The Saint (34 page)

“Is that all you want?”

Frustrated with desire, Helen shot him a glare and shook her head.

He laughed and slipped his finger inside the tight, wet heat.

The gasp she made went right to his already swollen groin.

He closed his eyes and let the rush of sensations crash over him. Savoring the moment. He dipped inside her again. Deeper. Stretching her gently with his fingers. “You’re so tight,” he managed from between clenched teeth. “But you feel so good.”

He plunged again, and she gave a soft moan of pleasure. Her eyes fluttered at half-mast. Her cheeks were pink with pleasure and her lips …

God, he couldn’t wait another minute to taste those too-red lips.

The next time he stroked her, he smothered her moan with his mouth.

Helen’s heart slammed into her chest when his mouth finally covered hers. He did not hold back. His lips claimed hers possessively. Fiercely. Urgently. Demanding her response. Just like his hand. His fingers were stroking her even as his tongue slid into her mouth, plunging deep and purposefully, claiming every corner of it.

She felt her heart soar. This was the promise of passion she’d felt in the forest brought to fruition. The passion of
which she’d always dreamed. He kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. As if he’d die if he couldn’t have her.

She wrapped her tongue around his and opened her mouth wider, responding to the carnal invitation.

The stoking between her legs intensified, his finger plunging faster, harder, deeper. Oh God …

Pressure that she didn’t understand was building low in her belly. She clutched at his arms. At his shoulders. Feeling the hard, rigid muscles flare under her fingertips. Wanting to get closer. To rub herself against the hard wall of muscle.

She wanted skin. Wanted to feel his strength and heat under her palms.

She tugged the shirt from his chausses and slid her hands underneath the linen and leather of his
cotun
.

He hissed when her hands made contact with the smooth spans of hot skin.

She clutched him harder as her body started to climb.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming heavy in her ear. “I want to see you come, love.”

Love
. He called her love.

Her heart burst with pleasure even as her hips started to circle, unconsciously seeking the pressure of his hand.

“That’s it,” he urged softly. “Does that feel good? I can feel you starting to shudder. God, you’re so sweet. Next time I’m going to taste you. I’m going to put my tongue right here.”

She was too far gone to be shocked. Instead, she shuddered with wicked anticipation.

He moved his finger to a place …

To a place that made her womb contract. She cried out, her fingers digging into the steely muscles of his back, as the pulsing spasms overtook her. As pleasure so intense washed over her in a shattering embrace.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered. “Come for me. God, you’re beautiful!”

Magnus couldn’t wait another minute. Seeing her come had pushed him past the point of all restraint.

He’d never felt so aroused in his life.

All he could think about was making her his. He was so hard, so throbbing, so close to exploding, he knew it was going to be quick.

He fumbled with the ties of his braies and pushed aside his chausses enough to release himself, the rush of cold air on the hot skin stretched painfully thin a welcome relief.

Helen was still weak from her release, her body lax against the rocks. But she roused when he flipped up her gown and she realized what he was doing.

Her eyes feasted on the part of him that he didn’t think could get any harder. But her curiosity proved him wrong. He gritted his teeth, and his stomach clenched as she reached out and touched him.

“You’re so …” She gazed up at him hesitantly, wrapping her fingers around him as he’d shown her earlier. “Big.”

And much to his pain, getting bigger by the moment.

“And so soft and hard at the same time.”

Jesus
. Maybe talking hadn’t been such a great idea. But neither was looking. When he glanced down and saw those dainty, milky-white fingers wrapped around him, he almost came in her hand. He’d dreamed of his moment since he’d been a lad; he couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

He pulsed, and her eyes widened. “Am I doing that?”

Blood was pounding so hard through him, he couldn’t speak for a moment. His eyes blazed fiercely. “Aye.”

A dangerous little smile turned her mouth. It was the smile of a woman who’d just discovered a source of power.

“What did you mean by pump?”

The naughty little minx. He let out a deep groan when her hand moved up and down.

“Like this?” She dragged him hard from base to tip, her grip firm and tight.

He couldn’t even nod, it felt so good. Every muscle strained.

“I like touching you,” she whispered. “Feeling you beat in my hand.”

Talking definitely not a good idea. He clenched, trying to hold back the surge that threatened to break free. But a milky-white bead escaped. “Tell me what you want, Magnus.” She squeezed tighter, milking him harder.

He’d be angry at the little temptress for turning his words on him later, but right now it felt too good. He wanted to come. In her hand. In her mouth. But most of all deep inside her.

He clenched. Felt his stomach muscles tighten as pressure built and raced down to the base of his spine. As the throbbing intensified.

She stopped. “Tell me.”

“I want to—”

Suddenly he stilled. An icy shiver of awareness ran across the back of his neck. He’d heard something.

Helen’s hand dropped, sensing the change that had come over him. “What’s wrong?”

He was already shoving himself back in his clothes, which, as he’d been only moments from release, wasn’t easy. No doubt his bollocks were a bright shade of blue right now, but he pushed past the pain. The battle instinct had taken over. “Someone’s out there.”

He almost had her in the cave. A few more moments, a few more steps, and Donald would have had her in his hold.

But he couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not when he was this close to ridding Scotland of the false king. He was just waiting for the right opportunity.

Taking Helen would have been perfect. Not only would he be able to discover what she knew about Bruce’s army, it would also get MacKay away from the king.

But no matter how tempting, he couldn’t act precipitously. He couldn’t risk MacKay discovering him—or the killing team—before they were ready to attack. Like Bruce’s warriors, surprise was an important part of their strategy.

So he let her slip through his fingers. But God, he’d wanted her. Even though she’d rejected him. Perhaps more so. He liked a challenge. It made victory all the more rewarding. And he never doubted that he would defeat them both: the woman who’d rejected him and the man who’d made a fool of him on the battlefield.

Donald moved away from the cave when MacKay drew too close and watched from a distance. Watched every minute. At first he was pleased by what he saw. They seemed to be arguing. The foolish chit kept throwing herself at
MacKay and for whatever reason, he kept rejecting her. But when MacKay kissed her, everything changed.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Anger ate like acid through his chest. His blood started to burn as his body filled with rage. How could she? How could she whore herself like this?

She was giving herself to him. MacKay had his mouth on her perfect breast, his hand between her legs. He was touching her. The woman Donald had honored to make his wife was panting like a bitch in heat. The body he’d dreamed of was undulating and arching for another man’s touch. He could almost feel her pleasure wrapping around him, taunting him, humiliating him, squeezing the love from his heart.

And when he heard her cries a few moments later he wanted to kill them both. A dirk to the back of MacKay’s neck, and then into Helen’s treacherous heart.

MacKay was lifting her skirts. He would never be more vulnerable than when he was fucking her.

Fucking my woman
. Damn her, she’d had her chance.

He slid the dirk from his waist, but in his eagerness the blade accidentally tinged the metal of his belt.

He swore. He saw MacKay stiffen and knew that he’d heard the small sound. Donald knew he’d made a mistake. He had to warn the others.

The haze of pleasure evaporated in a wave of panic. The heat on Helen’s skin turned to a sheet of ice. She looked around the shadowy darkness that had seemed so romantic only moments ago, but now seemed menacing and impenetrable.

If it weren’t for Magnus’s presence she would be terrified. But his presence calmed her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to them. He drew his sword, using his body to shield her, as he scanned the area.

“Where?” she whispered.

“The copse of trees on the other side of the road. But I think they’ve gone.” He steered her back into the entry of the cave and thrust a dirk in her hand. “Stay here.”

Her eyes widened to what she was sure were enormous proportions. “You’re leaving me?”

His hand cupped her cheek, and he gave her a tender smile. “Only for a moment. I need to make sure they’re gone.”

He was good to his word, never letting her out of his sight and returning only a few frantic heartbeats later, his expression grim.

“Did you find something?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nay, but I’m certain someone was there.”

Helen shivered. “I thought I heard someone earlier.”

“What?” he roared, turning on her in not very happy-looking surprise. “When?”

She bit her lip. “When I was in the cave, I thought I heard someone by the entry. I thought it was you, trying to scare me.”

His teeth clenched as if he were fighting for patience—and losing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Heat burned her cheeks. “I thought I’d imagined it.”

His face darkened. “Damn it, Helen. I told you not to run off. It’s dangerous. You need to be careful.”

He was furious, but she didn’t understand why. “What is out there? What are you not telling me? Why would someone be watching us?”

His jaw clenched until his mouth turned white. He held her gaze, seeming to be warring with himself about something. Not telling her must have won. “Come on,” he said, taking her by the arm. “I need to get you back to camp. I should never have brought you here. This was a mistake.”

“What do you mean ‘a mistake’? Magnus, what’s wrong?” He wasn’t regretting what had happened between them, was he?

It was clear he wasn’t going to share his thoughts right now. He raced them back to camp as if the devil were nipping at their heels. Realizing the pace was due to his concern for her, she waited until she could see the torches and firelight of camp before forcing him to stop. “I want to know what this is all about.”

“I intend to find out, once I get you back to camp.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going after them?” She put her hand on his arm. “Are you sure that’s wise? I thought you said it might be dangerous.”

A flicker of a amusement crossed his face. “I can take care of myself, Helen. It’s your safety that worries me.”

“Mine? But why would I be—?”

“Helen!”

She groaned, hearing the sound of her brother’s voice, coming not from the camp ahead of them but out of the darkness to the right. Good gracious, not now!

“Where have you been?” Kenneth demanded.

“Perhaps we should ask you the same thing,” Magnus interjected. “Why are you alone and away from camp?”

It was clear what he was thinking, and Helen didn’t like it. Her brother hadn’t been following them … had he?

No. If he’d been spying on them, he wouldn’t have stayed quiet. She cringed at the thought.

“Looking for my sister. When I returned from scouting and couldn’t find you, I became worried. I should have guessed MacKay would take advantage of my absence.” His eyes pinned hers. “Where were you? And why do I find you with him alone? What were you doing?”

“I asked Magnus to go with me to pick some averins for the king.”

Her brother looked down at her empty hands, and she chewed on her lower lip, dismayed to realize she’d left the berries in the cave.

But it wasn’t the missing berries that had caught his attention.
He took in her hair, her face, her mouth, and then her rumpled clothing.

Helen looked down.
Oh no!
The guilty flush drained from her face in horror. The ties of her chemise were hanging outside her gown.

Kenneth’s eyes flashed wildly toward Magnus. “You bastard! By God, I’ll kill you.”

He reached for his sword.

Helen didn’t think. She recognized that look on her brother’s face—the fierce temper that would see no reason—and knew what he was going to do. She heard the whoosh of steel sliding from its scabbard and reacted.

“Don’t!” she cried, lunging in front of Magnus, trying to cut off her brother. But she misjudged Kenneth’s speed; he was much quicker than she remembered.

Magnus shouted a warning in a voice she’d never heard before. “God, Helen, no!”