The Saint (7 page)

Her breath caught. As if she were
special
.

“Well, it’s fortunate for me and Tail here that you are so talented.”

She beamed. She’d never met anyone like him. This bronzed young warrior with the kind eyes and dazzling grin. She knew right there and then that he was special, too.

“Helen!”

She heard her father’s impatient shouts from above and realized her absence had been noticed.

“I think someone is looking for you,” he said, helping her up.

She glanced down at the dog, still curled by his feet. “You’ll be able to carry him from here?” she asked.

“We’ll be fine. Now.”

“Helen!” her father shouted again.

She cursed under her breath, not wanting to leave him just yet.

Perhaps he was feeling the same reluctance to part. He took her hand, bowing over it as gallantly as any knight. Her heart actually strummed like the strings of a harp.

“Thank you, Lady Helen. I look forward to our next meeting.”

Their eyes held, and Helen felt the squeezing around her chest tighten, knowing he spoke the truth. There would be more meetings between them.

And there were. The next time she’d seen him—six months later, when she’d learned his identity at the negotiations to end the feud between their clans—the dog had been right at his heels, a small limp the only sign of his ordeal. There had been no question of them ever being enemies. Their bond had already been forged. First in friendship, and then in something much more.

She’d never seen the twitch below his eye again.

Until the wedding feast.

God, why hadn’t he stopped her? Why had he let her marry another man? The door opened.

She gasped—actually, she feared it sounded more like a squeak. William strode into the room and closed the door behind him. Alone. At least she would not have to endure the added discomfort of others watching him get into bed beside her.

He eyed her wryly, his gaze skimming over the sheet that had made its way even higher under her chin. “You can relax. Your virtue is safe for the moment.” His eyes hardened. “Or perhaps it is too late for that?”

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. Though she knew he had cause to wonder, the accusation still stung. She lifted her chin, a spot of heat burning on each cheek. “My virtue is perfectly intact, my lord.”

He held her gaze and shrugged. “Of course it is. He’s a bloody saint.”

The hint of bitterness in his voice tugged at her conscience.

He strode over to the table where a jug of wernage had been set out for her and poured himself a drink. He grimaced at the sweetness of the wine, but drank it nonetheless.

He hadn’t changed for bed, she noticed. He still wore the fine tunic and hose he’d worn to their wedding. He sat down in the chair beside the brazier and studied her over the rim of the glass.

Some of her tension eased.

“So you are the woman he’s been pining for all these years.” He shook his head disgustedly. “I should have known. How could I not have known?”

He didn’t seem to expect her to say anything.

After a moment, he looked at her again. “What happened? Did your families prevent a match?”

“That was part of it.” She explained how they’d met secretly for years until the fateful day when Magnus had asked her to run away and her brother had discovered them.

“I can imagine how that went,” he said. “Your brother has always had a particularly virulent streak when it comes to MacKay.”

She didn’t disagree with him. “I was scared. My father was ill and needed me to care for him. I let them persuade me it was nothing more than a youthful transgression. By the time I realized my mistake, Magnus was gone and you—” She stopped.

“And your father had betrothed you to me.”

“Aye.” She realized she’d sat up in the bed, and the sheets were now in her lap being twisted in her hands.

“You didn’t know he’d be here?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since that day. You never mentioned that you knew him.”

“Do you love him?”

There was something in his voice that bothered her. A niggle of guilt wiggled its way into her consciousness. She’d been so caught up in her own misery, she hadn’t thought much about William’s feelings. Unlike Magnus, he seemed much more adept at showing them. He was angry, yes, but also, she could see, disappointed. “I—”

He held up his hand, stopping her. “You don’t need to answer. I saw your face.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t say anything. Why you went through with it.”

Heat crept up her cheeks. “It didn’t seem to matter.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You tried to talk to him.”

She nodded, shame heating her cheeks.

“And that’s what he told you?”

She nodded again.

He swore. “Stubborn arse.”

She didn’t disagree.

He leaned back in his chair again and seemed to contemplate the contents of his glass quite thoroughly. When he was done, he looked back up at her. “So what are we to do now?”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Do?” What could they do?

“It’s a fine mess.”

“Aye, that it is.”

“Unlike others, I’m not a saint.”

Her brows furrowed. “My lord?”

He shook his head with a laugh. “I will not share my wife.” His gaze intensified. “Nor do I care for bedding a martyr. When I make love to my wife, she will not be thinking of another man.”

There was something dark and promising in his voice that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. In another time, in another place, she might have been quite content to be married to William Gordon.

He smiled, perhaps guessing the direction of her thoughts. Leaving his drink on the floor beside the chair, he stood. “It appears I’m giving you a choice, my lady.”

She startled. “A choice?”

“Aye. Come to my bed willingly or don’t come at all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite simple. The marriage is not consummated—yet. If you wish to have it declared invalid I will not stand in your way.”

“An annulment?” Her voice barely sounded above a whisper.

He nodded. “Or if one cannot be procured, a divorce. It is not pretty, but it is a solution.”

It would cause a scandal. Her family would be furious. She looked at William. He would be shamed. And Magnus …

William seemed to read her thoughts. “He will never change his mind.” She stilled. “You married me,” he said softly.

Helen’s heart stopped. He was right. Dissolved or nay, Magnus would never be hers. She’d married his best friend. His pride and loyalty to his friend would keep him from her. To his mind, she belonged to William, and that was a line he would not cross. She knew that as well as William did. Mangus was lost to her.

“I’ll return in an hour and expect your answer.” He shut the door softly behind him, leaving her alone to the tumult of her thoughts.

He had to get out of here. It had been hard enough watching the women lead Helen from the Hall, but if Magnus had to watch Gordon leave—or God forbid, be forced to go along with him to witness him sliding into bed with his bride—he was going to kill someone. Probably MacRuairi, who kept looking at him as if he were the biggest fool in all of Christendom, or Kenneth Sutherland, whose knowing smirk told him that he’d guessed exactly how much this was torturing him.

Magnus couldn’t believe she’d actually gone through with it. She’d married someone else. And in another hour—maybe less—she’d be consummating those vows and lying
in the arms of another man. Nay, not just another man, the closest friend he’d ever had.

Jesus
. The burning in his chest exploded as he made his way out of the Hall, relieving one of the serving maids of a large jug of whisky on the way.

He couldn’t think about it. He’d go mad if he thought about it. It had taken everything he’d had to stand silent witness as she married Gordon, but the mere thought of her readying herself for bed …

Letting down her long, silky hair …

Removing her clothes …

Waiting in bed, those big blue eyes wide with maidenly nervousness …

She should be mine
. He swore. The knife of pain bent him over. He took a long swig from the jug and stumbled out into the black, misty night.

He headed for the boathouse, where he and the other members of the Highland Guard without wives were sleeping. He intended to get good and drunk, so they wouldn’t have far to move him when he passed out.

First women, now drink. Today began a bloody new chapter for him. He took another swig. All hail the fallen Saint.

Moonlight filtered through the wooden planks and small window in the large building constructed just beyond the castle gates to house the MacDougall chief’s
birlinns
. But since the MacDougall loss at the Battle of Brander a few months ago, it belonged to Bruce.

A few torches had been lit, but Magnus didn’t bother with a brazier. Cold had become his comfort. Like the drink, it kept him numb.

“I feel nothing,” he’d told her. God, how he wished it were true!

A small part of him had thought she wouldn’t be able to do it. That despite what he’d said, she would not bind herself
to someone else forever. That she loved him enough to do what was right.

But she didn’t. Not then and not now.

He sat on his pallet, leaning his back against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, and drank. He drank to find peace, to reach the mindless oblivion where the torture of his thoughts wouldn’t find him. Instead he found hell. An angry, black hell where the fire of his thoughts raged and burned in the farthest reaches of his soul.

Was it happening right now? Was Gordon taking her in his arms and making love to her? Was he giving her pleasure?

The torture went deeper, became more explicit, until he thought he’d go mad with the images.

How much time had passed, he didn’t know, before the door opened. A man strode in.

When he saw who it was, blood raged through his veins. “Get the hell out of here, Sutherland.”

Despite the slur of drink, there was no mistaking the warning in his voice.

The blasted fool ignored it. He crossed the room with his usual arrogant swagger. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Gordon was looking for you. I think he wanted you to accompany him to the bridal chamber. But he left without you.”

Nothing could have dulled the stab of pain that hit him then. It was happening right now. Oh, Jesus.

The bastard smiled. Magnus’s hand squeezed around the neck of the jug until the blood fled from his knuckles. But he wouldn’t give Sutherland the satisfaction of showing him how well his dagger had stuck. “Is that all you wished to tell me or is there something else?”

Helen’s brother stopped a few feet away from him, looming over him. Despite the obvious intent, Magnus wasn’t threatened. The disadvantage of his position on the floor
wouldn’t last long if he didn’t want it to. Sutherland didn’t know just how much danger he was in. This wasn’t the Highland Games. Magnus had three years of war behind him, fighting alongside the best warriors in Scotland. Sutherland had fought with the English.

“I think they’re going to be quite happy together, don’t you?”

Magnus flexed his hand. God, how he itched to smash it through Sutherland’s gleaming-white sneer!

“Or maybe you don’t want that at all? Maybe you still fancy yourself in love with my sister? Maybe that’s the reason why you never told Gordon about your illicit little romance?”

“Have care, Sutherland. Your friend isn’t here to protect you this time.”

He was rewarded with an angry clench of his enemy’s jaw.

“I wonder whether he’ll still be
your
friend when he hears the truth.”

Magnus was on his feet with his hand around the other man’s neck before he could react. “You’ll keep your damned mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.” He shoved him up hard against a wooden post. “It’s in the past.”

In a move that would have made Robbie Boyd proud, Sutherland pushed up with the back of his arm, breaking Magnus’s hold, and twisted out of the way. “Damned right it’s in the past, and there’s not a blasted thing you can do about it. I’ll bet right now he’s—”

Magnus snapped. He let his fist fly right into the bastard’s sneering grin. He heard a satisfying crunch. The force of the blow would have felled most men, but Sutherland absorbed the shock with a snap of his head and returned the blow to Magnus’s gut with enough force to exact a grunt.

Either Sutherland had become a much better warrior or
the drink had taken more of a toll than Magnus realized. Or perhaps both. The result was that in the exchange of blows that followed, Sutherland gave him more of a battle than he expected. It had been a long time since Magnus had brawled with only fists for a weapon, but it didn’t take him long to get the upper hand. He let off a barrage of blows that would have knocked Sutherland senseless if someone hadn’t pulled him back.

“Stop! Damn it, MacKay, that’s enough!”

He was grabbed from behind, an arm around his neck. He reacted instinctively, twisting and intending to use the momentum and leverage to throw the other man over his head, but recognition broke through the haze.

It was Gordon. What the hell was he doing here?

From the look on Sutherland’s face, he was wondering the same thing.

“What is this about?” Gordon looked back and forth between them. His eyes narrowed with an intensity that gave Magnus an uneasy prickle. “Or perhaps I don’t need to ask? If you two want to kill each other, do it someplace else. This isn’t the time.”

He was right. Magnus was ashamed he’d let the bastard get to him. He didn’t try to offer an excuse.

He and Sutherland exchanged a look. Despite his taunts, it was clear Sutherland had no intention of telling Gordon about Helen. His intent had only been to torment Magnus with what he knew.

Gordon looked at them both in disgust. “Leave us,” he said to Sutherland. “There is something MacKay and I need to discuss—alone.”

Magnus suspected Sutherland was more concerned by Gordon’s pronouncement than he let on. But he ceded to his demand with a curt nod to Gordon and a look toward Magnus that promised this was not over.