The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  He laughed at her outrage. “I’m only worried about you, lass.”

  Some of her anger dissipated. The brotherly Donald had returned. “You don’t need to worry, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “But you don’t have to.”

  Their eyes held. She knew what he was offering—and she was flattered—but how could she explain she didn’t think of him like that?

  Almost as if he could read her mind, his face darkened. “He’s not worthy of you.” She didn’t pretend to misunderstand of whom he spoke. The look of rage that flashed on his face chilled her blood. But it was gone so fast she wondered whether she’d imagined it. “And I’ll prove it to you.”

  Before she could ask him what he meant, he stormed off to the castle. Helen waited until he’d disappeared from view, and then heaved a deep sigh of relief. The incident had shaken her more than she’d realized.

  And she feared it had probably upset her plans. If Donald saw Magnus heading this way, he would guess—

  Her heart stopped. Oh God, would he do something? Abandoning her plan, she spun around, intending to return to the castle to try to avert disaster: “I’ll prove it to you.” What would Donald do?

  She’d barely taken a few steps, however, when someone moved out from a tree to block her path.

  “Magnus!” she cried out, startled but also relieved.

  Her relief at seeing him, however, dissipated when she saw his expression.

  She took an unconscious step back. He had a drying cloth looped around his neck and his hair hung in loose, sweaty chunks around his face. Though he’d removed his armor, wearing only leather breeches and a linen tunic, she’d never seen him look more fierce. His muscles—of which there was an impressive amount—were bunched up, flexed and taut. His eyes glared with fury, his mouth curled in a cruel line, and his jaw was hard and unyielding.

  His boyishly handsome face didn’t look boyish at all, but very dark and very menacing.

  “I-I …” To her amazement, she stuttered.

  “Surprised to see me?”

  She could hardly claim that, as she had come out here for exactly that purpose.

  But he didn’t give her time to answer. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your little …” He nearly spat the word. “Liaison.”

  Good lord, what was wrong with him? “It wasn’t a liaison. I was walking toward the beach—”

  “Spare me your explanations. I know what I saw.”

  Her eyes widened. “What you saw?”

  Suddenly, she realized that from his vantage, with her pressed up against a tree and Donald’s broad shoulders blocking her from view, what he’d seen would have looked …

  She blushed. It would have looked like Donald was kissing her.

  Her blush seemed to confirm it for him. His mouth turned stark white.

  My God, he’s jealous! The realization hit her like a battering ram.

  She decided to test her theory. She thrust her chin up and boldly looked him in the eye. “He wants to marry me.”

  His eyes narrowed with predatory intent. “Is that so?”

  If hope wasn’t rushing through her, she might have felt a wee bit of trepidation. But instinctively, she sensed how far she could push him. It was rather exhilarating to see him angry.

  She nodded, and heaved a false maidenly sigh of contentment.

  His fists clenched. “And this is what you want?”

  She took a step closer to him, the warmth of his body spreading over her just as she’d remembered it. He smelled of sweat, and leather, and sun. But there was something deeply arousing—almost primal—about it. Her body flushed with heat. The shock of sensations made her gasp as frissons of pleasure rippled through her.

  “What I want? What do you care about what I want? You’ve made your feelings toward me clear. Why should you care who I kiss?”

  He flinched, and she felt a wicked sense of feminine power surge through her. She leaned closer, until the hard tips of her breasts brushed against his chest.

  He made a pained sound low in his throat. She felt the tension radiate around him like a drum as he fought for control. She sensed the danger but felt drunk, with a new kind of power. “At least when he kisses me, it makes me feel like a woman, not a nun.” The muscle below his jaw jumped. “Aye, there is nothing chaste about his kiss,” she added for good measure.

  He moved so fast, she barely had time to process that she’d done the impossible: snapped the powerful bonds of his control. She was in his arms, breasts crushed against the muscular wall of his chest and hips plastered to his. And God, it felt incredible! Every nerve-ending in her body flared at the contact.

  His mouth covered hers with a groan of pure primal satisfaction that drove her pleasure all the way to her toes. She could feel it pulsing through her, spreading over her limbs like a wave of pure molten heat.

  His lips were soft but strong, his breath warm and spicy, as he crushed his mouth to hers.

  His hand splayed against her back, possessively drawing her closer, bending her into the hard curve of his body.

  For a moment she felt him yield. Felt his body envelop hers. His kiss grew more insistent. His lips dragging, kneading, opening her mouth.

  Oh God.

  She startled. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. His tongue was inside her mouth, plunging, thrusting, circling. Tasting her deeper and deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough.

  The sensation was incredible. She moaned and circled her arms around his neck, wanting to get closer. His chest was so hot. So hard. She wanted to melt against him. She could feel her body soften, and the heat between her legs start to pulse and dampen.

  The explosion of passion was so intense, so sudden, that she barely had time to savor it before it was gone. He broke away with a harsh, guttural curse, thrusting her from him as if she were plagued.

  But it was the look of loathing on his face that cut her to the quick.

  He still blames me, she realized. For not marrying him, and for marrying his friend. And bound up with that blame was guilt. He thought his feelings for her were a betrayal of his friend’s memory. “Will you ever forgive me for what happened? I made a mistake, Magnus. I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it differently I would. I shouldn’t have refused you. I shouldn’t have agreed to the betrothal with William. But you left and never came back. Never sent word. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.” Her hands twisted furiously in her skirts. “And then at the wedding …” She gazed up at him, begging for understanding. “You said you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t.”

  He had that hard, stubborn look on his face that infuriated her. “How can you say that after what just happened?”

  “Wanting is not the same thing as caring, Helen. Surely you know the difference?”

  It horrified her to realize she didn’t. How would she? The only man she’d ever kissed was he—and William, but the chaste peck in the church didn’t seem to count.

  No, she wouldn’t let him confuse her. She might be innocent, but she could tell when a man cared for her. And she’d seen his face at the wedding. The tic betrayed him. She thrust her chin up. “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never liked Munro. But marry him, if that’s what you wish.”

  Her heart dropped. “You don’t mean that.” Her voice sounded raw and dry. It wasn’t just competitiveness that had made him jealous … was it?

  “He can protect you.”

  What did that have to do with anything? Why did she need protection?

  “But I don’t love him. I love you.”

  Magnus stilled, trying to not let himself react to her words, but feeling them reverberate inside him like a drum.

  She didn’t mean it. And even if she did, it wasn’t enough. He’d traveled down this road before. He wouldn’t do it again.

  She’d made her decision four years ago. She didn’t love him enough then; nothing had changed. Whatever chance the