The Saint (50 page)

Magnus sat there not knowing what do say. Sutherland was the last person he would have expected to say this to him.

“She’s better off without me,” he finally said. “Have you forgotten the risk she could be in?”

“The way I see it, she’s at risk already with Gordon’s name circulating. You can keep her safe.” He gave a decidedly evil laugh. “You can look after her for a while.”

But Magnus had known Sutherland too long. “Why are you really doing this? I can’t believe it’s just to see your sister happy.”

Sutherland’s mouth tightened. “You’re a suspicious bastard. Whatever else you might think of me, I do care about
my sister. But all right. There is something. The way I see it, I’m standing in the way of something you want, and you’re standing in the way of something I want. I suggest we both swallow our pride and step aside.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed, suspecting the answer to the question he was about to ask. “And what do you want?”

Sutherland gave him a hard look. “To be part of the secret army.”

It was proof of his prodigious control that Magnus didn’t explode in anger the way he wanted to. “Over my dead body.”

“Aye, well I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I intend to make my case whether you agree to step aside or not. Though I admit it will be easier if you do.”

“You’ll have to defeat me on the battlefield first. You’re supposed to be the best at something—and being the best at losing your temper doesn’t count.”

“Aye, well, I’m working on that, too. I could have killed her.”

Magnus’s fingers bit into the metal engravings on the flagon, remembering how close the blade had come to Helen. “Have you talked to the king about this?”

Sutherland shrugged. Perhaps sensing that he’d pushed Magnus as far as he could this night, he stood to leave. “Just think about what I’ve said. But you might not want to take too long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Helen’s packing. She’s leaving with Will and Muriel in the morning.”

Magnus went cold.
Leaving?
Stunned, he barely even noticed when Sutherland walked away.

How could she leave him like this? It was just like last time, when he’d watched her ride out the next morning with her family. Pride had prevented him from going after her then.

Sutherland’s words came back to him. But damn it, he was nothing like Munro …

Too stubborn. Too proud. Blind to what was in front of him.

Munro’s stubborn refusal to accept Bruce as king had cost him everything. And Magnus’s stubborn refusal to forgive himself was about to cost him the same.

Ah hell
.

Helen had just slid the chemise over her damp head when the door opened. The blast of cool air sent the warm, sultry air from her bath right out the door.

Her heart startled in panic, before coming to a jerking stop upon seeing Magnus standing in the doorway. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes moved to the tub of steamy water, and then to her damp hair and barely covered body. He lifted his brow. “Looks like I’m a few minutes too late.”

Her cheeks warmed from the suggestiveness of his tone, but she refused to let her desire for him weaken her resolve. “What are you doing here, Magnus?”

His gaze flickered to the small pile of belongings she’d stacked on the bed to place in Muriel’s trunk in the morning. Most of the items were hers, anyway.

“I heard you were leaving me again, but I didn’t want to believe you would give up so easily.”

“Easily?” she sputtered. How dare he! She’d been fighting for months to change his stubborn mind.

“You aren’t taking much,” he pointed out, ignoring her outraged glare.

“My trunks were in the other tower. The one that
burned,” she reminded him. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling?”

“I was just thinking what a misfortune it was to lose all those fashionable new gowns of yours.”

The wretch! Helen crossed her arms. “I’ll just have to order some more.”

He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave her was a definite “We’ll see about that.”

Why was he acting like he had some kind of hold on her? As if he had a say over anything she did. Had he not heard her refusal?

Apparently not.

Helen’s eyes widened in shock when he started to remove his
cotun
. He tossed it on the chair and then lifted off the linen shirt underneath. The next minute she was staring at his naked chest. Her mouth started to water and her legs started to quiver. Tanned, broad, chiseled with layers of well-defined muscle gleaming in the candlelight, it really was magnificent.

And the churl knew it. He knew exactly what the sight of his bare chest was doing to her. He was fighting dirty now. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“The bath looks good. I hate to waste all that warm water.”

“I thought you liked cold lochs.”

He laughed. “Aye, well, I suspect I won’t be needing those quite as often.”

She didn’t understand. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I
refused
your offer of marriage.”

He shot her an annoyed glare. “Oh, I heard you.”

Whatever she might have said was lost when he loosened the ties of his chausses, and then his braies. Both dropped to the floor with a wicked, blood-rushing thud. Completely, perfectly, and mouthwateringly naked, he stepped into the bath, sinking into the warm water with a groan that sent a shiver of desire right to her toes. “God, this feels good.”

He sank under the water, popping back up a moment later with his hair slicked back from his face. He rested his arms on the rim of the wooden tub and sat back to watch her. Helen had the distinct Lord of the Castle impression, with her playing the role of bidding lady. He’d probably ask her to wash him next!

“You can’t do this.” She eyed the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“If you’re waiting for your brother to come bursting through the door and interrupt us again, you’ve nothing to worry about. He’s the one who told me you were leaving.”

She gaped at him in astonishment, as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads. “Was he breathing when you left him?”

Magnus smiled. “For now. I can’t promise how long it will last, but we’ve reached something of an understanding.”

Her already weakened legs gave out completely, and she sank on the bed behind her. “An understanding?”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up. We aren’t friends—more like reluctant allies.”

“Allies in what?”

“You.” His smile fell, his expression becoming serious. Their eyes met. “I figure if my worst enemy can forgive me, I can forgive myself.”

She sucked in her breath, realizing what he meant. “William?”

He nodded. “Who the hell thought your brother would say something worthwhile, let alone find some wisdom to impart?” He looked into her eyes intently, his expression turning grave. “I wish to God it had never happened, but it did. I did what I had to do and would do it again if necessary. Just as Gordon would have done for me.”

She stared at him. This man who’d held her heart for so long. She probed every corner of his eyes and face, searching for a sign of guilt or anger. She knew how good he was
at hiding his emotions—at projecting the cool, calm confidence. But there was no sign of anything but relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Ask me anything, Helen. If you want to talk about him I will.”

Helen shook her head, emotion welling in her eyes and throat. It had never been about William, but about his ghost. The dark sadness that had hovered around Magnus that she’d never understood. But now she did. And miraculously, some of that sadness had dissipated.

His eyes met hers. “Are we going to keep making the same mistakes? Marry me, Helen. However many times you refuse me, I’m going to keep asking until you give me the right answer.”

Helen’s chest swelled with joy. She’d longed for this moment for so many years, it didn’t seem possible that everything she wanted was finally within her grasp.

Well, not quite everything she wanted. There was one more thing they had to discuss before she agreed. She bit her lip, anticipating his reaction. “I wasn’t going to give up, you know.”

He frowned. “You weren’t leaving?”

Instead of answering, she reached for the note that sat atop the pile of belongings and handed it to him.

“This has the king’s seal,” he said, examining it.

“Read it. If necessary I will ask him to reseal it.”

Breaking the glob of hardened wax with a snap, Magnus unfolded the parchment and scanned the missive. As a chief’s heir, he’d had some learning. Enough to read the short note in Gaelic addressed to Tor MacLeod.

Magnus’s face darkened as he read. By the time he’d finished, he looked up at her with such a fierce expression, it might have caused a less determined woman to have second thoughts.

In a cold, final voice that brokered no argument, he said (or rather shouted), “Absolutely not!”

*   *   *

Magnus stood from the bath, grabbing the damp drying cloth she’d used to brush the water from his skin. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped out of the tub and took her by the arm, lifting her from the bed to face him.

Was she out of her mind? Had the king gone completely mad?

“I won’t allow it.”

She tilted that pixieish face to his. If he’d been any less furious, her pursed mouth and flashing eyes might have made him exercise a bit more diplomacy. “As you have no say in the matter, I’m afraid what you will or will not allow is immaterial.”

He growled—actually growled. “If you think I’m going to let you become a part of this you are out of your bloody mind. I don’t want you anywhere near our missions. Don’t you know how dangerous—”

“Of course I know how dangerous it is! That’s why I’ve decided to be the healer for your secret army. What did the king call it, ‘The Highland Guard’? Aye, that’s it. And it’s not as if I’m planning on picking up a weapon and rushing into battle with you. I’ll just be nearby if you or any of the others need me.”

“Ah well, that’s a relief,” he bit out with heavy sarcasm.

Her eyes narrowed at him angrily. “It is hardly unusual to have a healer waiting nearby to tend the wounded after battle. Plenty of women follow their men into battle.”

Her dismissiveness only fueled the angry fires licking through his blood. “Not
my
woman.”

“I’m not your woman,” she reminded him calmly. “I haven’t said I will marry you.”

He dragged her against him. Molded her body to his, the thin fabric a paltry barrier to the heat that combusted between them. “You’ll marry me, all right. If I have to drag you kicking and screaming to the church, you’ll marry me.”

And then to prove it, he kissed her. Hard. With a fierce possessiveness that left no doubt of his words. She was his.

His tongue lashed against hers, probing the sweet, warm depths of her mouth. He sucked in her gasp, sucking in her breath, feeding the wild frenzy of emotion lashing inside him.

Her body melted against his. Breasts. Hips. Legs and arms entwined. Her fingers clutched at him, drawing him closer.

He groaned when her tongue wrapped around his, meeting the frenzied desperation with some of her own.

Suddenly, she tore her mouth away with a harsh gasp. She was breathing hard, her lips swollen and eyes hazy with passion. “It won’t work, Magnus. You’re not going to change my mind like this. You aren’t the only one who can be stubborn.”

The determination in her voice only increased his own. His eyes blazed into hers with fiery challenge. “We’ll see about that.”

In one smooth motion, he grabbed the gap at the neck of her chemise and pulled it apart, ripping the thin linen fabric from nape to seam.

She gasped in outrage, trying to clasp the torn edges together, but he was having none of it. Tearing the towel from around his waist, he pushed her back on the bed. In a naked tangle of limbs and shredded fabric, he pinned her with his body.

He looked down into her eyes. Looked at the face that had haunted him since he was barely a man. He loved her so much it hurt. “You’re mine, Helen. Mine,” his voice broke, not with possessiveness but with love.

She reached up and cupped his face in her tiny hand. “I know.”

Her eyes glistened with tears of happiness. He kissed her again. Far gentler this time, with all the love and tenderness erupting in his chest.

She opened to him. Her mouth. Her body.

Holding her tight, he slid inside her. Slowly. Wanting to feel every inch of her body taking him in, every inch of connection, every inch of his love for her. And when he’d reached the deepest part he stilled, holding her to him with his gaze. Then, he nudged a little deeper.

It was the sweetest gasp he’d ever heard. A gasp to hold his heart forever.

“I love you,
m’aingeal
,” he said softly.

The smile that lit her face was unlike any he’d ever seen. “I love you, too.”

He held her gaze and started to move his hips. Slowly at first, in small grinding circles.

Her legs tightened around his. Her breath started to quicken. Her eyes lost focus and her cheeks started to flush.