by Brenda Joyce
Why would she mind? she wondered. She reached for the clasp and undid it, handing the necklace over.
As he held the pendant up to the light, the fog lifted. Claire realized she had been entranced and she shook her head to clear it. She had just handed her mother’s necklace to a medieval stranger! Ironheart’s power to mesmerize was far more potent than Malcolm’s. She hadn’t been able to even think about what he had asked her to do until he turned away.
She bit her lip, shaken.
He handed it back to her, ruefully smiling, his eyes soft. “’Tis nay my brother’s, but then, ’twould be a miracle if it was.” His tone was offhand, but his gaze was searching.
Claire put the necklace back on, avoiding his eyes. “Malcolm is looking for me,” she said firmly, wanting to get away from this man. He had so much power. Didn’t the demons have this kind of power, too? She must never let her guard down again, not in this time or any time.
“I’ll take ye to him,” Ironheart said. “’Tis my pleasure.”
“IF AIDAN HAS THE PAGE from the Cladich, I be confident he will bring it here,” MacNeil said. The two men were strolling in the orchard, where no one, not even another Master, could overhear them.
“An’ I nay be confident,” Malcolm said flatly. “I go to Awe immediately.”
“Give Aidan a chance to relinquish the page,” MacNeil said softly, but it was an order and they both knew it.
“How many chances will ye give him before ye ken he be as evil an’ twisted as Moray?”
“Is that what ye really believe?”
Malcolm tensed. The truth was, he didn’t know what to believe about the Wolf of Awe. Aidan had been sworn to uphold the Code, but as often as not he ignored his orders, chasing his own ambition. While his father, Moray, had given him Castle Awe, clearly forging an alliance with his rebel son, Aidan had turned around and married a great heiress, vastly expanding his lands and his power. It was uncertain if he supported Moray or not. His wife had died a few months ago in childbirth, his son surviving. Malcolm knew Aidan would find another heiress, and soon. Aidan had also somehow convinced the king to pass on his wife’s title to him, when the title should have passed directly to his son. He was now the earl of Lismore.
What Malcolm did know was that Aidan could not be trusted.
“Aidan can bring the page to ye, under my protection, by my escort, or he can hand it over to me. One way or another, ye will have the page.” Malcolm meant it. He relished the coming confrontation.
“I see ye will harbor yer grudge. When will ye speak of what ye really wish to speak of—the beautiful woman?” MacNeil smiled with knowing amusement.
Malcolm’s blood swelled in his veins. He could not control his mind, his desire or his rising cock. In a few hours, it would be dark….
“I ken what ye wish to be asking, Malcolm,” MacNeil said with a laugh.
He faced MacNeil angrily. “Will it amuse ye when I take the woman t’ bed and at dawn she is lyin’ there dead?”
MacNeil’s smile faded. “Ye have not strayed a single time since Urquhart. Why do ye think to stray into the dark now? Ye tasted unholy pleasure once. Ye can master the urge to do so again.”
Malcolm knew he turned red. “I fear my lust is unholy,” he flashed. “Because I want her more than I have ever wanted any woman or anything. I think when I am comin’ inside her, I will want more than her body.”
“Then ye’ll have to fight temptation,” MacNeil said, his tone dry. “Will ye not?”
“Yer enjoyin’ my discomfort!”
“Aye, I am. Go fuck a chambermaid. That should help.”
“I dinna want another! An’ I ken ye have the power t’ help me, MacNeil.” He was angry and frustrated enough to throw a primitive blow at him, but he managed to restrain himself. “Mayhap ye be thinkin’ to deny me, as I have denied ye!”
MacNeil’s eyes widened with mock innocence. “Have we ever fought over a woman?”
Malcolm stared. He finally said, with warning, “I will never fight ye. But she is mine.”
MacNeil sighed, but his eyes twinkled. “Yer young an’ hot, an’ I barely recall such days. What kind o’ power do ye think I have?”
“The power t’ take my powers, just fer a day an’ a night. Find a spell.”
MacNeil grinned. “Not too greedy, are ye, lad?” He laughed. “Canna ye not ask me nicely? And canna ye manage with an hour?”
Malcolm was in disbelief. MacNeil would only suspend his powers to take life for a single hour? Was he mad? That was worse than not taking them away at all. He’d be better off avoiding her entirely than spending a single hour with her. “Do ye wish fer me to grovel?”
MacNeil became serious. “Malcolm. I can see yer as frustrated as a green lad. I can suspend the power. But for a day an’ a night? Are ye mad? Has she stolen yer reason? You’d be defenseless against the likes of Sibylla, much less Moray, for far too long. He’ll sense your weakness if ye go for so long without powers.”
“An hour is not enough. And my patience be gone.”
He had never meant anything more. He had to get her beneath him. He wanted to taste her lips, her skin, her sex, to push deep inside hot, wet, tight flesh and sheathe himself there all night. He wanted her to come a hundred times. He could see them together in his mind’s eye. She would match him in lust, aye, stroke for stroke, climax for climax. He somehow knew it.
“I need the spell now,” Malcolm said, flushing. After they were finally sated, he was going to hold her in his arms until dawn broke. Maybe she would tell him more about her world. Maybe they could speak lightly about unimportant matters, as if the real world and all the burdens he carried did not exist. Maybe she could explain why the fashion in her time was rags and strings. He smiled.
“If yer beginning to care fer the lass, ye had better think carefully about what that means,” MacNeil said softly, cutting into his thoughts.
He had lurked. Malcolm was not a gentleman. His interest in women was basic. He provided for those under his protection, and those he lusted for, he seduced. Warm embraces and casual conversations were not a part of any relationship he had ever had.
“Dinna become fond o’ the woman. She’ll be used against ye. She’ll make ye weak.”
“I be nay fond o’ her.” Malcolm was uneasy. “Did ye tell Claire she’ll go back to her time?” He kept his mind closed now, so MacNeil could not lurk. He shouldn’t care, but he did.
“Aye,” MacNeil said, staring closely. “Mayhap ye should avoid that road.”
“An’ which road is that?” Malcolm said, fists clenched. MacNeil had the power of sight. At times it refused to come to him, but when it came, he was never wrong. No matter how Malcolm protected her, and no matter how well he pleased her in bed, she was going to leave him in the end.
He could barely believe it.
“Forget what’s betwixt yer legs.” But MacNeil choked on laughter, as no Master was going to forget his needs.
Malcolm debated using his fist to erase all of MacNeil’s amusement.
“Ye be so intent!” MacNeil exclaimed. “How can I nay be amused? She’s only a woman, Calum—pretty enough, but there be thousands more.”
“Will ye give me the spell?”
“Aye, I will, because I feel how much yer hurtin’.” He grinned again.
Then he became utterly serious. He placed both hands on Malcolm and murmured in such an ancient tongue that Malcolm did not understand it. When he had finished, he released him, smiling. “Ye can begin yer lovemaking at moonrise, but the spell won’t last once ye can see the sun.”
Malcolm nodded, a savage excitement beginning. “I’ll be owin’ ye.”
“An’ I will collect.” MacNeil’s gaze moved past him. He followed his gaze and saw Claire as she entered the courtyard beyond the orchard. His pulse leaped. In a few hours, he would be allowed to make love to her as passionately as he wished.
He saw that she was accompanied by Ironheart. While Malcolm did not know t
he enigmatic man well, his reputation preceded him and Malcolm respected him greatly. Very pleased, he left the orchard with MacNeil, seeking out her thoughts as he did so. Malcolm instantly recognized Claire’s unease.
“He be a friend, lass,” he said when they had approached.
Claire sent him a slight smile back. I want to talk to you, alone.
Then, I saw the Cathach!
Reading her thoughts was a good thing, not a bad thing, and he didn’t understand why it always annoyed her when he did so. Her excitement made him soften somewhere in his chest. He faced Ironheart. “Hallo a Alasdair.”
“Hallo a Chaluim,” Ironheart returned.
He reverted to English. “We go t’ Awe as soon as me affairs here be finished.”
Ironheart was clearly interested. “Since when do you visit the Wolf? I didna ken ye be comrades.”
“We’re nay friends,” Malcolm replied softly, thinking about the page Aidan surely had. If Ironheart could be convinced to go with them, he would be a useful ally if Aidan was unwilling to part with the holy page.
Ironheart absorbed that. “Mayhap I’ll return to Lachlan in a more leisurely manner.”
Malcolm smiled. “I had hoped ye would say as much.”
Ironheart nodded at Claire and he and MacNeil walked into the chapter house, leaving them standing alone outside.
Claire stared after the pair, distressed. “I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it does.”
“Aye, lass, he will come with us t’ Awe.” Seeing her grim expression, he brushed her shoulder, well aware that what he really wanted to do was pull her close. “I can use his help if I must fight Aidan.”
Claire’s expression paled. “Aidan is at Awe?”
“Aye.” He instantly read her thoughts. “He’s nay a Deamhan, lass. He be a Master, too.”
Her eyes widened. “But the two of you tried to kill one another!”
“He be a rogue. He dinna obey the Code. He dinna have any conscience, any heart. I dinna trust him with the page. He’d as likely give it t’ Moray as us.”
“Great! A Master who is turning!” she cried. She rubbed her temples. Malcolm could feel them throbbing. She was scared and worried about him, and not just because he might fight Aidan. She was afraid of Moray—which was as it should be.
But her concern pleased him greatly. Maybe MacNeil was wrong about the future, this one time. “Lass, I be pleased when ye care fer me, even a little,” he said softly, giving in and pulling her close. He bumped her hip and wanted to moan. He did not.
But she had felt his arousal, too. She gasped, her gaze seeking his.
He was proud of his virile erection. “Aye, I be needin’ ye, lass,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her strong back. He pulled her closer, throbbing with growing urgency against her belly. He wished they were back at Dunroch and the hours had passed. He knew she was ready for him—he could feel her desire expanding at an uncontrollable rate.
And he also felt her mind racing in circles, debating whether she should give in to him and join him in bed or not. And as his control was still fragile, he released her. “I willna hurt ye, Claire.”
She was breathing hard. “It’s not that.”
She hesitated, and he felt her thinking, not about the fact that he’d spent many nights in a lover’s bed without losing control, but about her inability to guard her heart from him if she shared his bed. She was afraid to love him. But he had told her, he didn’t mind. He would like it if she did. He was never going to genuinely understand her fear of loving him, because he was a powerful lord and other women happily fell in love with him. Other women did not mind having his favors just for a short time.
And he would never understand her absurd need to love a man in order to have sex with him. “Ye willna be sorry,” he tried, smiling into her eyes. They mirrored her conflict. “I intend to please ye greatly. However ye choose, lass.”
Her eyes widened and he felt her body flame. There was so much desire in her he could not stand it.
He leaned closer, touched her face. “Ye like it when I talk about it, do ye not? Dinna refuse me, lass. MacNeil has suspended my powers for the night. We mayna have other nights so soon. I need t’ come inside ye, an’ye need to have me there. I need t’ see ye takin’ yer pleasure, Claire, an’ I need to hear an’ feel ye comin’, too.”
She nodded, and he felt her hollow hugely, enough so that he could fill the space, right then, right there.
“We’ll leave fer Dunroch as soon as the galley returns,” he murmured. He reached out, reeled her in. Like an adolescent boy, he could no longer think straight.
She gasped and reached for his shoulders. “Malcolm. Okay.”
Triumphant, he kissed her, deep.
CHAPTER TEN
THE SUN WAS SETTING as they trekked up the short, steep ascent to Dunroch from the port below. The galley had been portaged halfway up the road and then laid on wood blocks. Claire chose to walk far behind Malcolm, hoping for some privacy for her thoughts, even though she wanted to get inside Dunroch’s walls before dark. No day could have been longer. There had been one stunning revelation after another, without respite. She was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
Claire glanced ahead toward the drawbridge and gatehouse. In another hour or so it would be dark.
Claire’s desire flared. And Malcolm knew, because he halted and turned to look at her.
There was no longer any decision to make about their relationship. She wanted him acutely, so much so that she could almost feel him inside her now, hot and strong, the friction insane. She had a frightening attraction to him, one she no longer believed she could resist, even if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to resist. There was no point.
Her world had changed. She didn’t know if she was going to live for very long, and the values she’d clung to her entire life seemed frivolous now. Waiting for love in order to be with a man like Malcolm was absurd, given the probability that her life span was going to be really short, despite what MacNeil had said.
She’d had time to think about that. If he had seen her imminent demise, he would not tell her. That might only lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy. And Claire was pretty certain that, unless she was given superpowers, she wasn’t going to survive for very long as a Deamhan hunter. The Deamhanain were just too damn strong.
As for falling in love with Malcolm, she’d fight her heart’s ridiculous need for love before having sex. And if she failed, so what? A broken heart didn’t seem like the worst deal. It seemed pretty mundane, in fact.
The men vanished through the gatehouse. Malcolm waited for her by the drawbridge. As she came up to him, his gray eyes gleamed with anticipation. Claire walked past him. Acutely aware of him behind her, she went through the gatehouse and into the bailey. The men were veering off toward their hall, glad cries sounding from some children as they did so. Claire was relieved to be inside the curtain walls, more so when she turned to watch the drawbridge being raised, the portcullis slamming closed. Malcolm smiled with so much promise that her heart turned over in response, as if to say, “Tough luck.” Her world had changed but her heart didn’t seem to care.
She followed Ironheart into the hall. Malcolm paused to close the studded front door behind her, and his gaze was not directed upon her now. Claire was very surprised to see Royce sitting before the fire. As they all walked into the room, he rose, quads rippling, biceps bulging.
Malcolm strode forward, meeting Royce halfway across the hall, clearly surprised to see him. “What brings ye back?”
Royce said, his tone noncommittal, “I decided a visit to Aidan be in order. I will join ye tomorrow.”
Claire saw Malcolm’s expression become as blank as Royce’s. She wondered what the hell was going on.
She hesitated. Both Seamus and Irohheart had sat down on the benches at the long table, taking up mugs of wine. She could smell roasted game and knew a meal was about to be served, and in spite of her worries, she was starving.
<
br /> But Ironheart continued to make her uneasy. She had felt his eyes on her repeatedly during the journey back to Mull and knew he did not like or trust her. Now, she smiled at him, helping herself to a mug of claret, as well. “May I?” Claire asked.
“Lady Claire, o’ course ye can sit. Ye be Malcolm’s guest.”
Claire sat down across from him, aware of Malcolm glancing at her. “Thank you.”
Ironheart stared. “Why do ye wish to go to Awe with Malcolm?”
Claire met his flat gaze. “Why not?”
“There may be battles ahead.”
“I can protect myself.” Claire grimaced. She needed a weapon. But Malcolm didn’t seem all that worried about facing off with Aidan, and that was comforting. On the other hand, nothing was comforting about the earl of Moray, whom Claire had learned was Defender of the Realm, the Highland equivalent to commander in chief. “Refresh my memory—who is king?”
Ironheart gave her an odd glance. “James be king an’ afore ye ask, his queen be Joan Beaufort.”
“Are they on our side or—theirs?”
“The king spent most o’ his life a hostage o’ King Henry V in England. He has but one side—his own.”
Claire translated Ironheart’s words to mean that King James was human. If he’d spent most of his life held at the English court, he was probably interested in his own power and his own throne. Most of Scotland’s kings had had huge problems bringing the Highlands under control. That would explain the summons.
On the other hand, a new source of power existed, and it was evil. She did not like where her mind wanted to go, but all James had to do was sell his soul and the kingdom would be his—with Moray at the forefront of his troops.
Moray was already there.
Her temples ached. Maybe James had sold his soul already. “I need a weapon,” she said seriously, looking up. Going to Awe unarmed was insane. “I need a dagger—and Malcolm must show me how to use it.”
“An’ that will help ye do what, lass?”
Another medieval chauvinist, she thought. She decided not to bother to fill him in on the state of modern women. “Well, I was actually thinking about staying alive, and defending myself when my protector isn’t about. There’s the little matter of the Deamhanain. They seem to appear out of nowhere—whoops, out of time—and I am not looking forward to facing Sibylla again.” That was a gross understatement. But if she couldn’t vanquish Sibylla, a human possessed by evil, how would she ever get the demon who’d murdered her mother?
