The Saint (2 page)

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It would be a disaster if he discovered she was consorting with the enemy. Sutherlands hated MacKays. MacKays hated Sutherlands. That’s just the way it was. But not for her.

“I didn’t expect it to be so … 
intense
,” she said, which
was the truth. Belatedly she recalled her family loyalty. “And of course, I’m disappointed.”

Kenneth eyed her suspiciously, as if he didn’t quite believe that was all there was to it. He knew her too well. She held her breath, but then the crowd roared again, distracting him. His face darkened as he took in the glee of the MacKays. “I can’t believe he won.” He shook his head. “Father is going to be furious.”

A different kind of alarm shot through her. “Perhaps it would be best if we did not tell him? Not right away, at least.”

Kenneth’s eyes met hers, his expression instantly grave. “Is it that bad?”

“He will be fine,” she said firmly, assuring herself as much as her brother. Of course he would. It was the only possibility she would consider. “But I do not want to distract him. He needs all his strength to fight the illness.”

But each time the lung ailment came back it seemed worse. She probably shouldn’t have come, but Magnus had made her promise. And the thought of not seeing him for another year with the threat of war swirling all around them …

She couldn’t stay away.

It was only a week. Her father would be fine without her for a week. She’d left precise instructions for Beth, the serving lass who helped her care for her father, and Muriel had promised to check on him. It was she who’d taught Helen everything she knew about healing.

Kenneth held her gaze, the concern and fear in his eyes for their father mirroring her own. “Then perhaps you are right, it’s better not to upset him.” He took her elbow and nodded in the direction of their fallen champion. “Come, you’d best see to Munro. Although it appears it’s mostly our champion’s pride that has taken a beating.” A wry smile turned his mouth. “Perhaps he will learn a little humility.”

If her brother didn’t sound altogether displeased by Donald’s loss, Helen didn’t wonder why. He’d suffered many defeats at the hand of their champion, and Donald loved to remind him of every one. Kenneth would have his day—as Magnus had just had his. But she knew how difficult it was for her proud brother, who was itching to step out of their shadows and prove himself.

As soon as her brother looked away, Helen stole one last glance toward Magnus. But he was surrounded, lost in the crowd of cheering admirers, his enemy’s daughter undoubtedly far from his mind.

She sighed. Soon he’d have crowds of ladies following him about like Gregor MacGregor and Robbie Boyd. The famed archer with the face of Apollo and the strongest man in Scotland had taken on a godlike status at the Games and had their own retinues of starry-eyed young women hanging on their every move.

She followed her brother and pretended not to let it bother her. But it did. She wasn’t jealous—not really. Well, perhaps more of the freedom the women had to talk with Magnus in public than of the women themselves. Although the curvaceous blonde attached to his arm was quite pretty, she recalled with a pang.

Why did everything have to be so complicated?

At first she hadn’t given a second thought about sneaking away to meet him. The feud hadn’t mattered to her. All she’d been thinking about was that she liked him. That for the first time she’d met someone who seemed to understand her.

When she was with him she felt unique, not different. He didn’t care that she didn’t like sewing or playing the lute. That she spent more time in the barn than she did in church. That watching animals give birth held an unmaidenly fascination for her. He thought it was funny when she pointed out to Father Gerald that bleeding seemed a strange way of restoring humours when all it seemed to do was make the
patient weak and pale. He didn’t care that she’d rather wear a simple woolen kirtle (more often than not tied up between her legs) than a fancy court gown. He hadn’t even laughed the one spring she’d decided to cut her hair because it kept getting in her eyes.

But the constraints of the feud had begun to chafe. Stolen moments for the week of the Highland Games every year—and if they were lucky, perhaps a council meeting or two—were no longer enough. She wanted more. She wanted to be able to stand by Magnus’s side instead of those women and have him smile down at her the way he did that made her insides melt.

If a little voice in the back of her head that sounded like her father said, “Perhaps you should have thought of this in the beginning, Helen lass?” she quieted it. It would be fine. Somehow they would make it work.

She loved him, and he loved her.

She gnawed on her lower lip. She was almost certain of it. He’d kissed her, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter that barely had their lips touched, and her heart finished slamming into her chest, when he’d set her harshly away from him.

Part of her sensed his feelings ran just as deeply and passionately as hers. And despite the danger, despite the knowledge that her family would consider her actions a betrayal, she couldn’t stay away. It was foolish—impossible. But also exciting. When she was with Magnus she felt freer than she’d ever felt in her life.

How could she not take what they had and hold on tight? As the famous ancient Roman poet Horace said,
“Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.”
Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future. She might not have been much of a student when her father had brought in tutors for her, but she remembered that. The words had resonated.

It seemed to take forever to tend Donald’s wounds, if not his tattered pride, but at the first opportunity she snuck away and waited for Magnus to find her. It didn’t take him
long. Usually, making him work to find her was part of the fun. But she was so anxious to see him, she made it easy on him.

The snap of a twig was the only warning she had before two big hands circled her waist from behind and snatched her down off her perch.

She gasped as her back met the hard planes of his chest. Her cheeks flushed with heat. By saints, he was strong! The lean frame of youth was now stacked with layer upon layer of hard, steely muscle. The changes in him had not gone unnoticed, and being plastered so intimately against those changes sent a strange warmth shimmering over her and a flutter of awareness low in her belly. Her heart quickened.

He spun her around to face him. “I thought we agreed no more climbing trees?”

Agreed? Ordered was more like it. She wrinkled her nose. Sometimes he could be just as bossy and overprotective as her brothers. “Ah, Helen,” they’d say with an indulgent sigh, ruffling her red hair as if it were to blame. “What have you gone and done now?” They meant well, but they’d never understood her. Not like Magnus did.

Helen ignored his frown and gasped, as she gazed up into the familiar, handsome face. The boyishly strong, even features had been bruised and battered almost beyond recognition. He’d bathed and made some attempt to tend his wounds, but there was no washing away the big red and purple mass covering his jaw, the split lip, the broken nose, and the large cut near his eye. She traced the area around it lightly with her fingers, seeing that someone had already tended it. “Does it hurt horribly?”

He shook his head, capturing her hand in his to draw it away. “Nay.”

“Liar.” She pushed him away, hearing the grunt of pain and realizing she’d forgotten about his ribs. She put her hands on her hips. “It’s no more than you deserve after what you did.”

His brows furrowed in befuddlement. “I won.”

“I don’t care if you won, he nearly killed you!”

He folded his arms across his chest, a decidedly cocky grin on his face. For a moment her gaze snagged on the bulging display of muscle in his arms. Lately it seemed she was always noticing things like that at the most inopportune times. It flustered her.
He
flustered her. Which was disconcerting, since from the first she’d always been comfortable around him.

“But he didn’t,” he said.

The arrogance of his pronouncement distracted her from her distraction. Her eyes narrowed. Men and their pride. Nay,
Highlanders
and their pride. They were a special breed of proud and stubborn. “You don’t have to sound so pleased with yourself.”

He frowned. “Aren’t you pleased for me?”

Helen nearly threw up her hands. “Of course I am.”

The frown deepened. “Then why are you so upset?”

Were all men obtuse? “Because I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

He grinned again, snagging her around the waist as she tried to spin away from him. It was a playful move—something he’d done many times before—but there was something different this time when he dragged her up against the long length of his powerful body. Something hot and dangerous crackled in the air between them.

She gasped at the contact, feeling every solid inch of the steely chest and legs plastered to hers.

He looked down at her, his warm, golden-brown eyes darkening. “But I have you to take care of me, don’t I,
m’aingeal
?”

The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver running through her.
My angel
. He’d called her that since the first day they’d met, but today it sounded different. She blinked up at him, surprised at the change that had come over him. He never flirted with her like this. It was strange, exciting, and a little
intimidating. He was a man. A warrior. A champion. Not the tall, lanky lad she’d first met. And suddenly she was achingly aware of it.

She tilted her head back, her lips parting in some instinctive response. She could see the desire swimming in his eyes and sucked in her breath in anticipation.

He was going to kiss her. God, he was
really
going to kiss her.

Finally!

Her heart hammered in her ears, as he lowered his head. She could feel his muscles tighten around her. Feel the pounding of his heart against hers and sense the passion surging inside him. Her knees weakened as desire shot through her in a wave of melting heat.

She sighed with pleasure at the first contact, at the sensation of his soft lips pressing against hers. Warmth and the faint tinge of spice infused her, flooding her senses with the heady taste of him.

He kissed her tenderly, dragging his lips over hers in a gentle caress. She sank into him, unconsciously seeking more.

Show me how much you care for me
. She wanted throes of passion. She wanted heartfelt declarations of love. She wanted it all.

He made a pained sound, and for a moment she wondered if she’d hurt his ribs. But then his arms tightened around her. His mouth hardened, pressing against her more fully. The taste of spice grew deeper, more arousing. She could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the power surging through him, and her body melted in anticipation. Then suddenly he stiffened and pulled away with a harsh curse.

He released her so abruptly she had to catch herself from stumbling. Her legs seemed to be missing their bones.

Her eyes widened, shocked and not a little disappointed. Had she done something wrong?

He dragged his fingers through silky-straight, sandy-brown hair. “Marry me.”

She gaped at him in astonishment. “W-what?”

His gaze locked on hers. “I want you to be my wife.”

The spontaneity of the proposal was so unlike him, at first she thought he must be jesting. But one look at his face told her differently. “You’re serious?”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

He frowned. It was obviously not the response he’d hoped for. “I would think that would be obvious. I care for you.”

Not “I love you.” Not “I can’t live without you.” Not “I want to ravish you senseless.”

There was a tiny pinch in the vicinity of her heart. Helen told herself she was being ridiculous. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? He’d told her how he felt—even if it wasn’t exactly with the flourish she’d hoped for.

He was so confoundingly
controlled
. Not cold and unfeeling, but calm and even-tempered. Steady. A rock, not a volcano. But sometimes she wished he’d explode.

When she didn’t respond right away, he added, “Surely this can’t come as a surprise to you?”

Actually it did. She bit her lip. “We never talked about the future.” Perhaps because they’d both been trying to ignore the realities.

Marriage
. It was the only option for a woman in her position. Then why did the very idea strike fear in her heart?

But this was Magnus. He understood her. She loved him. Of course she wanted to marry him.

But what he was asking was impossible. “Our families will never allow it. The feud.”

“I’m not asking our families, I’m asking you. Run away with me.”

She sucked in her breath. A clandestine marriage? The notion was shocking. But also, she admitted, oddly appealing—and
undeniably romantic. Where would they go? Perhaps the continent? How exciting it would be to travel across the countryside with only each other to please! “Where would we go?”

He looked at her strangely. “Strathnavar. My father will be angry at first, of course, but my mother will understand. He’ll come around eventually.”

Northern Scotland, not the continent. The MacKay lands were in Caithness, which bordered Sutherland. Arguments over land for the neighboring clans had started and fueled the feud for years.

“And where would we live?” she asked carefully.

“At Castle Varrich with my family. When I am chief, the castle will be yours.”

Of course. Silly lass, how could she have thought differently? His mother was the perfect lady of the castle. Naturally, he would expect as much from her. Her lungs squeezed, and her heart raced. “Why now? Why can’t we wait and see—”

“I’m tired of waiting. Nothing will change.” His jaw hardened, an unfamiliar glint of steel in his eye. He was growing impatient with her. For a moment she thought he might lose his temper. But Magnus never lost his temper. Sometimes she even wondered whether he had one. “I’m tired of sneaking around, not being able to speak or even look at you in public. You are eighteen now, Helen. How much longer before your father finds you a husband?”