut twisted. He couldn’t believe … He’d thought …

He stiffened and turned brusquely away, holding himself perfectly still so he wouldn’t do something to shame himself like beg. The worst part was how badly he wanted to. But he had his pride, damn it. It was bad enough that Sutherland was here to witness his rejection.

Sutherland folded Helen into his arms and petted her hair. “Of course you can’t, sweetheart. MacKay couldn’t have expected you to agree to this. Only a romantic fool would have thought you’d agree to run away with him.”

Magnus could hear Sutherland laughing at him. He clenched his fists, wanting to smash the taunting grin off the bastard’s face.

Had he really expected her to run away with him?

Aye, fool that he was, he had. Helen was different. Helen wasn’t bound by convention. If she’d loved him enough, nothing would have stopped her. Knowing that was the worst part.

He would have given up everything for her, if she’d only asked.

But she never did. The next morning he watched the Sutherland tents coming down. They were leaving. Her brothers weren’t going to give her any chance to change her mind.

Robert Bruce, the Earl of Carrick, approached him with Neil Campbell just as Helen exited the castle. Her face was hidden in the hood of her dark cloak, but he would know her anywhere.

Magnus barely listened to their proposition. Barely heard the details of a secret band of elite warriors being formed
by Bruce to help defeat the English. He was too caught up in Helen. Too busy watching her leave him.

Turn back
. But she never did. She rode out of the gate, disappearing into the morning mist, and never once looked back. He watched until the last Sutherland banner had disappeared from view.

Bruce was still talking.

He wanted Magnus for his secret army. It was all he needed to hear. “I’ll do it.”

He’d do anything to get away from here.

Dunstaffnage Castle,
December 1308

He could do this, damn it. Magnus could withstand almost any kind of physical torture and pain. A tough bastard, they said of him. He needed to remember it.

He kept his gaze fastened on the trencher before him, concentrating on his meal and not what was going on around him. But the ham and cheese intended to break his fast stuck in his throat. Only the ale went down easily. Still, it wasn’t strong enough to quiet the tumult eating him up inside. If it weren’t an hour after daybreak he would have asked for whisky.

Although given the celebratory mood around him, he doubted anyone would notice if he did. The festive atmosphere reverberated from the wooden rafters laden with fragrant boughs of pine to the stone floor strewn with fresh rushes. The massive Great Hall of Dunstaffnage Castle was lit up like Beltane, with hundreds of candles and a roaring fire blazing in the fireplace behind him. But the warmth of the room couldn’t penetrate the icy shell around him.

“If you keep looking like you want to murder someone, we’ll have to change your name.”

Magnus turned to the man seated at the trestle table beside him and shot him a warning glare. Lachlan MacRuairi had an uncanny ability to find a man’s weak spot. Like the viper his war name professed him to be, he struck with deadly precision. He alone of the other members of the Highland Guard had guessed Magnus’s secret, and he never wasted an opportunity to remind him of it.

“Aye,” MacRuairi said with a shake of his head. “You look decidedly
un
saintly. Aren’t you supposed to be the calm and reasonable one?”

During the training for the Highland Guard, Erik MacSorley, the greatest seafarer in the Western Isles, had taken to calling him Saint in jest. Unlike the rest of them, Magnus didn’t spend his nights around the fire discussing the next woman he wanted to swiv. Nor did he lose his temper. When it had come to choosing war names to protect their identities, Saint had stuck.

“Sod off, MacRuairi.”

The impervious bastard just smiled. “We weren’t sure you were going to make it.”

Magnus had stayed away as long as he could, volunteering for any mission as long as it would keep him far from here. But he’d left Edward Bruce, the king’s brother and newly created Lord of Galloway, two days ago to join the other members of the Highland Guard at Dunstaffnage for the wedding of one of their own. The wedding of William Gordon, his best friend and partner, to Helen Sutherland.

My Helen
.

Nay, not his. She’d never belonged to him. He’d only thought she had.

Three years ago he’d joined Bruce’s secret guard in the attempt to escape his memories. But fate had a cruel sense of irony. Not long after arriving, he’d learned that his new partner had been recently betrothed to Helen. The Sutherlands hadn’t lost any time in ensuring she didn’t change her
mind about marrying him. Magnus had anticipated a quick betrothal; he just hadn’t anticipated it would hit so close.

For three years he’d known this day would come. He’d come to terms with it. But if it were anyone other than Gordon, Magnus would have found an excuse to stay away. Despite his appellation, self-flagellation was not something he succumbed to willingly.

“Where’s Lady Isabella?” he asked by way of a response.

MacRuairi’s mouth curved. It was still strange to see such a black-hearted bastard smile, but these past few weeks since MacRuairi had won Lady Isabella MacDuff’s freedom a second time—as well as, it seemed, her heart—the sight had become more frequent. If a bastard like MacRuairi could find love, he supposed there was hope for anyone.