by Brenda Joyce
His harsh expression remained. “We need sons. They be the next generation o’ Masters, if they’re chosen.”
“A child makes a man as vulnerable—more vulnerable—than a wife.”
“Aye, but we have nay choice. Malcolm has Brogan protected day an’ night. If he wished, he could send Brogan to Iona. Children have been raised there.”
She absorbed that. “Is this why you are alone? Because your oh-so-cool head rules your heart?”
He became dangerously cold. “I was married once, long ago, before the Choosing. My wife be dead.”
Claire saw she had hit a raw spot. “I am sorry, Royce. Look, how I feel doesn’t matter, because I am going home after we find the page and it is safe for me to do so. It never occurred to me to stay here.”
“It may never be safe fer ye to go back.”
Claire stared, shaken. “I hope you’re wrong!” Why would he think such a thing?
“Most women wouldna have the power to leave him,” he said skeptically.
“I’m not most women. We come from different worlds, in case you haven’t noticed. And I have to go back to avenge my mother. I also have family there. I worry about them.”
“Ye should.” Royce’s gray gaze drifted to her throat. “The stone bothers me.”
“It seems to bother—or fascinate—everyone.”
“Ye wear a Highland charm. I can feel its power—I felt it the first time we met. Why were ye, a lass from York City in the future, given such a stone? I ken the stone was yer mother’s, so who gave it to her? Were ye meant to be sent here? Do the Ancients wish to see if Malcolm will make the mistakes his father did? Because there be some reason ye be here, Claire. I can feel it. Ye became far too close to Malcolm, far too soon an’ too easily.”
Claire was shaken. In the back of her mind, she had almost been thinking that her fate was Dunroch—and Malcolm. Damn it, she had secretly wondered if she was the love of his life. But that was the romantic in her, who had seen every single version of Pride and Prejudice and who, once in a while, locked herself in her room to read a really juicy romance novel. But Royce was right. There had been a connection from the moment he’d seized her in her store. And from that moment, everything had happened so damn fast.
MacNeil had said that the Ancients didn’t mind her presence on Iona. The Ancients shouldn’t even know about her!
Malcolm thought her a test for his soul. Royce thought her a test of his loyalty to the Brotherhood and his determination to uphold his vows. But wasn’t it one and the same thing? Either way, she didn’t want to be any kind of test.
Royce cut into her thoughts. “But the real question might be, how did the page come t’ be in yer store?”
Claire tensed. If the page hadn’t been believed to be in her store, she wouldn’t have been burglarized by Sibylla, she wouldn’t have met Malcolm and she wouldn’t be in the fifteenth-century Highlands now.
And the truth was, they didn’t even know if the page had ever been in her store, except that Malcolm was certain Aidan had it, and that he’d found it there. “Do you have any ideas as to who started the rumor that the page was in my store?” Claire asked uneasily. But she had a very bad inkling.
“Let us hope it was nay the lord o’ darkness,” Royce said. “He used Mairead to torture Brogan—and to trap Malcolm.”
Claire felt sick. “He can’t use me that way. Malcolm and I have just met.”
“Ye love him. He be sworn to protect ye. If he comes to love ye, ye can be used, just like Mairead.”
Claire began to shake.
“In the end, ye canna help Malcolm, ye can only weaken him. If he does start to care fer ye, ye canna allow it. He be a Master, Claire, an’ he must live an’ fight alone.”
She was dismayed. She wanted Malcolm to care for her—after last night, she wanted it a lot. “Like you,” she whispered.
“If ye truly love him,” he said tersely, ignoring that, “when the time comes, ye will go.” He spurred his horse forward, leaving her alone between the troops.
HOURS LATER, with the sun hanging low in the sky and threatening to vanish beneath the western ridges, Malcolm rode his destrier up to Claire. “Castle Awe be below,” he said as he halted the huge gray beast. “Ye must be tired. If Aidan permits, we’ll spend the night outside his walls.”
He had gotten over her offering him a bit of advice, Claire thought, relieved. “I am sore,” she admitted, pulling her mount up. They had spent hours riding through the pass. For Claire, it felt like days. And she wasn’t just sore from gripping the horse with her legs; their vigorous lovemaking had taken its toll on her, as well. She was also bone tired. After all, they hadn’t slept at all last night. But she knew her fatigue was more than physical. Every day seemed to bring a slew of new challenges. Royce’s advice had felt like a warning. She didn’t want him set against her now. They needed to stick together.
“Dinna grip so with yer legs, lass,” Malcolm said softly.
Claire had the distinct feeling that he was thinking about just how strong her legs were. “It’s a reflex. Fortunately, this old boy doesn’t seem to care what I do.” She could not be diverted from what Royce had just said.
Malcolm smiled. “Brogan learned t’ ride on Saint.”
“Is that what you call him?” Claire stroked the brown gelding’s neck.
“Aye, Saint Will, as he takes care o’ his rider.”
Claire looked at the horse’s neck, thinking about every instance in which Malcolm had taken care of her since they had met. His fate was clear. He was a Master, meant to protect people like her and battle evil like Moray.
Of course a real relationship would make him weak and vulnerable to his enemies. On that point, Royce was right.
Claire slowly looked up. “I never want to fight with you.” She bit her lip as his eyes widened. “Especially after last night. I know you’ve read my mind. You know I don’t take what we did lightly. No matter what I say, what I do, you can trust me. I’m your ally and your friend, Malcolm. I want what’s best for you.”
“A friend,” he echoed. “An ally? What nonsense has Royce been whisperin’ to ye, Claire?”
She flushed. “I don’t want to make you weak.”
His eyes widened. “Ye make me strong, Claire. Yer my woman.”
She wasn’t going to argue over his use of words and she certainly wasn’t going to change his possessiveness. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, no matter what Royce had said. “If I’m your woman, don’t you expect me to be loyal?”
“Ye ken I do. An’ ye be very loyal. Aye, I lurk all the time.”
She couldn’t be angry. “I’m sorry I told you what to do in regards to Aidan,” she said. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And in my time, women boss men around all the time. In fact, wives usually rule the roost.”
He smiled grudgingly. “Ye be right,” he said flatly, the last of his men passing them on the trail.
“Highland women dominate their men?”
“Nay. I wanted t’ charge into Awe with my sword raised. But I’ll ask Aidan nicely fer the page.”
Claire smiled widely, filled with relief and happiness. He had changed his mind because of her. “Maybe he’ll surprise you and turn it over without hesitation.”
Malcolm’s face hardened. “He wants the page fer himself. An’ maybe fer Moray.”
All pleasure disintegrated. “Royce would disagree. He says Aidan is good.”
Malcolm’s brow rose. “Good? He does good when it be his interest to do so. Nay fer selfless reasons. I am tellin’ ye, Claire, and this one time ye will obey me. Dinna trust him, not ever.”
Claire was not going to argue with him now. Besides, this was a promise she could easily make. “If it’s that important to you, then I give you my word. I will never trust him. However,” she added as he started to move his horse down the trail, “I hope you are wrong about your half brother.”
He darkened. “Dinna remind me o’ the miserable fact o’ his life. We
may share blood, but he is nay my brother, half or otherwise!”
Claire followed him down the trail, wondering how Mairead could have left Malcolm at such a tender age and how she could have turned her back on Aidan, just after his birth. She didn’t want to judge the woman, as she had suffered a heinous crime. But both Aidan and Malcolm were the most innocent victims in the tragedy engineered by Moray. It was a damn shame they couldn’t become friends.
The pass had wound through high ridges, most of it at elevations just above sea level. Suddenly, the forests opened up onto a brilliant green expanse of marsh, grass and shrub dotted with thick pine trees and blooming with yellow and pink wildflowers. The wooded fields ended in the sparkling azure waters of Loch Awe.
And rising from the loch was Castle Awe, a huge walled castle of red-brown stone with numerous towers, high ramparts and a central building four or five stories tall. Twice the size of Dunroch, Awe was surrounded by water. White swans floated near its walls. There was another island, also walled, connected by a bridge of land, where she saw stone buildings and peasant huts, and where some scrawny cattle grazed. The scene was picture-postcard perfect.
The drawbridge was down.
“He waits fer us,” Malcolm said grimly.
“How would he know that we’re here?”
“Aidan has very strong powers o’ the mind. Ye stay back in the midst o’ the men,” he told her. He galloped ahead, joined by Royce and Ironheart.
And that was when the thundering of hoofbeats began.
It was déjà vu. That terrible, ominous sound, an invitation to death, was one Claire was never going to forget. She had hoped to never hear it again. The sound of an oncoming army of Highland warriors intent on battle and death was a nightmare come true. She turned, seized with fear, and saw hundreds of mounted men galloping upon them.
Malcolm, Royce and Ironheart drew to a halt at the head of Malcolm’s men. Instantly, they were surrounded by the warriors. Claire realized not a single sword was drawn, not even Malcolm’s.
One of the opposing men rode forward and faced Malcolm. He wore full armor, but his visor was up. Claire strained to hear, but the exchange was in Gaelic. Instantly, the giant signaled everyone forward to the lowered drawbridge.
Claire’s fear escalated. Was Aidan taking them prisoner?
Claire prodded Saint into a trot to keep up with the men as they were herded over the drawbridge and through the raised portcullis. This land bridge seemed to form an outer bailey, as she saw buildings for the garrison there. She could only see Malcolm’s back now and, while aware of his tension, could not discern anything else. They were urged through another gatehouse, a middle ward, and then a huge gatehouse with four high, defensive towers. The moment the last of Malcolm’s men had entered the last inner bailey, the portcullis slammed closed behind them.
Claire flinched. They were certainly prisoners now. She looked carefully around at her surroundings. The castle inside the bailey was huge, with a half a dozen buildings built into the walls. Her gaze flew to the central keep facing them.
The dark wooden door of the hall opened and a man stepped out, standing two stories above them.
It was Aidan. “Hallo a Chaluim.”
Malcolm rode his gray horse past the giant and to the stone stairs leading up to where Aidan stood. Claire expected him to stop there but he did not. He drove the gray right up the stairs until the steed stood beside Aidan, making Malcolm, still mounted, tower over him. “We come in peace. I wish a word with ye,” Malcolm said tersely in French.
Aidan laughed, clearly not at all perturbed by Malcolm’s actions. “I ken why ye have come, Malcolm. Please, my home be yer home…brother.” His gaze moved past Malcolm, who was flushed with a rising temper, and settled right on Claire, never mind that a half dozen Highland men surrounded her, each one taller than she.
He smiled. “I wouldna leave the woman alone with my men, Malcolm,” Aidan said softly in English. “She be far too beautiful.” With that, he sent her a courtly bow and turned to go into his hall. “Leave the stallion in the stables.” He strode inside.
Malcolm wheeled his gray, looking dangerously pissed, and galloped it down the stairs. Claire didn’t blame him. Aidan was provocative, to say the least. Malcolm moved through Aidan’s men. Halting his blowing steed beside her, he held out his hand. Claire understood and leaped from her nag to his charger. She wanted to whisper to him to take a few deep breaths, but decided this was not the best time to try to tell him how to proceed. Instead, she laid her hand on his shoulder, hoping he would find some composure before he went into Aidan’s hall.
He looked back at her.
Claire hoped he was reading her mind this one time. It’s all right, she thought. He hasn’t really done anything except to be as annoying as a spoiled brat.
Malcolm made a sound and turned away, riding through Aidan’s men. At the foot of the stairs, he urged her to dismount, then vaulted to the ground, as well. One of his men ran to take the stallion from him and they started up the stairs.
Claire looked down into the bailey at the assembled troops and she shivered. Then she glanced toward the front door, which Aidan had left open. The sun was setting behind the hall, so she could not see inside, and it gaped at her, a black void.
Malcolm was right. Aidan was not to be trusted. Claire didn’t know what he wanted or what he would do if Malcolm decided to be belligerent. She was afraid of what his comment about her looks had meant. He was as dangerous as a cornered tiger.
Now, too late, she wished they hadn’t come.
CLAIRE FOLLOWED MALCOLM into a huge hall and blinked in surprise. She was faced with so many beautiful furnishings that did not come from the fifteenth century or any century even close to it. Then she saw a Picasso on the wall. Her eyes widened as she recognized a Renoir, a Constable, a Pollock. She stared at the room again. Aidan’s home could have been furnished for the twenty-first century with the finest European antiques and furniture, except for the fact that there were no lamps.
He stood at a towering dark walnut buffet with clawed feet and gilded leaves creeping up the unit’s sides. He was pouring wine from a crystal decanter into crystal wineglasses. Claire saw a modern corkscrew.
It made her dizzy. He was dressed in boots, bare legs and a leine and brat of emerald green, blue and black, and his attire was a glaring contrast to the room. Having poured several glasses, he faced her with that seductive and frankly amused smile she remembered just a bit too well. He knew he was irresistible to the opposite sex, she thought.
“A glass o’ wine, Lady Claire,” he murmured, approaching her as Royce and Ironheart came inside.
“No, thank you,” Claire said, flustered. His eyes were gray like Malcolm’s, and filled with the same appreciative heat. Worse, he slid his gaze over her from head to toe. Claire was certain he was stripping away every item she was wearing and was mentally enjoying a very private view.
His smile widened. “’Tis from Bordeaux,” he said softly.
She met his gaze, aware of heat in her cheeks. His tone was silken and she was sure he used it on women to get them into bed. She somehow knew he was thinking about what she would be like in his bed, too, and that his thoughts were terribly graphic. “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she said hoarsely, turning away, uncomfortably shaken. His beauty and masculinity did not help matters.
Malcolm stepped between them. “Ye look at my woman that way again an’ I’ll take yer head an’ send it across the floor, then put it on a pike.” His eyes glittered with rage. He carried his helmet now, but his right hand rested on the hilt of his longsword.
Claire couldn’t even think about calming Malcolm now. Aidan had thoroughly discomfited her, and he had known what he was doing. He had enjoyed making her uneasy and embarrassed.
“How can I nay look at a beautiful woman?” Aidan said softly and Claire knew his gaze had drifted back to her. “I have eyes in me head, Malcolm.”
Glass broke.
Clai
re whirled and realized Malcolm had struck the wineglass from Aidan’s hand.
“Ye show respect,” he said tersely.
Aidan’s smile remained, but his eyes had turned cold. “I have invited ye into me home. I chose not to throw ye in the tower. I dinna care fer red wine to be spilled on me fine rugs.”
“I’ll clean it,” Claire cried, but she did not leap between the two men. Malcolm had his hand on the hilt of his sword and she was afraid he was going to unsheathe it. If he did, she knew Aidan would welcome the fight.
Ironheart settled into a chair to watch the drama, apparently nonplussed. Royce strode forward and laid a hand on Aidan’s shoulder, stepping right between the two men. “Enough!” He was annoyed. “Ye provoked Malcolm. Ye deserve a cuff on the head like a lad of ten, not a grown man o’ yer years.”
Aidan looked at Royce without hostility and walked away from them both. He paused to stand before the hearth, staring into its flames. Terribly relieved, Claire went to Malcolm and took his hand. “You must try to ignore him,” she began.
He gave her an incredulous look.
Claire leaped away, realizing her mistake. In this man’s world, a woman had better keep her mouth shut until the appropriate time. Later, when they were alone in the chamber they would share, she could try to get him to see things her way. It was so hard to control her impulse to tell him when she knew exactly what he should do. Couldn’t Malcolm see when he was being manipulated by Aidan? He had to take the high road.
Aidan had returned to the sideboard, pouring more wine, his hands rock steady. He handed a glass to Royce, who accepted it, and then he looked at Ironheart. The earl of Lachlan shook his head, otherwise not moving a muscle.
“Have ye met Lachlan?” Royce asked.
“Nay formally,” Aidan said, not taking wine for himself. “His reputation is great.”
“Then ’tis time. He’ll be a good ally fer ye, when ye decide yer too old fer tricks an’ ye decide to obey the Brotherhood more often than not.”
