When he thought of how he’d touched her …
Damn it, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d touched her. He could still feel the lush weight of her breast in his hand, still taste her honey-sweet skin on his lips, and still hear the echo of those frantic little pants in his ear as he’d stroked her. She’d been so soft and wet, her body warm and ready for him. All he could think about was slipping inside that tight little glove and …
Devil take the little temptress, he’d been seconds away from taking her from behind like a rabid dog!
Pulling back when his body had been primed to the point of pain had taken every ounce of his strength. Then she’d pushed harder when she’d covered him with her hand. The feel of her dainty fingers wrapped around his cock had set off every primal instinct in his body. He’d been a hair’s breadth from giving in to his body’s demands. From giving in to her.
Jesus.
Shame bit at him. How could he not have known it was her? The room had been dark and heavy with the scent of ale. He’d been drunk. But he hadn’t been that drunk. He should have known. Perhaps he had. Perhaps on some unconscious level he’d known it all along.
The ramifications of that were too wretched to contemplate. He’d thought he was free of her, but what if he could never be free?
And now that he’d touched her, felt her body respond to him, it was even worse. She was in his blood. He’d unleashed his passion and there was no pulling it back.
Damn her, this was all her fault. And now she was trying to insinuate herself further into this living hell of his consciousness by attaching herself to their progress. A fresh wave of anger hit. “If you would like someone to accompany us, your grace, I can send for the royal physician in Edinburgh.”
The king’s gaze hardened. “I don’t want the royal physician, I want Lady Helen. None of the concoctions that Lord Oliver forced down my throat did a tenth of the good that Lady Helen has done.”
Magnus could hear the king’s heels digging in and knew he’d better switch tactics. Perhaps an appeal to his chivalrous nature? “I will ensure that Lady Helen’s instructions are seen to. It is not necessary to put her in danger. We might be at peace, but the roads are still no place for a lady.”
But Bruce waved off his concern. “Women are usually part of a royal progress. Indeed, were my wife and daughter not in England, I would have them here with me. The lady will be safe enough with you and her brother to protect her.”
Magnus stilled. He clenched his fists, trying to hold back his anger. But this battle he was losing. “Sutherland?” he spit out. “You can’t be serious!”
The first spark of anger flashed in the king’s dark eyes. He allowed Magnus more leeway than he gave most, but he would not have his judgment questioned. “Quite serious,” he said stonily. “I’ve been impressed with Sutherland. We can use more men like him.”
Magnus bit back the caustic retort but could feel the blood pounding in his temples. “Sutherland is dangerous. I don’t trust him.” Any of them, for that matter.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have cause for this concern?”
“A lifetime of experience.” Knowing that would not be enough, he added, “As I told you, he’s guessed Gordon’s place in the Guard and suspects mine. I’ve tried to impart the danger those kinds of suspicions could have to his family, but he’s never known when to keep his mouth shut.”
Bruce frowned and seemed to consider his response. “There is an old Saracen adage: keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. If it is as you say, it is better to have him close where we can keep an eye on him and ensure that he is not tempted to repeat his suspicions to others.”
Magnus attempted to argue, but the king forestalled him. “What is this really about? Is there another reason you do not wish Lady Helen to accompany us that you are not telling me? I thought you and the lass were longtime friends? Childhood companions, isn’t that how you put it?”
Magnus’s mouth fell into a hard line. “I might have understated the nature of our relationship.”
“I thought you might have. I’ve noticed the lass’s efforts to catch your eye the past few weeks. I take it you are not eager to rekindle this relationship?”
Magnus shook his head.
“Because of Templar?” the king asked softly. Bruce was one of the few men who knew the truth. Magnus nodded. “Aye.”
The king studied him a moment longer. That he didn’t choose to question him further indicated he understood the nature of Magnus’s struggle and perhaps even agreed with it. “Very well. I shall do without Lady Helen’s eagle-eyed scrutiny of my meals on our journey. I will not say I won’t miss her personal attendance, but perhaps it is best that she is not drawn back into danger. We are fortunate that Gordon’s identity as a member of my ‘phantom’ guard has not been discovered. I do not wish to see the lass endangered.”
The king’s words proved ironically prophetic. Barely had Magnus enjoyed the relief of knowing that Helen would not be tormenting him for weeks on end, when disaster struck in the form of a messenger with news that changed everything.
The sun was high in the sky when the rider came thundering through the gate. Magnus was training with the men at the time and didn’t pay him much attention. Messengers were always arriving for the king. He suspected something was wrong, however, when the king immediately summoned him and MacGregor to the laird’s solar.
They were still thick with dirt and sweat when they entered the small chamber off the Great Hall. The earl had relinquished the room for the king’s use during his stay, and it was usually filled with Bruce’s large retinue. The room was empty, however, but for Bruce and Sir Neil Campbell.
He could tell by their grim expressions that the news was not good.
“I’ve news from England,” the king said.
At first Magnus thought it must have something to do with the king’s family, who were still being held by King Edward. But then he realized that given the current occupants of the room, it must have something to do with the Guard.
It did.
“A body was retrieved from beneath the rubble at Threave.”
Magnus tensed. “He won’t be identified.”
The king gave him a sorrowful look. “I’m afraid he already has been.”
Magnus shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“Sir Adam Gordon was sent to Roxburgh to make sure of it.”
Magnus sat, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight. “How?” he said tonelessly. “I made sure …” He let his voice fall off, unable to say the words. The horror of thinking about them was enough. He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded strained. “None of us carry anything on missions that could identify us. Gordon was careful. He wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake.”
“He didn’t,” Sir Neil responded. “But were either of you aware that he had a mark on his skin from birth?”
Ah hell. He felt ill.
“Aye,” MacGregor said grimly. “It was on his ankle.”
Sir Neil nodded. “Aye, well apparently it was a common mark in his family. His grandfather had one as well—as did his uncle Sir Adam.”
The nausea grew worse. Magnus didn’t want to believe that it could all have been for nothing. The nightmares of his dreams had just found daylight. “If they know the truth, then why haven’t we heard anything about it?”
Bruce held up the missive. “My source says they are keeping it quiet for now until they can figure out how best to make use of the information. We were fortunate to learn of it at all.”
“How did you learn of it?”
Bruce shrugged. “It isn’t important, but I have no doubt as to its truth.”
It wasn’t the first time the king had received a message from a secret source. The spy must be trusted and important for the king not to share his identity with the members of the Guard. Magnus and some of the other guardsmen speculated that it might be De Monthermer, who’d helped the king
before in the early days of his kingship. But in the end, the identity of the spy didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the king trusted the information.
God, it was true! Gordon had been unmasked.
If the English knew about Gordon, it wouldn’t take long for the information to lead them to Helen. The potential threat looming since Gordon’s death had just become real. Everything Magnus had done to protect her hadn’t been enough. She was in danger anyway.
The king’s gaze was not without sympathy. “It’s probably nothing to worry about. But in light of this new information, we must take precautions.”
Magnus hardened his resolve, but he knew he had no choice. It probably wasn’t good enough. “Lady Helen must accompany us on the progress as your healer.”
There was nothing else he could do. Everything had just changed. He wasn’t going to be able to walk away. He’d made a promise to protect her.
He wished to hell that was all there was to it. But Magnus knew his promise to Gordon had very little to do with the fierce emotion driving him right now. The urge to protect, the fear from the thought of her being in danger—those emotions stemmed from a vicinity much nearer his heart.
The realization that Helen was in danger stripped him of all his carefully constructed walls of delusion and forced him to admit the truth. His feelings weren’t as dead as he wanted them to be. His feelings weren’t dead at all.
He might not want to love her, and God knew it was wrong of him to do so, but heaven help him, he still did.
It was late when Helen returned to the castle. Though the midsummer days were long, the last breath of daylight was flickering over the horizon.
She’d stayed longer than she had expected. But after she’d tended the arm of the fletcher’s son, who’d broken it when he fell out of a tree he’d been climbing, the family had been so grateful, they insisted she stay to eat something with them.
In addition to the five-year-old tree-climber Tommy, the fletcher had seven more children, ranging in age from sixteen months to four and ten. Once their awe at having “the lady” in their home had worn off, they’d bombarded her with questions and enchanted her with their songs; she’d lost track of time. If only she’d thought to ask for a torch before she left.
She hurried through the forest, wondering whether the king had made his decision yet. Helen had approached the king first thing in the morning with the possibility of her accompanying them on the royal progress as his healer. She’d been encouraged by his initial response—he’d seemed quite amenable to the idea—but she knew there would be resistance from at least one of his men.
She bit her lip, acknowledging that avoiding that particular Highlander might have something to do with her lingering at the fletcher’s hearth.
But she’d lingered too long. The darker it grew, the faster her pulse raced. The forest wasn’t her favorite place at night.
She blinked, as if that would make her be able to see better. There were so many shadows.
She jumped at a rustling toss of leaves behind her. And so many noises.
She was being silly. There was nothing to be scared of—
She yelped when something darted across the path in front of her. A squirrel. At least she hoped it was a squirrel and not a rat. Oh God. She ran her hands over her arms; her flesh had started to crawl.
She hurried her step, stumbling forward when her foot landed awkwardly on a rock. She went down hard, crying out when her hands made harsh contact with the forest floor. Her chin followed a moment later.
Stunned, the breath jarred from her lungs, it took her a moment to realize she was all right. After brushing herself off as best she could, she stood. Her ankle was tender, but fortunately, she was able to walk.
Feeling more than a little foolish, she proceeded at a far more cautious pace and did her best to ignore her scary surroundings.
Her heart didn’t stop beating at a frantic pace, however, until the first glimpse of the castle gates came into view. She frowned, noticing the unusual number of torches, and, from the number of voices coming from within, an unusual amount of activity.
It wasn’t until the cry went out when she came into view, however, that she felt the first prickle of trepidation. A prickle that turned to a full-fledged stab when a handful of men came rushing out of the gate.
She wasn’t surprised to see her brothers; she was, however, surprised to see Magnus in the lead. For once the lifelong enemies appeared to be presenting a unified front. If she weren’t the cause of that unity, she might have savored the moment she’d despaired of ever seeing.
She bit her lip, catching a glimpse of Magnus’s expression in the flickering torchlight. She suspected it was only the presence of her brothers that prevented him from grabbing her by the shoulders and …
She couldn’t tell. He looked angry enough to shake her and worried enough to haul her into his arms.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.
The fact that none of her brothers objected to the blasphemy wasn’t a good sign. Indeed, Will appeared to take no issue with it at all. “Damn it, Helen, we were just about to send a search party out for you.”
“A search party? Surely that’s rather extreme. This is not the first time I’ve been gone for hours tending to one of the clansmen.”
Will’s mouth thinned. “Aye, but you were always with Muriel.”
She gave him a look as if to say, and whose fault is it that I am not?
“MacKay insisted. He thought you might be in danger,” Kenneth added.
Helen glanced back at Magnus, perversely pleased to hear the overreaction had been his. Had he been worried about her? He must have guessed her thoughts, because his eyes narrowed dangerously. The smile playing about her lips fell.
“I was only at the fletcher’s. His son fell from a tree and broke his arm,” she explained, Magnus’s impatient glare—reminiscent of the “wayward lamb” look her brothers had perfected—making her feel more than a little defensive.
“The fletcher?” Donald interjected, aghast. “He lives at least five miles away!” He turned to Will. “I warned you this was not a good idea.”
Will’s gaze narrowed on his henchman. Donald had overstepped his bounds. An earl did not take criticism from one of his men. “Return to the castle, Munro. Inform the king that Lady Helen has been found. We will attend him in the Hall in a few moments.”
After his initial question, Magnus had remained suspiciously silent during the exchange with her brother. “The king wishes to see you. When you could not be found, we became concerned. The countryside is not a place for women alone. Did you tell no one where you were going?”
Helen thought back, ashamed to realize she hadn’t. She’d been in the garden when the fletcher arrived and had simply gone to her room to retrieve a few items before leaving. She hadn’t thought …
“I’m sorry. I was in a hurry. I didn’t think—”
“You’re hurt!” Magnus cut her off. “Damn it, what happened to your chin?” This time her brothers’ presence wasn’t enough to stop him from touching her. The back of his finger grazed her jaw, tilting her head back to the light.
“It’s nothing.” She shied from his scrutiny, embarrassed. “A little stumble, that’s all.”
She hoped it was the torchlight making his face look red, but his clenched jaw rather suggested he was angry again. Had she really wanted to see more emotion from him? She was beginning to miss the even-tempered Magnus.
She took care to hide her hands in her skirts, but his narrowed glance toward her fists told her he suspected there was more.
Anxious to escape his scrutiny, she turned to her brothers. “I shall need a moment to freshen up. Please tell the king I shall attend him in a few moments.”
She spun away before they could respond. But she’d forgotten about her ankle. The swift movement sent a knife of pain up her leg, making her cry out. She would have stumbled again had Magnus not caught her.
She gasped at the contact. Their eyes held. For a moment, the memories of the night before flooded her. A slight tightening of his hold told her he remembered, too.
“Damn it, Helen.”
It wasn’t the most romantic declaration she’d ever heard, but the look in his eyes and gruffness of his tone more than made up for it. He was concerned. He did care about her. It was another chink in the armor of his resistance. Emotion swelled in her chest.
She was prevented from savoring the moment, however, by her brother. Kenneth nearly twisted her other ankle in his eagerness to tear her from Magnus’s gasp. “Get your hands off her!”
Apparently, the moment of unity was over.
Helen had had more than enough of her brothers’ constant interfering. She spun on Kenneth and snapped, “He was only helping me. I would have fallen had he not caught me. If it hasn’t escaped your notice, I seem to have twisted my ankle. Now, if you are done treating me like a bone to fight over, I’m going to my chamber.”
If she weren’t so angry, the men’s unanimous look of shock might have made her laugh.
Her ankle prevented her from stomping off, but it was definitely implied.
In less than half an hour, Helen had washed her face and hands free of dirt and debris, bound her ankle in a cloth, changed her gown, and made her way back down to the Great Hall.
She felt a flutter of nerves, anxious to hear what the king had decided. The circumstances of her return had prevented her from gauging Magnus’s reaction.
The tables in the Hall had been cleared for the men to sleep, so Helen wasn’t surprised to be ushered into her brother’s solar. She was, however, surprised to see who was waiting for her.
He stood guard at the door. Something about the way he was leaning with his arms folded across his chest made her pulse stutter. The deceptively lazy stance didn’t fool her. He was furious. But what for: last night, joining their progress, or her late return?
He appeared not to notice her until she tried to pass him, and he moved to block her. Normally, she would very much like the sensations that came with having that broad chest so near, but the fury emanating from him was setting off rather loud warning bells.
The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Page 20