The Saint (45 page)

So why wasn’t he?

Magnus tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but it did. She’d been innocent. A virgin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Helen leaned up on her elbow to look at him, a small frown gathered between her brows. “I tried to a couple of times. But you made it clear that you didn’t want to speak about Wi—” She stopped. “About my marriage.”

He knew she was right, but it didn’t stop him from saying bitterly, “You sure as hell didn’t try very hard.”

She flinched. “Perhaps not. But what was I supposed to do, blurt out at dinner, ‘And by the way I’m a virgin’?” She studied his face. “I didn’t realize it was so important to you.”

“Not important?” He made a harsh scoffing sound. Could she be that naive? Apparently, yes, if the guileless look in her eyes was any indication. “You didn’t think I might care that you and Gordon hadn’t consummated your vows?”

Her cheeks flushed hot. “I thought I was what was important to you, not the state of my maidenhead. I’ve not asked you about the women you’ve taken to your bed.”

If he were thinking rationally, he would realize she was right. But he wasn’t. In the back of his mind, Magnus knew he was being unfair, but he couldn’t stop himself. “It’s not the same.”

She quirked her brow. “It isn’t? If anything, I would have thought this would have pleased you.”

His mouth hardened. Part of him—the primitive male in him
—was
pleased. All that passion had been for him, her innocent responses a natural and instinctive reflection of her feelings for him. But it was also a harsh reminder of all that he’d taken from his friend. His life, and now his wife.

Perhaps sensing his guilt, she tried to explain. “When William came to my room that night, he’d guessed the truth of my feelings for you. He gave me a choice to go to his bed without thinking of another man or to seek an annulment—or if one could not be obtained, a divorce.”

Ah hell
. Magnus felt a sharp stab in his gut. In trying to ease his guilt, she was only making it worse. Knowing that his friend had been prepared to give up his wife for him … God.

Magnus had been so angry that day. Had the anger made him sloppy? Had he been at fault for what happened? Buried in the darkest corner of his consciousness—something he’d never voiced even to himself—was the deep-seeded fear that MacLeod’s warning had been prophetic, and that somehow he could have done something to prevent it.

“I knew it would anger my family, I knew it would probably make no difference to you, but I also knew it was not fair to William—I would never have been able to love him as he deserved. So I decided to seek the annulment. But before I could give him my answer, he left. And after …” Her voice dropped off sadly. “And after, it didn’t seem to matter. Perhaps it was wrong of me to pretend, but what point was there in making a scandal?”

None. But she still should have told him.

“Would it have made any difference to you, Magnus? Would you have seen your feelings for me as any less of a betrayal whether my marriage was consummated or not?”

He clamped his jaw down angrily, knowing she was right. It wasn’t her marriage to Gordon that haunted him, but what he’d done to end it.

A twinge of guilt crept up her cheeks. “And I must admit I liked the freedom afforded being a widow. You know my brothers.”

He gritted his teeth. Unfortunately, he did.

He stared at her, trying to control the cacophony of divergent emotions firing inside him. Perhaps he understood her reasoning but it didn’t stop his anger, the feeling that she’d kept something from him. Her face merged with that of another.

“Watch over her …”

He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of here. Before he said something he regretted. Before he lashed out at her in anger for something she didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t understand, how could she? He couldn’t tell her the truth. Seeing the horror and disgust in her eyes, he couldn’t bear it.

He thought he could do this. But maybe he’d been a fool to try. He could never put the past behind him. Not with what he’d done.

Yet he loved her so much.

God, he couldn’t think straight!

The grate of the gate in the bailey below felt like a reprieve.

He moved his legs over the edge of the bed and began to toss on his clothes.

“Where are you going?”

The note of panic in her voice only added to his guilt. He should be holding her in his arms right now, reveling in the joys of conjugal bliss. Not feeling the overwhelming urge to escape.

“That’s the gate and unless I’m mistaken, the rest of our party.”

Her eyes widened. “My brother?”

He nodded and crossed the room to pick up her clothes. Handing them to her, he said, “You’d better get dressed and return to your room.”

The last thing he needed with Sutherland was to complicate matters. They were already complicated enough.

It took a week for William Sutherland to accept the truth but only a few days for him to decide what to do about it.

Muriel could be happy without him, but he could never be happy without her. Happiness wasn’t supposed to matter to him, and it might not have if he’d never met her. But he had. So now he knew both happiness and the unfortunate corollary, unhappiness.

He might have existed without the former, but he could not go on in a perpetual state of the latter.

The realization that she was the most important thing in the world to him and that he’d made her hate him shamed him—and terrified him. He’d been so blind with the thought of losing her, he hadn’t realized what he was doing. Forcing her,
Jesus!

He’d thought that as long as they were together, that was all that mattered. That a little bit of love was better than none. But he was wrong. She deserved more than half a life, than the piece of himself he’d been willing to give her.

She was right. Love without respect was not love. Being his leman would make her think she was not good enough. As if the damage those men had done had made her lacking somehow. How could he not have seen it?

He’d loved her enough to let her go, but did he love her
enough to bring her back? In the dark depths of his despair, he searched for an answer. How could he do his duty and have the woman he loved?

But maybe that had been the wrong question all along. Maybe the question he should have been asking was how could he do his duty and not have her by his side?

But would she still want him?

The wind is sharp tonight
, Muriel thought as she walked through the narrow wynds of Inverness. Night had fallen about an hour ago and a ghostly veil of mist that had descended over the city along with it was already starting to thicken.

It was a night to send chills up even the bravest of spines. A dangerous night for a woman alone. But she wasn’t alone. Since she’d returned to Inverness well over a week ago, Lord Henry’s solid presence at her side had been a nightly fixture on her walks home. Nay, not home. The small room above the cobbler’s would never be home. She pushed aside the wave of sadness and came to a stop beside her companion.

“We’re here,” he said cheerily. “Safe and sound.”

Muriel gazed up into his kind face, illuminated in the soft glow of torchlight the cobbler had left for her. Lord Henry was a kind man. Smart, pleasant to look upon, and a highly skilled physician, he had a bright future ahead of him. He was the type of man who would spend the rest of his life trying to make her happy. She was a fool not to let him try.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know it’s out of your way.”

He waved her off. “An extra few minutes, nothing more. And it makes me feel better to know that you are safe.” Their eyes held, and Muriel could see his questions. His care for her. His hurt. His smile fell. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? They might be old, cantankerous, and set in their ways, but you are making headway here. It won’t be any easier in France.”

It would be much easier in France. In France she would not have to stop herself from going back to him. In France there would be no hope. In France she would protect herself from herself. In France she would disappear.

She shook her head. “I’ve longed to see the continent since I was a little girl.” The lie fell easily from her tongue; she almost believed it herself. “But if you have reconsidered your offer to write a letter to your friend at the guild in Paris, I should understand.”

“Of course not. They will be lucky to have you.” He reached down and cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. His hands were warm and strong, but his touch elicited not a flicker of … anything.

“I’ve not given up, Muriel. I intend to spend the next few days until you leave trying to persuade you to change your mind.”

She recognized the look in his eyes and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But apparently he thought better of it, and she was saved from having to pull away.

He dropped her chin. “
Bonne nuit
, Muriel.”

“Good night,” she said, opening the door and slipping inside. She leaned her back against the closed door, relieved—grateful to be alone again.

But she wasn’t alone.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the flicker of a shadow in the candlelight. She startled—gasped—until she recognized him.

Panic was smothered by joy. A traitorous joy. Her heart actually leapt until she yanked it down again and forced it back in its cold, hard shell.

“What are you doing here, Will? Who let you—”

She stopped. Of course, the cobbler had let him in. Who would refuse the Earl of Sutherland anything he asked? Except for her. And even she wanted to accept his devil’s bargain. Every night she tortured herself with memories. Would it really be so bad? They would be together, and—

She stopped herself. It would be horrible. She would end up hating herself as much as she hated him.

“Who was that man?” He stepped out of the shadows. Her heart twanged. He looked terrible. As if he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. As if the past weeks had ravaged him as much as they had her. “What is he to you?” he demanded.

She bristled at his tone. It reminded her of what he was. The imperious earl. The man who would not be denied.

She expected anger. She expected him to grab her, force her to answer him. She didn’t expect him to slump, rake his fingers through his disheveled hair, and look at her as if she’d just told him his best friend had died. “God, tell me I’m not too late.”

What was he talking about? “Too late for what?”

“Too late to convince you to come back with me.”

She stiffened, her body taking fierce umbrage at his words.

Seeing her reaction, he swore. “God’s blood, I’m doing a horrible job of this.” He dragged his fingers through his hair again. She felt a twinge of concern, never having seen him look so unsure of himself, before she forced it back. “You’re making me nervous standing.”
Will, nervous?
Muriel’s eyes widened. Dear Lord, what was wrong with him? He motioned to a chair beside the unlighted brazier. “Would you please sit down?”

As she was feeling a little unsteady herself, she didn’t hesitate to comply. She watched in confusion as he paced the room a few times before stopping to face her again. “I can’t lose you, Muriel. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are the most important person in the world to me. I love you.”

Was he trying to torture her? No matter how beautiful his words, she could not let herself listen to them. But the ice around her heart wanted to crack.

“What is it that you want, Will?” She looked into his eyes, but it was a mistake. She felt the pull and shifted her
head sharply away. She knew what he wanted. In a cool voice, she added, “Please say what you have to say and go.”

She startled again when he dropped down to his knees before her. Taking her hand in his, he forced her to look at him. “I can do my duty or marry you.” He paused. “Or I can do both.”

She stilled, not daring to breathe. Clamping down her heart to prevent it from lurching. “What are you talking about, Will?”

“I don’t need an heir, I already have one.”

What did he mean? Did he have a bastard—?

“My brother,” he said, perhaps guessing the direction of her thoughts. “Kenneth is my heir and there is no reason he cannot be a permanent one. He will have children. And if he doesn’t, Helen will.” He made a face. “Though I sure as hell hope Munro can persuade her to marry him. It’ll be a cold day in Hades before I see a MacKay—” He stopped, giving her a rueful smile. “We can discuss that later. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to come home with me. I want you to be my wife.”

No clamp could prevent her heart from lurching this time. She stared at him wordlessly. Was this some kind of cruel trick? Could he really mean it?

He squeezed her hand, reading her uncertainty. “Please, Muriel, I know you have every reason to hate me. What I did was unconscionable. More so because I love you. I should never have forced you to come back, never have forced you to—” He stopped, shame washing over him.

Was this really happening? Was the great Earl of Sutherland kneeling before her, asking her to marry him?