The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(125)

And the churl knew it. He knew exactly what the sight of his bare chest was doing to her. He was fighting dirty now. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“The bath looks good. I hate to waste all that warm water.”

“I thought you liked cold lochs.”

He laughed. “Aye, well, I suspect I won’t be needing those quite as often.”

She didn’t understand. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I refused your offer of marriage.”

He shot her an annoyed glare. “Oh, I heard you.”

Whatever she might have said was lost when he loosened the ties of his chausses, and then his braies. Both dropped to the floor with a wicked, blood-rushing thud. Completely, perfectly, and mouthwateringly naked, he stepped into the bath, sinking into the warm water with a groan that sent a shiver of desire right to her toes. “God, this feels good.”

He sank under the water, popping back up a moment later with his hair slicked back from his face. He rested his arms on the rim of the wooden tub and sat back to watch her. Helen had the distinct Lord of the Castle impression, with her playing the role of bidding lady. He’d probably ask her to wash him next!

“You can’t do this.” She eyed the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“If you’re waiting for your brother to come bursting through the door and interrupt us again, you’ve nothing to worry about. He’s the one who told me you were leaving.”

She gaped at him in astonishment, as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads. “Was he breathing when you left him?”

Magnus smiled. “For now. I can’t promise how long it will last, but we’ve reached something of an understanding.”

Her already weakened legs gave out completely, and she sank on the bed behind her. “An understanding?”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up. We aren’t friends—more like reluctant allies.”

“Allies in what?”

“You.” His smile fell, his expression becoming serious. Their eyes met. “I figure if my worst enemy can forgive me, I can forgive myself.”

She sucked in her breath, realizing what he meant. “William?”

He nodded. “Who the hell thought your brother would say something worthwhile, let alone find some wisdom to impart?” He looked into her eyes intently, his expression turning grave. “I wish to God it had never happened, but it did. I did what I had to do and would do it again if necessary. Just as Gordon would have done for me.”

She stared at him. This man who’d held her heart for so long. She probed every corner of his eyes and face, searching for a sign of guilt or anger. She knew how good he was at hiding his emotions—at projecting the cool, calm confidence. But there was no sign of anything but relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Ask me anything, Helen. If you want to talk about him I will.”

Helen shook her head, emotion welling in her eyes and throat. It had never been about William, but about his ghost. The dark sadness that had hovered around Magnus that she’d never understood. But now she did. And miraculously, some of that sadness had dissipated.

His eyes met hers. “Are we going to keep making the same mistakes? Marry me, Helen. However many times you refuse me, I’m going to keep asking until you give me the right answer.”

Helen’s chest swelled with joy. She’d longed for this moment for so many years, it didn’t seem possible that everything she wanted was finally within her grasp.

Well, not quite everything she wanted. There was one more thing they had to discuss before she agreed. She bit her lip, anticipating his reaction. “I wasn’t going to give up, you know.”

He frowned. “You weren’t leaving?”

Instead of answering, she reached for the note that sat atop the pile of belongings and handed it to him.

“This has the king’s seal,” he said, examining it.

“Read it. If necessary I will ask him to reseal it.”

Breaking the glob of hardened wax with a snap, Magnus unfolded the parchment and scanned the missive. As a chief’s heir, he’d had some learning. Enough to read the short note in Gaelic addressed to Tor MacLeod.

Magnus’s face darkened as he read. By the time he’d finished, he looked up at her with such a fierce expression, it might have caused a less determined woman to have second thoughts.

In a cold, final voice that brokered no argument, he said (or rather shouted), “Absolutely not!”

* * *

Magnus stood from the bath, grabbing the damp drying cloth she’d used to brush the water from his skin. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped out of the tub and took her by the arm, lifting her from the bed to face him.

Was she out of her mind? Had the king gone completely mad?

“I won’t allow it.”

She tilted that pixieish face to his. If he’d been any less furious, her pursed mouth and flashing eyes might have made him exercise a bit more diplomacy. “As you have no say in the matter, I’m afraid what you will or will not allow is immaterial.”

He growled—actually growled. “If you think I’m going to let you become a part of this you are out of your bloody mind. I don’t want you anywhere near our missions. Don’t you know how dangerous—”