The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(47)

Helen’s heart was pounding in her throat. How had this happened? She tried to shift free, but he’d wedged his body to hers. She pressed against him, but he blocked her efforts by drawing her into his arms in a firm embrace.

“Please, Donald, you’re scaring me.”

He let her go, as if he’d only just realized she wasn’t welcoming his attentions.

“Forgive me,” he said with a bow. “I vowed not to rush you.”

Suddenly, a sound coming from the road drew his attention. A strange look crossed his face. “We’d best get back. Your brothers will return from the hunt at any time.” His eyes narrowed. “What were you doing out here by yourself?”

Irritation replaced her fear. “I am collecting some flowers for the feast tomorrow. I hope that meets with your approval?”

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 br**sts 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, br**sts 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.