by Brenda Joyce
Le Puissance. There would be so much life and power, and rapture, unbelievable rapture.
Hurry, lass.
She was coming up the stairs. She was close now, just outside the locked door, and his heart shrieked at him. He cared for her.
Images danced in his mind. Claire arguing with him, a woman who did not need her king. Claire clad only in the tiny beaded string. Claire posed to throw a rock at a Deamhan.
He moaned again. The memories should have dulled his lust, but instead, the urge to taste her power consumed him. She was a woman like no other. The distance between them was a hurdle but he somehow grasped on to her life, barely, and pulled power from her.
His veins swelled with hot force and a wave of terrible pleasure began to build. Breathing hard, so swollen it hurt, he turned his head and focused on her as she worked to break the lock.
She was frantic for their union. He felt her lust dripping on her thighs. She wanted to come. He pulled on her life again. Power. Strength. Manhood. Triumph began. He needed to come inside her and take even more from her…
The door burst open.
He pulled at her power, engorging even more fully as the rush of life came into his veins, growing. The wave of pleasure threatened to crest, break. He stared, slowly sitting up. Aye, he cared for her, but it was too late.
For she stood there, shaking and panting, swollen and wet.
“Come, Claire.”
Claire stumbled forward. He managed to stand. She caught him, wrapping her arms around him, and instantly he pushed between her thighs, his mouth tearing at hers, and he felt her tears falling, filled with gratitude.
“Lass,” he gasped, holding her in a viselike grasp. He flung his head back and began urgently taking her life, as hard and fast as he could.
So much power came. He swelled with it. And the wave broke. He howled his pleasure, pulling her down, thrusting deep into hot, wet flesh. She sobbed with her pleasure and so did he, the rapture escalating a hundredfold. It was blinding.
“Ye taste good.”
She rode his thrusting length and she came again and again, weeping, but so did he. He had wanted to taste her life for so long and he had been right. Nothing could be as potent, as good. He wanted her riding his manhood this way forever—tonight was forever—and he drained her and came, time and again, while she whirled away, lost in her own pleasure and his. Aware that she kept wanting even more, as desperately as he did, he gave her orgasm after orgasm, allowing no respite.
More.
Aye.
Ecstasy crushed them both.
And Malcolm felt invincible. Total comprehension began. He had more power now than ever before and there was no more to take. This woman had given him everything—this beautiful foreign woman whom he loved. He came, roaring savagely a final time.
He thrust himself away from her.
Shaking from so much passion and power, Malcolm knelt over her prone body and instantly felt her slipping away. Sanity was returning, and horror began.
Claire had nothing left to give.
He’d taken it all.
They rushed into the chamber. Royce seized him, flinging him away from Claire. He was far stronger than Royce now but he let him push him aside. He straightened by the window, breathing hard, sick with fear. Aidan flung a cover over Claire as MacNeil bent over her.
What had he done? And to Claire? He could not lose her now! “Is she alive?” he demanded thickly.
“What the fuck have ye done?” Royce roared at him.
“Is she alive?” Malcolm cried.
MacNeil did not look at him. “Aye, she is, but barely.” He had his hands on her, sending her life.
And Malcolm felt her return to this world. Her eyes fluttered and she murmured his name. “Malcolm?”
He was overcome with relief. She was alive. Their gazes held and she smiled at him before her lashes fluttered closed.
He had almost killed her.
The beast had raged freely, his intent murderous and evil. The soulless beast…
Royce slammed his hand onto Malcolm’s shoulder, forcing their gazes to clash. “Which brother be Moray’s spawn?” he said cruelly.
Malcolm flinched, but Royce had every right to wonder now.
She had opened her eyes again. She looked weak, disoriented and confused, but she sent him another beautiful smile. Did she not know what he had done? How could he have done this?
She should be afraid of him!
He was afraid of himself.
“Dinna move,” MacNeil told her. “Ye have yer life but yer weak.”
His horror and self-loathing must have shown because Claire said softly, “Malcolm, it’s all right. I am not dead.”
He could not respond. Malcolm turned and strode from the room.
MALCOLM SHRUGGED a leine on as he went downstairs. The image of Claire as she lay half-naked on the floor, as still and as white as a corpse, was engraved on his mind. He wanted it there. He had come close to killing her. He had taken her life.
He felt violently ill deep inside of himself, in his heart, in his soul. He strode into the hall, aware of Royce on his heels. He was determined to ignore him. He went to the sideboard and drank from one of the decanters, but no amount of wine could change what had happened—or erase the taste of Claire’s life in his body and the unbelievable ecstasy of experiencing it.
Malcolm felt Royce’s stare burning into his back. He slowly turned, grinding down his jaw. There was no one he hated in that moment as he hated himself.
“I see ye lickin’ yer lips.”
Malcolm tensed.
“Dinna deny it. Ye loved tastin’ her near death.”
He wanted to deny it but no words came forth.
“Ye’ll fight it now,” Royce warned, his eyes blazing silver. “Ye took vows t’ protect the Innocent, not to destroy them.”
Malcolm turned away. He had forsaken his vows, he had violated the Code. He had taken forbidden pleasure and enjoyed every damn moment of doing so.
Royce seized his shoulder and whipped him around. “If ye stray t’ evil, I will kill ye.”
Malcolm stared and Black Royce stared back. His uncle meant his every word. “If I turn to evil, I’ll be expectin’ ye to destroy me.” He meant it, too.
“Ye’ll fight it an’ ye’ll fight Moray,” Royce snapped. He released Malcolm and stalked past him, looking as if he was ready to start throwing objects around the hall.
“I nay be evil,” Malcolm said slowly, but he was uncertain. “I be sick with shame.”
“Good. Ye should be ashamed.” Royce walked away and began pouring wine into a crystal wineglass. His hand was shaking. Malcolm had never seen Royce tremble, not once in the entire lifetime he had known him.
“Ye canna ken,” Malcolm said. “I was a beast, nay a man.”
Royce slowly turned. “Why do ye think I wished to see ye locked up like a crazed animal?”
Malcolm stared. He was never going to forget what had just happened. “I almost murdered the woman I am sworn t’ protect, Ruari.”
“The woman ye are sworn to protect or the woman ye have come to love?” Royce was unsmiling and grim, and the question was an accusation.
Malcolm flinched. Royce was wrong. “I love no one,” he finally said. He refused to recall the feelings he’d had in the heat of rapture.
“Ye love the American woman. It’s written all over yer face an’ I can hear it in yer heart.”
“Damn it,” Malcolm roared. Royce knew better than to invade his mind. “I be fond o’ her, ’tis all. Fond, Royce, fond, like I am fond o’ ye.”
“Ye dinna think about fuckin’ me night an’ day.” Royce walked away.
Malcolm felt like breaking something. “Yer nay pretty enough.”
Royce faced him. “Malcolm, come t’ yer senses. Ye have put her in mortal danger now. Ye controlled the takin’ this time. What will happen next time?”
“There will be no next time,” he cried, breaking into a sw
eat. He trusted himself even less now, but it was his duty to protect Claire. He would die doing so, willingly.
“I am hopin’ so. But yer young, and yer blood is too damn hot. And Moray willna cease. Ye heard him, just as I did. He will take her, use her and send her back with child. Or, he’ll trap ye again an’ again, luring’ ye t’ evil, using the woman ye love to do so until ye do take her life.”
Malcolm closed his eyes, trembling. He already knew this.
Royce softened. He went to him and clasped his shoulder. “I dinna think Claire should be near ye. Even if ye married her to one o’ yer men in a pretense, he’d read her like a book—and ye, as well. No matter what ye think to do, Moray has marked her as a weapon against ye. The lass needs to go.”
He knew this, too, instinctively, when he did not want to know it. “Nay. There must be some way to keep her safe.”
“There is no way to keep her safe with ye!” Royce cried.
“I’ll find a way,” Malcolm gritted.
“There be no way,” Royce said fiercely. “An’ now I see I am right. Ye be a fool in love. Yer love will only kill her. An’ her love will kill ye!”
It was almost as if he couldn’t breathe. He had come to depend on Claire. He had come to expect her to be at his side, in his home and, after the other night, in his bed. He had come to look forward to their conversations and he anticipated her smiles, which pleased him so well that he tried to be the cause of them. Her arrogance could be annoying, but she was far too clever for a woman. He could dismiss her insults, because he knew she was in love with him. She didn’t mean it when she called him a macho jerk. The only thing that really annoyed him was her disobedience, because he knew he was the smarter, stronger one. But he’d withstand every single flaunted command if he could undo what was happening now.
He needed her. It was astounding. He was aching at the thought of sending her far away. He would probably miss her when she was gone. “I will think on it,” he said tersely. “Dinna push me now.”
“There be nothin’ to think on!” Royce was furious. “Ye either wish to find her dead one day or ye wish fer her to live. Make yer choice.”
Malcolm stared, sickened. There was no choice to make. Because of the dark beast that lurked inside him, and because of Moray, who knew how to unchain that beast, Claire could not stay with him. She had become his Mairead. And like Mairead, there was only one safe place for her to go—the cloister.
“No Deamhan ever knowingly enters a holy place. I will take her to Iona.” Malcolm said, and then he gave in, his anger erupting, and flung his arm out, knocking a beautiful chair onto its side, the arms breaking. His heart did not want her gone.
“She’ll be safe there,” Royce agreed. “But I will take her. It’s late now, I’ll take her t’morrow. We’ll leave at dawn.”
Malcolm turned, his heart thundering. “Ye dinna give the commands here, Royce,” he warned. “I be yer liege an’ lord.”
“Aye, when yer not blinded by lust an’ love.” Royce stalked out of the hall.
More anger exploded. He leaned over another chair, breathing hard. The cloister would be safe for Claire. His mother was safe there and willingly wished to remain there until she died. Even Moray would not dare enter the sacred site. But Claire would not want to stay in the abbey for very long. In fact, he felt certain she wasn’t going to wish to go there at all.
She was going to be furious, he thought. But he was lord and he was not going to give her a choice. He straightened and kicked a red-and-ivory damask chair halfway across the room.
Aidan strode into the hall. “If ye wish to break something, go into the woods, but leave my fine home alone!”
Malcolm looked at him. Unfortunately, this man was his half brother. Last night, he had tried to heal him. “How is Claire?”
“She be fast asleep. I wonder why.”
Malcolm tensed.
Aidan’s expression was closed, showing no emotion at all. “I didna heal ye. Moray put some spell on ye an’ I was blocked.” His eyes became hard. “Claire staunched the bleedin’ with her hands. Claire breathed into ye an’ gave ye back yer breath. She prayed to the Ancients fer yer life.”
Malcolm knew what was coming next.
“An’ then ye tried to take her life,” Aidan said, his temples throbbing. “An’ ye hate me fer being the devil’s own?”
Malcolm flinched. “I hate meself more.”
“Ye should.” Aidan paused. “Claire can stay here.”
Fury began. “I dinna share, Aidan. She goes to Iona.”
“I have no wish to bed her,” Aidan said firmly. “She deserves the chance to live.”
“I take her to Iona at dawn,” Malcolm said softly, enraged. He knew his brother would never be able to resist Claire’s allure. “Ye touch her an’ ye die.”
“Yer a dolt,” Aidan said, striding past him. He picked up the broken chair. “Ye owe me a fine chair from France. Louis XIV, it’s called.”
Malcolm turned away. He couldn’t find calm and he had to face why. His heart actually hurt, aching inside of his chest. Tomorrow he would take Claire to Iona. And then what? Moray could not be destroyed. Claire would have to spend years there, until she was forgotten. She would be furious at first, and then she would be miserable. He already felt miserable.
Aidan said quietly, “She’s no Mairead.”
Malcolm whirled. “Ye spy on me thoughts?”
“I dinna have to spy. Yer broken heart is screaming loud an’ clear.”
“My heart nay be broken.” He smiled for emphasis.
But Aidan was deadly serious. “Malcolm, leave yer hatred o’me fer one moment. MacNeil didna heal Claire in the tower.”
Malcolm stared. “What does that mean?”
“He told me that when he began to heal her, she was already healing herself.”
Malcolm remained calm. “The stone?”
“I dinna ken. Maybe ’twas the magic of the stone, an’ maybe not. I felt the power in the stone on the ramparts. Ye must have felt it, too.”
“Aye, I felt the stone’s charm last night an’ I felt it the night we were attacked in Morvern. But that’s not what yer thinking.” Malcolm stared and Aidan stared back.
“Yer right,” he finally said. “I think she may be one o’ us.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLAIRE AWOKE with a pounding migraine, the likes of which she had never before had. Pain consuming her, she staggered from the bed to a chamber pot, where she vomited helplessly.
She sat on the floor, trying to get her bearings and praying that she felt better. The terrible pain was gone, replaced by a less severe headache, but she felt nauseous now. In fact, she felt as if she’d drunk a whopping amount of wine last night.
But there hadn’t been any wine last night.
Last night, there had been Malcolm.
Aghast, Claire glanced toward the chamber’s two windows. Outside, it was a cloudy morning, the sun barely visible. She began to shake, becoming ill, not in her body but in her heart, her soul.
She was at Awe and last night Moray had dealt Malcolm a nearly fatal blow—for the second time. But he wasn’t dead. He was very much alive.
Oh, God. What had she done? What had he done?
Malcolm had been near death. He had been locked up like a wild beast and she had been out of her mind, she thought, slowly standing. Now she recalled the terrible desperation, the shocking need to find him, be with him. Last night, she had been certain he was calling her, willing her to him. It had felt as if their minds were communicating. She had not hesitated to obey. In fact, to the contrary, nothing and no one could have stopped her from going to him.
She had not been in control of either her body or her mind. Malcolm had been controlling her. But he hadn’t been sane, either.
His savage roars filled her mind. He had taken her life last night.
Claire stumbled to a chair and sat down, horrified. Pleasure in death. That was the understatement of the ages. Last nig
ht she had wanted to die for him. Last night she had wanted to die in the throes of an inhuman ecstasy.
How close had she come to death? She vaguely recalled MacNeil and Aidan hovering over her. Claire’s teeth began to chatter. Had Malcolm stopped…or had he been dragged from her like a rabid animal? She could not remember the details.
Claire could not believe she’d had no will of her own. That was terrifying.
But Malcolm had had no will, either. Being near death had turned him into something insatiable, determined to live no matter the cost.
Moray was about to own Malcolm’s soul. Or was it too late?
A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another and another. And Claire thought of his warm glances and affectionate smile as she lay in his arms after lovemaking, that one, single night, when he had stunned her by telling her he wished to make a commitment of fidelity to her.
Her heart shrieked in protest, demanding that she listen. Malcolm could not have turned evil last night. Malcolm hadn’t really hurt her, because she was very much alive today. He was good, and she knew it with her heart, her soul. It was Moray who was evil, Moray and all of his kind. It was Moray who had left Malcolm to die, hoping Malcolm would kill Claire to save himself, hoping to entrap Malcolm into becoming a full-fledged Deamhan as he had tried to before. But Malcolm had regained his sanity before it was too late.
Claire was not reassured. Moray had almost succeeded in engineering her death and Malcolm’s downfall. Her mind raced, pointing out that Malcolm had now violated his vows twice, even if she was alive. Was he on the brink of becoming evil?
What would she do if she went to Malcolm and found something else in his place?
Claire was ready to finally admit the truth. She was very much in love with a medieval man descended from a goddess. And last night, he had been insane with a barely comprehensible lust.
She went to the window and, realizing it pushed outward to open, managed to do so. As the fresh, damp air rolled in off the loch, she breathed deeply, her heart racing wildly. And she heard swords clashing.
