The Saint (19 page)

Helen had noticed the reaction as well and seemed confused by it. “She’s fine. At least I think she is.”

The earl’s face darkened, but he followed his sister and Munro—who’d taken her arm, blast him!—into the Hall. If Magnus was relieved to know that there would be a third person present when she rubbed the salve on Munro, it didn’t do anything to take the edge off the much more powerful emotion surging through him.

Panic had started to set in. Time was running out, and Helen was nowhere nearer to convincing Magnus to give her another chance than she had been the day he arrived. Three days had passed since Muriel left, and between the meetings, hunting, falconing, and his duties attending the king, she’d barely had a chance to exchange a few words with him. Worse, it seemed that whenever a chance might occur, Donald appeared by her side.

It wasn’t by accident. She suspected a conspiracy by her brothers and Donald to keep her far away from Magnus. If only they would do so themselves. It seemed every time she turned around, the three of them and Magnus were arguing or exchanging not-so-subtle barbs.

The constant tension between her family and the man she loved was wearing on her. Naively, Helen had thought the end of the feud and the recent alliance with Bruce would make her brothers more amenable to Magnus. But every time she saw them together, her doubts of ever being able to reconcile these two important sides of her heart grew. It was clear the hatred and distrust between the men ran deep.

But she would not let that hatred stand in her way. She’d tried to do her duty to her family, allowing them to persuade
her not to marry Magnus, but she would not do so again. If only the men in her life—
all
the men in her life—weren’t so pigheaded. An alliance between the two neighboring clans could be a benefit, but how could she convince them of that?

Of course, first she had to convince Magnus. She needed time alone with him. She saw her chance when her brothers and Donald left after breaking their fast to hunt with some of the king’s men. The king himself had begged off at the last minute, claiming he had to attend to some correspondence before resuming his progress the day after tomorrow.

At first she feared Magnus would be locked up in the room with him the entire time. But when he and MacGregor headed toward the practice yard, she knew this was it. She’d watched him enough to learn that when he finished practicing, he headed down to the beach to bathe in the icy waters of the North Sea. She pursed her mouth, knowing that it wasn’t just cleanliness driving him but soreness in his arm. Yet the proud warrior was too proud to admit it troubled him.

Rather than attempt to follow him—which he’d demonstrated a frustrating ability to detect—she decided to wait for him down by the beach. Perhaps she should hide to make sure he didn’t see her and turn right back around?

If she weren’t so desperate, she might have found it rather humiliating to be chasing after a man who so obviously wished to avoid her. But she was determined not to let him go this time without a fight.

The sun was still high in the sky as Helen crossed the
barmkin
, waved at the guards positioned at the gate, and followed the path that led from the castle to the beach. Dunrobin was strategically positioned to overlook the sea, with the curtain wall running along the edge of the cliff. The steep walls made it easy to defend but impractical to descend. Instead, access to the beach was by a path that wound around the forested cliffside.

She had just turned off the main road when she heard a startled voice say, “Lady Helen!”

Her heart dropped. She glanced up to see Donald approaching on foot along the very path down which she was headed. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was him.

Forcing a smile of greeting to her face, she said, “Donald. I thought you’d gone hunting with the others.”

He shook his head. “I changed my mind.”

More likely he and her brothers had decided not to leave her alone with Magnus. But why had he been at the beach? The jetty was at the other side of the castle. All that was on this side was a long stretch of sandy white beach and a few sea caves.

“Where are you coming from?” she asked. Rarely did the men venture down here.

He grinned. “If you hoped to catch me bathing, you are too late.”

Helen blushed, embarrassed by the very thought. “You shouldn’t say such things. It isn’t … right.”

He took a step closer, backing her up to a tree. The scent of the sea enveloped her. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, but she didn’t feel that overwhelming warmth come over her that she did when Magnus stood near her.

Actually, she felt a little wary. She’d felt comfortable around Donald her entire life, but for the first time she realized what an imposing man he was. Tall, thickly built, his rough-hewn features implacable and, she had to admit, attractive, with his dark blue eyes and thick auburn hair that fell in short waves around his bearded jaw. He was around Will’s age, she knew. Older than she by a decade but still in the prime of his manhood.

She frowned, noticing that his hair had dried rather quickly.

“Why not?” he said huskily. “Surely you can see where this is headed, Helen?”

Her eyes widened. He was staring at her so intently, his eyes heavy with something that set off whispers of alarm.

Desire
, she realized.
He wants me
.

Her pulse spiked. She felt him leaning closer to her. Like a rabbit who sensed a trap, she looked around for an easy way to escape, but he put his hands on either side of her, bracing himself against the tree and blocking her in.

“Please, Donald, I don’t want—”

Her voice caught in a gasp. He leaned in so close she thought he was going to kiss her. His hand cupped her chin, and he tipped her face to his. “Perhaps not now, but you will.” His thumb traced the bottom of her lip. “I can wait. But don’t make me wait too long.”

Helen’s heart was pounding in her throat. How had this happened? She tried to shift free, but he’d wedged his body to hers. She pressed against him, but he blocked her efforts by drawing her into his arms in a firm embrace.

“Please, Donald, you’re scaring me.”

He let her go, as if he’d only just realized she wasn’t welcoming his attentions.

“Forgive me,” he said with a bow. “I vowed not to rush you.”

Suddenly, a sound coming from the road drew his attention. A strange look crossed his face. “We’d best get back. Your brothers will return from the hunt at any time.” His eyes narrowed. “What were you doing out here by yourself?”

Irritation replaced her fear. “I am collecting some flowers for the feast tomorrow. I hope that meets with your approval?”

He laughed at her outrage. “I’m only worried about you, lass.”

Some of her anger dissipated. The brotherly Donald had returned. “You don’t need to worry, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“But you don’t have to.”

Their eyes held. She knew what he was offering—and she was flattered—but how could she explain she didn’t think of him like that?

Almost as if he could read her mind, his face darkened. “He’s not worthy of you.” She didn’t pretend to misunderstand of whom he spoke. The look of rage that flashed on his face chilled her blood. But it was gone so fast she wondered whether she’d imagined it. “And I’ll prove it to you.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, he stormed off to the castle. Helen waited until he’d disappeared from view, and then heaved a deep sigh of relief. The incident had shaken her more than she’d realized.

And she feared it had probably upset her plans. If Donald saw Magnus heading this way, he would guess—

Her heart stopped. Oh God, would he do something? Abandoning her plan, she spun around, intending to return to the castle to try to avert disaster:
“I’ll prove it to you.”
What would Donald do?

She’d barely taken a few steps, however, when someone moved out from a tree to block her path.

“Magnus!” she cried out, startled but also relieved.

Her relief at seeing him, however, dissipated when she saw his expression.

She took an unconscious step back. He had a drying cloth looped around his neck and his hair hung in loose, sweaty chunks around his face. Though he’d removed his armor, wearing only leather breeches and a linen tunic, she’d never seen him look more fierce. His muscles—of which there was an impressive amount—were bunched up, flexed and taut. His eyes glared with fury, his mouth curled in a cruel line, and his jaw was hard and unyielding.

His boyishly handsome face didn’t look boyish at all, but very dark and very menacing.

“I-I …” To her amazement, she stuttered.

“Surprised to see me?”

She could hardly claim that, as she had come out here for exactly that purpose.

But he didn’t give her time to answer. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your little …” He nearly spat the word. “Liaison.”

Good lord, what was wrong with him? “It wasn’t a liaison. I was walking toward the beach—”

“Spare me your explanations. I know what I saw.”

Her eyes widened. “What you saw?”

Suddenly, she realized that from his vantage, with her pressed up against a tree and Donald’s broad shoulders blocking her from view, what he’d seen would have looked …

She blushed. It would have looked like Donald was kissing her.

Her blush seemed to confirm it for him. His mouth turned stark white.

My God, he’s jealous!
The realization hit her like a battering ram.

She decided to test her theory. She thrust her chin up and boldly looked him in the eye. “He wants to marry me.”

His eyes narrowed with predatory intent. “Is that so?”

If hope wasn’t rushing through her, she might have felt a wee bit of trepidation. But instinctively, she sensed how far she could push him. It was rather exhilarating to see him angry.

She nodded, and heaved a false maidenly sigh of contentment.

His fists clenched. “And this is what you want?”

She took a step closer to him, the warmth of his body spreading over her just as she’d remembered it. He smelled of sweat, and leather, and sun. But there was something deeply arousing—almost primal—about it. Her body flushed with heat. The shock of sensations made her gasp as frissons of pleasure rippled through her.

“What I want? What do you care about what I want?
You’ve made your feelings toward me clear. Why should you care who I kiss?”

He flinched, and she felt a wicked sense of feminine power surge through her. She leaned closer, until the hard tips of her breasts brushed against his chest.

He made a pained sound low in his throat. She felt the tension radiate around him like a drum as he fought for control. She sensed the danger but felt drunk, with a new kind of power. “At least when he kisses me, it makes me feel like a woman, not a nun.” The muscle below his jaw jumped. “Aye, there is nothing chaste about his kiss,” she added for good measure.

He moved so fast, she barely had time to process that she’d done the impossible: snapped the powerful bonds of his control. She was in his arms, breasts crushed against the muscular wall of his chest and hips plastered to his. And God, it felt incredible! Every nerve-ending in her body flared at the contact.

His mouth covered hers with a groan of pure primal satisfaction that drove her pleasure all the way to her toes. She could feel it pulsing through her, spreading over her limbs like a wave of pure molten heat.

His lips were soft but strong, his breath warm and spicy, as he crushed his mouth to hers.

His hand splayed against her back, possessively drawing her closer, bending her into the hard curve of his body.

For a moment she felt him yield. Felt his body envelop hers. His kiss grew more insistent. His lips dragging, kneading, opening her mouth.

Oh God
.

She startled. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. His tongue was inside her mouth, plunging, thrusting, circling. Tasting her deeper and deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough.

The sensation was incredible. She moaned and circled her arms around his neck, wanting to get closer. His chest
was so hot. So hard. She wanted to melt against him. She could feel her body soften, and the heat between her legs start to pulse and dampen.

The explosion of passion was so intense, so sudden, that she barely had time to savor it before it was gone. He broke away with a harsh, guttural curse, thrusting her from him as if she were plagued.

But it was the look of loathing on his face that cut her to the quick.

He still blames me
, she realized. For not marrying him, and for marrying his friend. And bound up with that blame was guilt. He thought his feelings for her were a betrayal of his friend’s memory. “Will you ever forgive me for what happened? I made a mistake, Magnus. I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it differently I would. I shouldn’t have refused you. I shouldn’t have agreed to the betrothal with William. But you left and never came back. Never sent word. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.” Her hands twisted furiously in her skirts. “And then at the wedding …” She gazed up at him, begging for understanding. “You said you didn’t care.”