by Brenda Joyce
She shed the brat and belt, and then tugged the leine over her head. She faced him in her miniskirt and tee. His eyes were so hot she expected a fire to break out in the room.
He nodded. “Go on, lass.”
She trembled, heat dripping down her thighs. That had been an order and just then, she liked his macho ways. She stepped out of her boots, her skirt riding high over her ass as she bent over. Malcolm didn’t make a sound but she felt his lust escalate.
She faced him, slowly tugging off the tee and pausing with the hands on the snap of her denim skirt.
Malcolm was breathing hard. His penis looked fuller, bigger, but that was impossible. “What do ye call the chemise?”
“A bra,” she said softly. It was sheer and lacy and Malcolm seemed mesmerized. She unsnapped her skirt and let it pool to the floor.
Malcolm’s gaze flew to what the lace thong contained. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Show me the entire garment.”
Claire didn’t laugh. She was ready to have an orgasm just standing there. She slowly turned in a circle, and before she had finished, he stood behind her, his huge erection pressing between her buttocks, his mouth on the side of her neck, his hands beneath the soaking-wet thong, covering her sex. Claire cried out, throbbing in his palm.
“Ye be so very beautiful, Claire,” he whispered harshly. And then he lifted her up abruptly and Claire fell back into the pillows.
He spread her thighs. Claire went still as her heart lurched and raced in wild anticipation. Braced up on all fours, Malcolm met her eyes with his hot silver gaze. “I need ye now. I’ll use me tongue on ye later, lass.” He tugged the thong to the side.
Claire moaned, looking down as he posed to take her, restlessly throbbing over her. “I can’t wait,” she choked.
“Aye, ye can.” He slowly lowered himself and when she felt his slick heat stroking against her, she cried out, clawing his back.
“’Tis better slow,” he breathed, beginning to press against her.
Claire dug her nails deep. “I hate you,” she wept.
“Aye, fer a moment.” He kissed her briefly and then began a slow entry, inch by single inch.
Pleasure cloaked her mind. She couldn’t breathe. He smiled, pushing four inches deeper, then five. Claire felt herself begin to shake. She heard herself panting and she realized she was begging, but he did not accelerate his pace. And before he was through, she felt herself break.
She met his gaze and as he watched her, she came. So much ecstasy shattered over her, sweeping her into that dark scintillating universe where waves of pleasure begat even greater waves, and Claire cried out, eagerly embracing the vortex. “Malcolm!”
He smiled once, triumphant, and he moved more swiftly, joining her in that mindless frenzy now.
“CLAIRE, ’TIS ALMOST DAWN.”
Claire barely heard as Malcolm left her, moving onto his back beside her. She was in a daze of ecstasy and agony, the evening spent in pure frenzied hedonistic passion. She had long since lost the ability to think. She closed her eyes, absolutely breathless, waiting for the tremors and trembling of her aroused body to cease, waiting for her heart to finally slow.
And when she was coherent, she was in disbelief. Malcolm was an insatiable but superb lover, and his prowess in bed was clearly not human. No man could arouse and continually pleasure a woman as he had done for hours and hours, without tiring or even flagging. She was finally aware of being exhausted. She was also aware of a level of satiation that was impossible to define. And there was even more than that. Her heart began a little dance inside her chest. No, she thought quickly, don’t you dare go there!
They were lovers, that’s all, and clearly that made her one very lucky lady.
Slowly, she turned her head to look at him in the gray light of the coming dawn. And she inhaled at the tender look in his eyes.
He had one arm under his head and he was regarding her intently. “Ye be pleased, lass?”
She had to smile. “Are you kidding?” And before he could tell her he did not understand, she said softly, “I am very pleased, Malcolm. I have never been so well pleased.”
To her surprise, he abruptly reached out and pulled her against his side, smiling in satisfaction.
Claire was amazed. He wanted to cuddle? She pressed her cheek against his chest and was rewarded with the slow, strong thudding of his heart. It would be so easy to fall for this man, she thought.
His hand stroked down her arm, then he toyed with strands of her hair. “Tha ur falt brèagha,” he said softly.
Claire looked up. “You said that to me in my store. What does it mean?”
“Yer hair be beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze holding hers. “Almost as beautiful as ye.”
Claire felt a rush of pleasure. She ran her hand down his magnificent torso. “You are the beautiful one.”
He laughed. “One o’ us needs be dressed.” He got up, reaching for his brat, which was on the floor.
Claire shifted so she could ogle him openly. He smiled at her as he deftly wrapped the brat around his bare hips. Amazingly, Claire felt her mouth water. “That is sexier than nothing at all.”
He smiled and returned to the bed, instantly taking her back into his arms. “It pleases me that ye like my manliness.” He hugged her.
Claire’s heart danced anew and she reminded it to stop. “All women like your manliness,” she said with a smile.
“Aye.”
Claire decided not to go there. She had just been made love to as if there was no tomorrow, in ways that weren’t really possible, and she was floating with satiation and happiness. If he made love to other women that way, she didn’t want to know.
“I ha’never wanted any woman as I do ye,” he said gently, clearly having listened to her thoughts.
“You haven’t?”
“Nay.” He tilted up her chin. “An’ ye, lass?”
It took her a moment. Claire started. Was she supposed to confess that she had never wanted a man as she did him? And that she never would? After last night, she doubted she’d ever want to go to bed with someone else. God, when she went home, she’d spend the rest of her life in celibacy. Claire had not a doubt.
He pulled her close and stroked her hair and she felt him smile.
He had listened to her thoughts! Claire jerked away from him. “I hope you’re happy,” she said tersely.
“I couldna be happier. But do we have t’ fight again? Ye were so pleased a moment ago.”
Claire sought the covers and pulled them up to her chin. “Let’s not.” This was really unfair, she thought with dread. Eventually he would be with other women, having impossibly great sex, and her fate was to live like a spinster when she got home. But that was fate. He was a supersized, superpowerful Master. And if she was smart, she’d enjoy this for as long as she could.
Claire wondered how long that would be. “Were you faithful to Glenna?”
He looked like a boy caught with his hand in his brother’s piggy bank.
“I didn’t think so,” Claire said slowly. She had to be mature about this. They were literally from different worlds. She could not have the expectations she would have if he was the guy next door and they were lovers in her time.
He spoke slowly. “Do ye wish fer me t’be exclusive with ye?”
Her heart slammed hard. “Er…ugh…I…what?”
He pulled her close, sitting up beside her now. “I dinna mind.”
“What?” Claire said again. Had he hit her over the head, she could not be more stunned.
“I dinna mind bein’ faithful t’ ye,” he said seriously.
“Why?” she managed to say.
He smiled. “I dinna want another woman, lass, an’ if it’s important t’ ye, I dinna mind.” He sobered. “Even though it willna be easy at first. I’ll have to go to Iona every afternoon fer MacNeil’s spell, until I am sure I willna use me powers on ye.” He darkened. “He will love to see me grovelin’.”
Claire remained
absolutely shocked. “You are offering me a committed relationship?”
He smiled at her, that beautiful heartwarming, body-melting smile. “Aye. O’ course, ye need to be faithful t’ me, as well. An’stop ogling the Masters an’ thinkin’ about what’s betwixt their legs.”
“Okay.” Claire didn’t have to think about it. She jumped from the bed, reaching for her scattered clothes, turning off her thoughts because she knew he would listen if she did not.
“Yer in a rush t’ leave my bed?” He chuckled.
She faced him, holding her clothes, absolutely unashamed of her nudity. His eyes wandered, warming. “We’re going to Awe,” she reminded him.
His face closed. “I go t’ Awe with Royce an’ Ironheart. Ye’ll be safe at Dunroch with Seamus.”
“Like hell!” she cried, fists on her hips, clothes falling.
He took an eyeful as he stood, his refusal in his eyes.
Claire blocked his path to the door. “If you ever want to enjoy my favors again, you are taking me with you.”
His gaze narrowed. “Ye make threats? I dinna think I need to worry about seducin’ ye.”
“Then I will travel with Black Royce,” she said tersely. “Or Ironheart. One of them will take me.”
His eyes widened and turned hard. “Dinna think to seduce them to yer ways when we have just concluded our bargain!”
“I have no intention of seducing anyone—except you. It’s not my style.” She softened. “Malcolm, how can you even think to leave me here? What if Sibylla comes back for me?” She clasped his shoulders. “And what about tonight? We just started something wonderful.”
“I willna be under MacNeil’s spell t’night an’ without a spell, I willna risk yer life.” He was final.
“I am safer with you than alone.” She was not the kind of pitiful female to use feminine wiles on a man, but she batted her lashes at him and implored, “Please,” using a breathy tone she hadn’t even known she possessed.
And she saw his resolve to deny her crumble. “Are ye entrancin’ me now, lass?” he asked in disbelief.
“I wish.” She smiled.
He pulled her into his embrace. “I never want to argue again, Claire. I mean it. Ye be stubborn an’ headstrong. Ye annoy me to no end. Damn it all! Ye have eyes that go past me soul. I want to please ye, lass, an’ nay just in bed.”
“Then do so,” she said, thrilled. She cupped his face. “I don’t understand why you want me to avoid Awe?”
His expression hardened. “We spent the night pleasin’one another, but that does nay give ye the rights to ken my life.”
Claire flinched. That hurt deeply. “Well, I’m glad we cleared that up,” she inhaled. “In my time, lovers are also friends. Clearly, you do not want me as a friend. But you’re right. That’s for the best. That way, when I leave no one gets hurt.” But it was too late and she knew it. She had crossed that emotional line yesterday on Iona.
His jaw flexed and he reached for her. Claire meant to dodge but failed, and he reeled her into his arms. “I be sorry,” he said. “An’ yer right. ’Tis Awe. I swore on Brogan’s grave I would never go there. I swore I would never give that bastard the time o’ day or even a passing nod, I swore that, fer as long as I live, he wouldna exist.”
Claire’s eyes were wide. “Who? Aidan? Why?”
A ripple of tension went through Malcolm and he released her. “Because he’s nay just my enemy. He be my brother.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CLAIRE HAD SPENT the morning in shock. Strong southwesterly winds had meant a swift sea voyage up the Firth of Lorn, but Claire had barely paid attention to the incredible scenery—the sapphire sea and jewel-toned forests, the white beaches, the stark mountains against the robin’s-egg-blue sky. They had disembarked near present-day Oban, having transported their horses with them, mounting there. The sun was high, indicating it was midday, as Claire grappled with the fact that Malcolm’s half brother was the son of one of the most evil men in Scotland. She recalled Aidan’s shocking beauty and the mischievous light in his eyes when he had smiled at her. If he was as twisted as his father, she hadn’t felt it. She prayed he had somehow escaped such a genetic fate.
Claire nudged her mount forward, trotting toward Malcolm as the column continued, leaving the bay behind, a sparkling loch below on her right. In every direction except behind her, there were forested mountains. She caught up to Malcolm. “Where are we?”
He smiled at her. “Ahead is the pass that will take us through the mountains and t’ Awe. ’Tis nay far now. Another half day, nay more.” He was clad in his mail, as were all of the men.
Claire managed a smile in return, but her gaze was searching.
His face changed. “Ye dinna need worry as if I be a child.”
“Of course I am worried. Malcolm, what do you plan? In my time, we have a saying. You get a lot more with honey than vinegar.”
He glanced at her as they rode up the narrowing trail. “I willna beg fer the page.”
“I didn’t suggest that you beg. I think you should ask nicely.”
His face hardened so much Claire thought it might crack. “If I wish fer yer opinion, I’ll ask.” He jabbed his stallion forward, setting a more rapid pace and leaving her behind.
Claire understood his touchiness, but his rude rejection hurt. Her worry escalated. Was he going to barge into Aidan’s castle with his sword drawn, demanding the page? Was that why everyone wore chain mail and plate? That was going to engender another terrible sword fight. And no matter how skilled and powerful Malcolm was, if Aidan was Moray’s son, then his powers were far greater than Malcolm’s. Claire pulled her mount aside so she could fall into place with Royce. “May I ride with you? My champion is in a foul humor.”
Royce smiled, a gleam in his eyes. “I canna think why. I hope ye’ll fergive me nephew fer bein’ such a foolish man.”
Claire knew exactly what he meant. She had received enough knowing glances that day to assume that everyone realized she was now sharing Malcolm’s bed. “It’s my fault, not his. I pried. I know about Aidan, Royce.”
“He told ye his privy affairs?” He seemed stunned.
Claire nodded.
Royce stared, unsmiling. “An’ what else did he tell ye while ye shared his bed?”
Claire tensed. Had Royce become hostile? “I sensed he was very distressed, and I guessed it was about Awe. As it turns out, I was right. I want to help, Royce.”
Royce finally nodded. “O’ course. ’Tis a terrible fate fer both brothers.”
Claire remained somewhat taken aback by Royce’s initial hostility. Until that morning, he had been nothing but pleasant, and at times flirtatious. “Why is it terrible for Aidan? He seems to hate Malcolm as much as Malcolm hates him. He wanted to kill Malcolm in my store.”
“Aidan has no wish t’ see Malcolm dead. Dinna think otherwise—ye be wrong. I dinna think Aidan would be so hateful if Malcolm accepted him,” Royce said bluntly. “Aidan dinna choose this life. He has no family except Moray. He has never done more than glimpse his mother. She wanted nothing t’ do with him once he was birthed. Yet he chooses good, not evil. Aidan needs his brother an’ Malcolm needs him.”
Claire was surprised that Royce would defend Aidan. Considering they were not related at all, it meant a lot. She wasn’t sure she should have any sympathy for Aidan, but she did. “Have you said as much to Malcolm?”
“A thousand times.”
Claire thought about that. “He is the most pigheaded and stubborn man I have ever met,” she said softly, but she had to smile.
“His will makes him a powerful man,” Royce said firmly. “An’ one day, a great Master.”
Claire looked at him and their gazes locked. Malcolm’s iron will could be exasperating, but she was terribly proud of him. He was a hero in every sense of the word.
I’m going to fall in love with him if I don’t stop this, she thought. And maybe it was already too late. Then she realized Royce was staring. “Ca
n you read minds, too?”
His pleasant expression had vanished. “Aye, but I willna read yers. I dinna have to. Ye be fallin’ in love with my nephew.”
Claire paled. Did Royce suddenly disapprove? “Malcolm and I are impossibly different. He doesn’t understand me and I am certain he never will. Obviously you know we spent last night together. That doesn’t mean I am falling for him.” Well, if he read her mind now, he’d know that she was. She added, “I have no intention of falling in love with a fifteenth-century knight.”
“Every woman falls in love with him after sharing his bed.”
Claire tensed.
“I dinna wish to be rude. But he be the Maclean, he be pleasing to the eye, an’ he can pleasure a woman well enough. He will never love in return an’ he will never marry.”
That was a warning if Claire had ever heard one, and she was angry. “So you are his keeper?”
“He be my brother’s son,” Royce said flatly. “I will make sure he doesna repeat my brother’s mistakes.”
And Claire thought about Mairead, who had been raped by her husband’s enemy while still a bride and had then had Moray’s child. She thought about Brogan, who had hunted his enemy but failed to destroy him. Instead, he had died in a very human battle. And Mairead had retreated from the world to live as a nun when her legitimate son was only nine. She had also rejected Aidan, the child of her rape. She could barely begin to imagine the suffering of husband and wife.
“Claire, dinna mistake my meaning. Ye be a fine, strong woman. An’ if Malcolm were just a laird, even though ye bring no dowry, I’d bless the union.”
“You are getting ahead of yourself!” Claire cried, but she was pretty sure she was getting his meaning.
He reached across his saddle and seized her wrist. “The Masters who marry—or love—always regret it,” Royce said. His gray gaze had become as dark as thunderclouds. “Look at the fate o’ my brother an’ his wife. There be a reason a Master lives alone, fights alone, dies alone.”
Claire pulled away. “How sad,” she whispered, still angry, but far less so. Because Royce was right. A Master by his very nature had the vilest and most powerful enemies in the land. A wife and a family were an invitation to tragedy. She thought about Malcolm’s bastard son. “What about children?”
