The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  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.

  Twenty-five

  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.

  He grinned. “You can’t be shy. You just climbed into my bed naked.”

  She scowled. “And why can’t I? What if you don’t …” She bit her lip. “What if you don’t like what you see?”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help
it, he laughed. He placed the candle back down on the bedside table and slid under the covers, taking her in his arms.

  She bristled. “I don’t think it’s funny.”

  He skimmed his hands over her naked body, caressing every inch of velvety skin until it was warm and pliable. “If you only knew how beautiful you are to me, you’d think it was funny, too.” He shook his head. “Men love seeing women naked. And you …”

  He slid his hands down the slim curve of her waist, over her shapely bottom, and up her smooth stomach to cup her breasts in his hands. “Your body is a fantasy.”

  He kissed her again, but he could still sense her nervousness. He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I thought you were seducing me.”

  “Aye, well I’ve never done this before.”

  He frowned, the vague outline of a question forming in his mind. Seduction, that’s what she must mean. She was inexperienced but not innocent. He forced his mind away. He couldn’t let himself think about it.

  Put it in the past.

  So he kissed her, kissed her until he couldn’t think about anything other than the sweet taste of her mouth and the incredible sensation of her body moving under his. Skin to skin.

  He broke the kiss, rolled onto his knees before her, and slowly inched the sheet from her body.

  He kneeled before her, taking in every inch of creamy skin.

  Jesus. His mouth went dry. He’d imagined this—hell, even tried to put together pieces of glimpses he’d caught before—but nothing, nothing prepared him for the vision splayed out before him.

  Her breasts were high and round, tipped by small, raspberry-pink nipples. He took one between his fingertips because they were too tempting not to touch. He rolled the hard tip between his fingers, gently caressing her to an even harder peak.

  He liked the way her breath started to hitch.

  He let his gaze drop to her stomach. To her slim waist and gently curved hips. To the woman’s place between her legs. To the long, shapely legs and high-arched feet.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped, his throat too tight with longing.

  His gaze locked on hers, and he could see her relax. See the breath that she’d been holding exhale.

  “So are you,” she said, her eyes exploring the wide spans of his chest, his arms, his legs, and then—God, have mercy!—his manhood.

  Heat flooded her cheeks and she lifted her gaze back to his, aware that she’d been staring.

  “I like it when you look at me, love,” he said huskily.

  Her eyes widened a little. “You do?”

  He nodded, because he couldn’t speak.

  Boldly, her gaze took him in again, and then as he’d done to her, she touched him. Sculpting her hands over the muscles of his shoulders and arms, testing his strength with soft little squeezes. He flexed hard under her fingertips.

  “Your arms are as yielding as stone. You’re much more muscular than you were before.”

  He laughed. “I should hope so. I’ve four years of battle behind me.”

  “What’s this?”

  Her fingers trailed over the mark on his arm. The same mark borne by all the members of the Highland Guard. The Lion Rampant, the symbol of Scotland’s kingship, with a torque-like band of a spiderweb around his arm. The spider in the cave that had reminded the king at his lowest point to not give up.

  “It’s nothing.” He took her hands from his body, gripping her by the wrist, and slammed them back against the mattress on either side of her head.

  She gasped, startled.

  He loomed over her, locking his gaze on hers. “Do you want to ask questions, Helen, or do you want me to make love to you?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer; the eager glint in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

  Helen gazed up at the man leaning over her. This rough, physical side of him was a surprise. He was always so courteous and gentle, so noble and reserved. But there was nothing noble and reserved about him now. He looked fierce and dangerous, his handsome face cast to wickedness in the shadows.

  With her hands pinned on either side of her head, he held her completely at his mercy. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. But she had no intention of going anywhere.

  She liked him like this. Physical. Dominating. A little rough. She liked the weight of his body on top of hers, liked to see the way the muscles of his broad chest and big arms rippled and flexed in the candlelight above her, liked to feel his strength.

  Instead of threatening, it made her feel safe and protected. She knew he would never hurt her. She bit her lip. At least she hoped. She had to admit being a little nervous about the first time. He was a big man, and she … she wasn’t quite sure how well they would fit together. But she assured herself that if women could give birth to babies, her body could adjust.

  Now was probably not the best time to remember all the screams that accompanied those babies.

  Fortunately, Magnus distracted her with far more pleasant thoughts.

  He kissed her mouth, her neck, her throat. Dragging his tongue and lips on a shivery trail to her breasts.

  Oh yes. She felt a quiver of anticipation between her legs.

  He cupped them in his big hands, rubbing the hard calluses of his thumbs over each tip. The gentle touch sent off flickers of sensation darting through her.

  “Your breasts are beautiful.” He tore his gaze away long enough to look into her eyes. “So soft and round.” He demonstrated his point with a gentle squeeze that made her hips press up against his. “Flawless ivory skin topped with two ripe little berries.” His eyes hooded as he gazed on them hungrily. A rush of dampness flooded between her legs. “I can’t wait to taste them.”

  Suddenly, she was glad he’d lit the candle. Glad she could see his desire for her. Just looking at him made her feel hot and restless. The air felt so thick and alive, heavy with anticipation.

  Instinctively, she arched her back. A soft cry escaped her lips.

  He smiled like a fox. “Aye, first I’m going to kiss your breasts.” He lowered his mouth and took one turgid peak between his teeth. The warm, wet suction of his lips lasted only an instant before he released her. One hand trailed down her stomach. “Then I’m going to kiss you right here.” She sucked in her breath when his finger swept over the warm, damp cavern of her womanhood. How could she ever have thought he wasn’t passionate? He was raw passion. Sensual and virile to the bone. “And then, after I make you come against my mouth, I’m going to slide my cock inside you and make you come again.”

  Oh God. The naughty words made her shudder with anticipation. The wicked promise of his voice sent off wave after wave of heated sensation.

  His mouth was on her breast, his tongue sucking and swirling until sharp needles of pleasure shot to her womb. But her mind was already on the next of his promises.

  The place between her legs was twitching, dampening, waiting. She couldn’t think about anything else. His mouth there.

  No. Yes. Now.

  Magnus could feel her body shake with pleasure. Feel the rush of desire surging through her blood. Those soft, eager little moans were driving him on. And every press of her hips told him exactly where to go.

  Her raw sensuality, her trust, both humbled and aroused him.

  He slid down her body, kissing a trail from her breasts, over the soft curve of her stomach to her hips, and finally to the baby-soft skin of her inner thigh. Cupping her bottom, he settled himself intimately between her legs and looked up her naked body to catch her gaze.

  She was watching him with a wanton mixture of uncertainty and eagerness. As if she thought she should issue some maidenly form of protest but didn’t want to. He was glad when she didn’t. He loved the honesty of her passion. Loved that she liked it just as much as he did. “I’ve dreamed of doing this to you,” he said huskily.

  “You have?”

  He nodded. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

  The last vestiges of her uncertainty faded as
he placed a feathery-soft kiss on the silky pink flesh. “Mmm,” he said, with a gentle lap of his tongue. “Sweet as honey.”

  The feel of his mouth—his tongue—on her was unlike anything Helen had ever imagined. Heat drenched through her in a wicked wave of need. She felt so hot. So wet. So wildly sensual.

  It was the most erotic moment of her life. Seeing him like this. Having him do this to her. Her body began to shake. She moaned. Lifted her hips and silently begged him for more.

  He gave it to her. He kissed her harder, deeper, the pressure of his mouth against her, his tongue flicking inside her, the scrape of his jaw against her thighs … It was too much. She writhed with the memory of what was to come. She felt the building pleasure, the tightening sensation, and the delicious coiling low in her belly.

  This time she knew what she wanted. She gave over to the sensations and let them take her to the highest peak …

  Her body stilled. The quivering between her legs paused for one heart-stopping moment. Then everything broke apart in one hot, long, spasming wave. She cried out her release as pleasure crashed over her.

  Magnus couldn’t wait any longer. The sound of her cries sent him over the edge. With one last drag of his mouth, he positioned himself between her legs.

  She was still shuddering with pleasure. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. She was warm and soft and wet—deliciously wet for him.

  Mine. She’d always been his.

  God, he loved her. He closed his eyes, threw his head back, and drove inside her in one hard thrust.

  Tight! Christ, tight. And …

  Resistance?

  Shock opened his eyes even as she cried out. Not in pleasure this time, but in pain.

  What the hell?