The Saint (43 page)

The second man, however, reacted more quickly than he’d anticipated.

He came at Magnus hard, his blade crashing toward his head.

Magnus just managed to block the blow with his own. Infuriated by the narrow escape, he attacked with a vengeance, driving the other man back with blows so powerful they should have crushed him. But the other man fended them off with skill almost equal to his own. Almost.

But Magnus wore him down. Through the slits of his helm, Magnus could see the man knew it, too. His reactions slowed. His blocks started to shake as the muscles in his arms weakened. He breathed hard through the steel punctures of his helm.

In between blows he looked around, almost as if he were
waiting for someone. A shiver of premonition ran through Magnus. Was the third man out there?

If he was, he wasn’t coming to this man’s rescue. Magnus let his opponent come at him and met the blow while turning to the left. Locking his foot around the other man’s, he brought him to the ground in a move that would have made Robbie Boyd proud. With both hands he brought his sword down hard into the man’s gut, piercing the mail and sinking into his entrails. A hard kick sent him flying after his compatriot.

Magnus kept his sword ready, waiting, watching. He turned, scanning the area all around and listening for any sound of movement.

Someone was out there and Magnus was challenging him to meet him. But whoever it was must have thought better of it.

The feeling of being watched dissipated like the mist in sunshine. By the time he’d caught his breath, it was gone.

Helen waited anxiously for Magnus to return. The king had slept restfully through the night, waking at dawn with an “axe-splitting” headache, but stronger and far more alert than he’d been since the injury. The pine sap had worked better than she’d imagined. While the wound was still an ugly, bloody mess, there were no signs of infection or fever.

But unlike the king, Helen had enjoyed precious few moments of sleep. She was too worried about Magnus.

The storm and dreary skies of the day before seemed a distant memory as the new day dawned bright and sunny.

Where is he?

Finally, about an hour after daybreak, she caught sight of him. The rush of relief turned to horror as he drew closer, and she saw the dirt and splattered blood on his
cotun
. He’d been fighting.

Without thinking, she raced toward him and catapulted
herself into his arms. He caught her to him, holding her wordlessly until she steadied.

She didn’t realize she was crying until he took her chin and tilted her face to his. “What’s wrong,
m’aingeal
? Why are you crying?”

“I was worried.” She sniffled. “And rightly so—you were in a fight!”

He grinned. “Aye, but I’m here, aren’t I?” Suddenly, his brow furrowed. “Did you think I would not win?”

How could she want to throw her arms around his neck one moment and strangle it the next? It was just like all those years ago, when he’d shown up bruised and battered after beating Donald at the Highland Games.

“Of course I don’t doubt you. But you are not invulnerable. No matter how good you are.”

His eyes darkened with pain. “Aye, you never know what can happen.” Helen winced, realizing he was thinking of William. “But it wasn’t my time. Not today.”

Sensing the dark emotions swirling inside him and knowing that William still stood between them, she knew they would need to talk about him at some time. But not now.

Wishing she’d never brought up the subject in the first place, she wiped her tears and asked, “What happened?”

The king had come out of the cave to greet him as well—how much of the conversation he’d overheard she didn’t know—and Magnus explained how he’d rid them of their pursuers. Two of them at least.

“And you never saw the third man?” the king asked.

“Not since yesterday morning at the river, but I know he was there.”

The king accepted his word without question. “Let’s hope he’s given up. If MacGregor and the others have been successful in hunting them down, he won’t have much support.” The king stroked his dark beard to a point. “Do you have any ideas on who is responsible?”

“Nay.”

“But you have some thoughts.”

“Perhaps it’s best we speak of this once we’ve reached Loch Broom.” Magnus didn’t need to look in Helen’s direction to explain. Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of her. “Are you feeling strong enough?”

“Nay,” Bruce admitted in a rare moment of warriorly candor. “But I’ll manage. We’ve enjoyed the hospitality of these mountains long enough. Living in the wild lost its appeal for me after Methven. I’m afraid I’ve become quite accustomed to the luxuries afforded by a crown. Like well-cooked food, a mattress, and a hot bath.”

That sounded so good, Helen had to hold back a groan of longing.

But Magnus seemed to have heard it anyway. He laughed. “Come. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Well, perhaps not before she knew it, but after the travails of the day before, the long hike out of the mountains through the glen and up the southern bank of Loch Broom to the MacAulay chief’s castle of Dun Lagaidh seemed pleasant by comparison. With no sign of any pursuers, they were able to slow their pace to a more manageable speed. They arrived in the early evening before vespers, dirty and exhausted, but safe.

Thanks to Magnus.

She wanted to thank him but lost him in the mob of people who flooded the yard and hall on their arrival. Alerted of what had transpired by a rider from the royal party, the castle was in an uproar. The rest of the royal party had yet to arrive, but should be there soon. Helen was relieved to hear that her brother was the man who’d ridden ahead with the news. Magnus didn’t look as pleased as she was to hear that Kenneth was safe.

Helen, Magnus, and the king were immediately given bedchambers (the king in the laird’s room, Magnus in a
small guardroom, and Helen in what she suspected was the laird’s children’s room), food, and plenty of hot water. After she’d bathed, Helen went in search of the king. Happy to find him resting peacefully, she left instructions for a tonic to be prepared by MacAulay’s lady, then collapsed on her own bed, falling into a deep sleep.

When she woke it was dark and quiet. She tiptoed past the serving girl who must have been sent to look after her but had fallen asleep in the chair by the brazier while she waited, out of her chamber and up the stairs to the king’s chamber.

The guard standing outside his door quickly stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Helen was surprised to see the lady herself sitting beside the king’s bed. In hushed whispers, she assured Helen that the king had woken for long enough to eat a large meal—without vegetables—and drink the “vile brew” Helen had ordered prepared for him. Promising her that she would send for Helen if he needed her, the formidable chief’s wife shooed her out of the room like a child underfoot and told her to get some rest.

Helen intended to do just that.
After
she saw Magnus.

Though she’d been relieved to reach safety, from the moment of their arrival they’d been treated like heroes risen from the dead and torn in different directions. She needed to see him. To assure herself that what had happened on the road wasn’t her imagination. She sensed he was waging some kind of war with himself and didn’t want to give him time to change his mind.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

Perhaps it was time to take her brother’s advice.

Coming to a stop before his door, she looked around to make sure no one was about and slipped quietly inside the darkened chamber. Gently closing the door behind her, she stilled, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness and listening to the even sounds of his breathing.

Slowly, she began to undress, letting her night robe and
chemise fall to a pile at her feet. Slipping off her shoes, she padded barefoot and naked over the cool wooden planks. When she reached the edge of the bed, she drew a deep breath. Before she could reconsider, she lifted the bedsheet and slipped into bed beside him.

Magnus was dreaming. Something soft and warm was pressed against his backside—

He stopped, coming awake with a hard start.

It was dark, his sight robbed but his senses infused with the scent of soap, flowers, and warm, pliant female.

He was aware of two things at once. It was Helen, and she was naked. Completely naked. Every inch of her silky, soft skin was plastered against his. One tiny hand was slipped around his waist to hold her firmly to him, her groin was cupping his arse, and two hard, little points were poking into this back.

Her nipples.

His body reacted instantaneously, flushing with heat and hardening with arousal. Nay, not arousal. Hunger. Need. The primal desire of a man who wants to claim his mate.

Lust surged through him in a fiery blast nearly impossible to contain. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was want—nay, crave—with every fiber of his being.

Absently, her feathery-soft fingers slid over the bands of muscle across his stomach.

He clenched, his body rigid. Blood pounded in his ears. The urge to turn over, flip her on her back, and plunge deep inside her took hold. He wanted to wrap her legs around
his waist and sink into her so deep and hard they could never be torn apart. He wanted to hear her gasp as he slammed into her over and over. Hear the hitch of her breath quicken into cries as he pleasured her. He wanted to hear her cry out his name as she came all around him. And then he wanted to come. Deep and hot and hard. To feel the satisfaction that had always eluded him.

“Magnus.” She leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Are you awake?”

What the hell did she think? Every muscle in his body was awake. His cock was straining to his ribs. And her fingers …

God, her fingers were dancing achingly close to the throbbing tip of him.
Touch me. Taste me. Take me in your mouth and suck me
. She brought out every base thought in his mind.

He struggled to find his voice. “Aye,” he said in a harsh whisper. “What are you doing here, Helen?”

She laughed with the knowledge of a siren. “I should think that was fairly obvious. I’m seducing you.”

Her hand dipped, and—oh Jesus!—circled him. He couldn’t fight the urge to thrust in her hand. It felt too good. Those small, velvety fingers wrapped around him, pressing, squeezing, stroking.

It set off a cacophony of sensation that fired inside him like thousands of successive explosions. He closed his eyes, groaning. The innocent touch was killing him.

“Why?” he managed hoarsely.

She stilled. Her hand released him. “I thought …” The siren’s assurance was gone. “I thought you might want to finish what we started in the forest. I thought you wanted me.”

The uncertainty in her voice broke him. He did want her. For longer than it was probably proper he’d wanted her. And damn it, he was going to have her.

Mine
. The knowledge rose inside him with a certainty
that could not be denied. He was done resisting. She’d always belonged to him, as he’d always belonged to her.

How could this be wrong?

He turned and rolled on top of her.

She gasped at the contact. He could just make out the shadow of her face below his in the darkness. Her lips were parted in invitation too sweet to resist. He covered them with his, sliding his tongue deep in her mouth with a hard, carnal kiss of possession. It was a soul-searing, ravishing kiss that left no doubt of his intentions.

When he finally released her, they were both hot and breathing hard. “Does that answer your question? Aye, I want you. I’ve wanted you every minute, every day, since—” He stopped, smiling. “Since you were sixteen years old and too damned young to do anything about it.”

She smiled, and her hand reached up to cup his face. Tears of happiness glistening in the darkness. “Oh, Magnus. That’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”
Bloody hell!
He lowered his hips, letting her feel him, fitting himself against her. His erection was wedged intimately against her. One swift move and he’d be sheathed inside her. Sweat beaded on his forehead with restraint. “I’m not sweet, and I assure you nothing I’m thinking about doing to you right now is either.”

He could hear her sharp intake of breath and swear he saw her eyes sparkle with anticipation. “Like what?”

He laughed and kissed her again. “I could tell you, but I think it will be much more fun if I show you.”

Or maybe he’d do both.

He rolled off her and slid off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

She sounded so disappointed he chuckled. “I’ve waited too long for this not to see it.” He reached for the candle by the bed, took it over to the brazier, and lit it from the embers.

Returning to the bed, he stopped mid-step and almost
stumbled. Actually, his heart did. She was sitting up in the bed with the bedsheets tucked around her chest, and she looked so damned beautiful it nearly brought him to his knees. Her glorious hair tumbled around her shoulders in wild disarray, her lips were red and bruised from his kiss, and her eyes were wide with … maidenly modesty.