She didn’t mean it. Her brother was right. She loved everything around her. She didn’t love him. If she had, she would never have refused him, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have married another man.
“Did you figure this out before or after you married my best friend?”
She flinched, perhaps as he intended. He knew it was wrong, this lashing out. But something about her—something about this situation—made him want to hurt her as badly as he’d been hurt. As he still hurt.
“That was a mistake. I never should have married William. He knew it as well as I—”
He didn’t want to hear this. “It doesn’t matter.”
But the reminder of his friend hardened his resolve and reminded him of why he’d come here. Now that he’d assured himself she wasn’t in danger, he could put this all behind him. He could putherbehind him.
One more day. He could make it through one more day.
At least he thought he could. But then she closed the distance he’d put between them. She was so small and feminine. The overwhelming urge to take her in his arms again rose inside him. Her soft, alluring scent taunted him. He could still taste her on his mouth, the sweet honey of her lips ambrosia to a starving man.
He’d never lost control like that. Never. He’d wanted to ravish her senseless. Press her up against that tree, wrap her legs around his hips, and do what he’d been wanting to do to her for years. She wasn’t a girl any longer. Nor the virginal maid he’d thought to take for his bride.
“What must I do? Get down on my hands and knees to beg your forgiveness?”
Oh hell. For that was where he was surely going. The image of her on her knees before him…
It wasn’t begging that he was thinking about, but her mouth wrapped around him. His hands sinking through the soft silk of her hair as she took him deep into her naughty mouth and milked him. Heaviness tugged in his groin, his cock thickened.
Damn it, he was losing all rationality. Her nearness was like a sensual drug. She had no idea what she did to him. How one look, one touch, one whiff could send him into a mindless, lust-induced stupor.
Suddenly, one more day seemed like forever.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Their eyes met and seeing her earnestness, a little of the hardness inside him softened. “You don’t even know me anymore, Helen. I’m not the same man I was four years ago.”
It was the truth. They couldn’t go back to the way things were, even if he wanted to.
“Neither am I. I’m stronger. I would never let my family persuade me to go against my heart. Won’t you give me—us—a chance?”
He was more tempted by her words than he wanted to admit. But guilt was a powerful antidote.She’s not yours, damn it.
The sound of footsteps behind him proved a welcome interruption. He turned, surprised to see MacGregor racing toward him through the trees.
His instincts flared, immediately sensing that something was wrong. He reached for his sword.
“What is it?” he asked as MacGregor came to a hard stop before him, the heaviness of his breath testament to how fast he’d run.
The look on his face made Magnus brace himself for the worst. But still it wasn’t enough.
“It’s the king,” he said. His gaze shot to Helen. “You’d better come, too, my lady. He’s ill. Terribly ill.”
Ten
Helen had never been more scared in her life. The realization that the King of Scotland’s life rested in her hands was terrifying, to say the least. A messenger had been dispatched to try to find Muriel, but the situation was too dire to wait. Robert the Bruce was dying.
She worked tirelessly through the day and night, doing everything in her power to halt the deathly plague that had overtaken him. Feverish, violently ill, and unable to keep anything down, the king came close to dying so many times she lost count.
Magnus was by her side the entire time. He told her of the king’s illness the winter before last, where he’d nearly died after a similar malady. He’d suffered a few recurring bouts since then of fatigue, weakness, and aches, but nothing like this violent vomiting and flux.
Magnus’s description matched a common malady that typically affected sailors and nobles. Farmers and peasants, however, rarely suffered from the sickness. Some suspected certain foods were the cause; poorer folk couldn’t afford as much meat and subsided on less expensive foods like fruits, vegetables, eggs, and pottages.
She’d asked Magnus to describe the king’s diet and found that like most noblemen, he favored meat, cheese, fish, and bread.
But so far, her efforts to combat the illness with pottages and mashed-up vegetables and fruits had not worked. It wasn’t surprising, as the king couldn’t seem to keep anything in his stomach. But part of her wondered whether it was something else.
