The Saint: A Highland Guard Novel Read online

  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—andundeniably 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?”

  She blanched, knowing he was right. She’d escaped a betrothal this long only because her father was ill and needed her.

  Her heart stopped. Oh God, who would take care of her father? She looked at him helplessly, the enormity of the decision making her hesitate. She loved him, but she loved her family, too. How could she choose between them?

  He must have read her indecision. “Don’t you see, this is the only way it can be. What we have …” His voice dropped off. “What we have is special. Don’t you want to be with me?”

  “Of course, I do. But I need some time—”

  “There isn’t time,” he said harshly. But he wasn’t looking at her. A moment later, she knew why.

  “Get the hell away from her!”

  Her heart dropped. Helen turned around to see her brother flying toward them.

  Magnus saw the blood drain from Helen’s face and wished he could spare her from this moment. But it had been inevitable. They’d been fortunate to escape discovery for so long.

  Although if they were going to be discovered by anyone in her family, he would rather it had been her eldest brother, William, the heir to the earldom. He at least wasn’t a complete arse. If there was anyone he disliked more than Donald Munro it was Kenneth Sutherland. He had all the arrogance and all the snide mockery of Munro, with a hot temper to boot.

  Instinctively, Magnus moved around to block Helen. He knew she was close to her brother, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Sutherland was unpredictable at best, rash at worst.

  Magnus caught the other man’s fist before it could slam into his jaw and pushed him back. “This isn’t any of your business, Sutherland.”

  Her brother would have come at him again, but Helen stepped between them. Next to her oaf of a brother she looked as diminutive as a child. Her head barely reached the middle of his chest. But she wasn’t a child. For two long years Magnus had been waiting for her to turn eighteen. He wanted her so badly he couldn’t breathe. This impish, fey creature, with her big blue eyes, freckled upturned nose, and wild mane of glorious deep red hair. Hers was not a conventional beauty, but to him, there was no one more breathtaking.

  “Please, Kenneth, it’s not what you think.”

  Sutherland’s eyes sparked with outrage. “It’s exactly what I think. I knew there was something wrong at the competition, but I didn’t want to believe it.” His gaze softened as he met his sister’s. “Good God, a MacKay, Helen? Our clan’s most reviled enemy? How could you be so disloyal?”

  Helen flinched with guilt, and Magnus swore. “Leave her out of this. If you want to take your anger out on someone, take it out on me.”

  The other man’s eyes narrowed. “With pleasure.” He reached for his sword. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

  “A bold claim for someone who has never bested me in anything.”

  Sutherland snarled with fury. Helen cried out and launched herself at her brother. “No, please,” tears were sliding down her cheeks, “don’t do this, I-I love him.”

  Magnus had been reaching for his own sword, but her words stopped him. His heart slammed in his chest. She loved him. She’d never said so before, and after their recent conversation he hadn’t been so sure. Warmth settled over him. He’d been right. They were meant to be together. She felt it, too.

  With more gentleness than Magnus would have thought him capable, her arse of a brother said, “Ah, Helen.” He stroked her cheek fondly. “You’re too young, love. You don’t know what you are saying. Of course you think you’re in love with him. You’re eighteen. That’s what young girls do, they fall in love.”

  She shook her head fervently. “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that,” he said. Had Magnus not seen it himself, he would never have imagined Kenneth Sutherland could be so—God forbid!—tender. But maybe Helen had a way of bringing out the softer side in everyone. He just hadn’t realized Sutherland had a softer side. “You love to love,” Sutherland continued. “God chose the first of May for your saint’s day for a reason. Every day is like May Day to you. But how well can you know him?” Helen bit her lip, and Sutherland’s expression narrowed. “How long have you been meeting like this?”

  She flushed, looking down at her feet. Magnus felt his anger rise, seeing her guilt.

  “We met at the Games at Dunottar,” Magnus interjected. “By accident.”

  Kenneth spun on her. “Four years ago?”

  He swore when Helen nodded.

  “By God, if he’s disgraced you, I’ll string him up by his bollocks and see him gelded—”

  “He’s done nothing,” Helen interrupted, putting her hand on her brother to hold him back. Remarkably, it seemed to work. “He’s treated me with perfect courtesy.”

  Magnus frowned, hearing something odd in her voice. It almost sounded like disappointment. “Have care what you say, Sutherland. You have a right to your anger, but I will not allow you to impugn your sister’s honor or mine.”

  It might have taken every last shred of his control, but Magnus hadn’t done more than kiss Helen. He wouldn’t dishonor her like that. He’d wait until they were married, and then he’d dishonor her plenty. The sweet taste of her lips on his still haunted him. But it had been as much care for her innocence as lack of confidence in his own control that had caused him to pull away.

  Sutherland’s face darkened, as if he knew exactly what Magnus was thinking. “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before you get the chance.” He shot Magnus a look that promised retribution and folded his sister under his arm as if to protect her from something repugnant. “Come, Helen, we’re leaving.”

  Helen shook her head and tried to pull away. “No, I—”

  She looked to Magnus helplessly. His mouth tightened. She had only to say the word, and he’d claim her right now. He’d defeated the Sutherland champion—her brother would not stand in his way.

  Sutherland put his cheek on her head, talking to her as if she were a child. “What were you thinking, lass? Your eyes are so filled with sunshine, you think it shines as brightly for everyone else. But you aren’t going to be able to make this have a happy ending. Not this time. Surely you didn’t think anything could come of this?”

  Magnus had had enough. “I asked her to be my wife.”

  Sutherland’s face turned so red, he appeared to choke. “God’s blood, you must be mad! I’d sooner see her married to old longshanks himself than a MacKay.”

  Magnus’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword. Feud or no feud, nothing would stand in their way. “It’s not you I’ve asked.”

  Both men’s eyes fell on Helen, whose pale face was ravaged by tears that looked so out of place. Helen never cried; that she was doing so told of her deep distress. She looked back and forth between them. Magnus knew she loved her brother, but she loved him, too. She’d just said so.

  Magnus clenched his jaw, knowing how hard this was on her. He knew what he was asking of her. But she had to decide. It was always going to come down to this.

  Sutherland did not show such restraint. “If you marry him it will renew the war between our clans.”

  “It doesn’t have to,” Magnus said. He didn’t like Sutherland any better than Sutherland did him, but he’d do his best to put the feud behind him for Helen’s sake. But his father … he couldn’t be so sure.

  Sutherland acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “You would turn your back on your family? On Father? He needs you.”

  His voice sounded so certain. So bloody reasonable.

  Her tear-filled eyes grew enormous in her pale face. She looked at Magnus pleadingly and he knew. His chest started to burn.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’
t …”

  Their eyes met. He didn’t want to believe it. But the truth was there in stark, vivid blue.

  Jesus. His gut twisted. He couldn’t believe … He’d thought …

  He stiffened and turned brusquely away, holding himself perfectly still so he wouldn’t do something to shame himself like beg. The worst part was how badly he wanted to. But he had his pride, damn it. It was bad enough that Sutherland was here to witness his rejection.

  Sutherland folded Helen into his arms and petted her hair. “Of course you can’t, sweetheart. MacKay couldn’t have expected you to agree to this. Only a romantic fool would have thought you’d agree to run away with him.”

  Magnus could hear Sutherland laughing at him. He clenched his fists, wanting to smash the taunting grin off the bastard’s face.

  Had he really expected her to run away with him?

  Aye, fool that he was, he had. Helen was different. Helen wasn’t bound by convention. If she’d loved him enough, nothing would have stopped her. Knowing that was the worst part.

  He would have given up everything for her, if she’d only asked.

  But she never did. The next morning he watched the Sutherland tents coming down. They were leaving. Her brothers weren’t going to give her any chance to change her mind.

  Robert Bruce, the Earl of Carrick, approached him with Neil Campbell just as Helen exited the castle. Her face was hidden in the hood of her dark cloak, but he would know her anywhere.

  Magnus barely listened to their proposition. Barely heard the details of a secret band of elite warriors being formed by Bruce to help defeat the English. He was too caught up in Helen. Too busy watching her leave him.

  Turn back. But she never did. She rode out of the gate, disappearing into the morning mist, and never once looked back. He watched until the last Sutherland banner had disappeared from view.

  Bruce was still talking.

  He wanted Magnus for his secret army. It was all he needed to hear. “I’ll do it.”

  He’d do anything to get away from here.