by Brenda Joyce
Claire wasn’t sure he was right. She was unusually strong for a woman and far stronger than the average woman. Kickboxing had made her light and quick on her feet; her balance was excellent. Of course, Aidan was superhuman. He would be a zillion times stronger and faster than she was. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t nick him if she tried.
He was impatient. “Cut me, Claire.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to cut you,” she said truthfully.
He smiled. “Ye willna succeed. But try.”
This was a problem and she knew it. She wasn’t into violence and in a way, he was a friend.
“Maybe ye dinna wish to cut me ’cause ye be thinkin’ about me in Isabel’s bed?” he said softly.
She was aware that he wished to anger her, but she was more annoyed than angry. “I am sorry I saw that, believe me!” she said. “Aidan, in my time, we frown on violence.”
“Frown away, an’ be dead,” he said. Then he shrugged. “But ye’ll die screamin’ in pleasure an’ likin’ it, won’t ye? No matter who the Deamhan be.”
Claire grimaced.
He added, “I ken why ye dinna wish to cut me, lass. I dinna mind. Malcolm doesna wish to share, but I often do.”
Claire gasped. “What?”
“Ye liked what ye saw an’ ye like me too much now. Yer thinkin’ o’ me in yer bed now, nay Malcolm.”
“You are a jerk,” she cried, and she thrust the blade at his chest.
He seized her wrist, incapacitating her knife hand before she could blink. “An’ ye are dead,” he said. “Can ye move at all? Or are ye too tall an’ awkwardly built?”
Claire jerked free, set up and side-kicked him hard. She was aiming for the chin but he jerked aside and a useless blow glanced on his shoulder. But he smiled, eyes wider. “I said cut me,” he said. “Ye won’t kill a Deamhan with yer feet.” He reached for her.
But Claire was expecting it and she danced out of his reach. She was pleased when she saw respect flicker in his eyes. Now she would cut him, oh, yeah.
“Cut me with the blade, Claire,” he taunted.
Claire feinted. She half turned and back-kicked him, but he dodged this time. Now that he knew she could kickbox, he was ready for her. She panted, determined to outthink him.
“Aye,” he said, “yer first kick had better be the one that takes the Deamhan down.”
“You’re worse than your brother!” she said angrily. “Damn it, you have no right to read my mind.”
“But any Deamhan who ken do so will do so,” he said, backing out of the distance she could reach with her long legs. “Ye still haven’t cut me, Claire.”
He jerked his head toward the hall. “Ye liked watchin’ me with Isabel, didn’t ye, Claire? I saw the look in yer eyes. Ye got hot and excited, didn’t ye?”
Claire was furious. The worst part was, there was some truth in his words.
He smiled knowingly at her. “I made ye hot.”
“Fuck off!” She went to front-kick him in the ribs, but missed when he dodged. Without a pause, she shifted and followed up with a sidekick to his jaw. Claire was surprised when she connected solidly, but he only flinched. Triumphant, she dived at him with the knife.
He caught her wrist before she could sink it into his heart. Claire panted, struggled and gave up. He met her gaze, his eyes warm, and he nodded with a smile. “Ye have some hope,” he said, releasing her.
Claire stepped back, breathing hard. “I want an apology.”
He was rueful. “Aye, I be sorry.” He hesitated. “Yer a great beauty an’ I have eyes. But I ken ye love my brother an’ that ye’ll never come to me.”
Aidan started, glancing past her.
In dread, Claire turned.
Malcolm’s expression was thunderous.
Claire steeled herself for a battle. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? But her heart ran wild at the sight of him. “I fought at your side in the woods and I killed one demon,” she said tersely, in self-defense.
He strode over. “Ye had God’s will on yer side—that one time.” He turned a dark glare on Aidan. “I be her lord, not ye. I command her, not ye.”
Aidan said quietly, “If she’ll be alone, without ye, she’d better be able to fight.”
“Aye, an’ I’ll be the one teachin’ her,” Malcolm said flatly.
Aidan nodded. “As ye should.” He turned and walked off.
Claire slowly met Malcolm’s eyes. “You’ve changed your mind!”
Malcolm smiled, but coldly. “I am not as pigheaded as ye keep sayin’.”
If Malcolm was capable of changing his mind, there was hope for them, Claire thought. But he was still distant and upset. “What made you decide differently?”
“I dinna trust ye,” he said bluntly.
Claire flinched. “What does that mean?”
“It means ye have no respect fer my orders, fer me.”
“I respect no one as much as you!”
“I’m leavin’ ye at the abbey, but I dinna trust ye to stay put. I won’t be with ye to guard ye. Ye have the need to be able to defend yerself now—and t’ kill evil, if ye can.”
This was what Claire had wanted, but not this way, with him so angry. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “Maybe one day, you will understand that I am exactly the kind of free-thinking and independent woman I should be,” she said seriously. “Malcolm, just as you must do what you think best and right, so must I.”
His face tightened impossibly. “And is being with Aidan best fer ye?”
“How long were you watching us?”
His mouth hardened. “Long enough.”
Shit and double shit, she thought, panicking.
“Long enough to ken that ye like my bastard brother.”
“That’s not true! Not the way you mean. He’s a friend.”
“But ye bed yer friends, do ye not, Claire?” he asked. “Did he nay make ye hot?”
“How can you be jealous of Aidan!” she exclaimed.
“I’m nay jealous o’ any man.”
“I walked in on him and Isabel and it was a mistake. I didn’t stay, damn it. You make me hot!”
He shook his head, a terrible look in his eyes, and started walking away.
Claire chased him, seizing his arm. “Don’t do this,” she cried. “You know how I feel—you eavesdrop on my thoughts all the time.”
He halted and she crashed into the wall of his chest. “Aye, an’ yer in guilt now.”
“No! I saw them—and wanted you.”
A terrible silence fell.
And Claire waited, because that was the truth. Aidan was handsome and he had his moments of charm, but he was not Malcolm and he never would be.
She saw the anger leave his eyes.
He said harshly, “I made ye a promise. Last night changes many things, but I always keep my word.”
Claire realized he was referring to his vow of fidelity. “I made you the same promise, Malcolm.” It was hard to breathe. “I am a woman of my word.”
Their gazes finally locked.
Claire saw him breathing hard, too. No more than an inch separated them. His masculinity became overpowering. Claire wished she could go into his arms for a warm, hard embrace.
He slowly shook his head. “’Tis nay a good idea.”
“What happens now?” she asked quietly. “We’ve made vows, but you won’t come to my bed. If I respect your need to sleep alone—”
“Nay. I will keep ye safe.”
He would still send her to Iona. They had just weathered another storm and she felt closer to him than ever. “You’re calmer.” Her whisper sounded urgent.
His gaze was unwavering. “Aye, I’m calmer. But ye willna be safe here. Yer nay safe from Moray. From me.” His gaze moved to her mouth then lifted to her eyes. “We’ll make our farewells in the morn.” He nodded and turned to go.
She rushed to stride alongside him. “Where are you going now? What are you doing?”
“The sun sets in two hours. I’m going to the tower now.”
She was incredulous. “You’re locking yourself up?”
“Aye.” He paused before the stairs leading to the front door of the castle. “Maybe in a few years,” he said thickly, “there’ll be a safe time an’ a safe place fer us.”
Claire cried out in protest. “A few hundred years?”
He gave her a long look and walked up those stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROYCE WAS WAITING for her in the great hall.
Claire’s stomach was in knots. She had tossed and turned all night, acutely aware of the fact that Malcolm was above her in the tower. But he hadn’t been summoning her. She had strained to listen for him but had heard nothing. She interpreted his silence to mean he was firmly in control of any lingering dark urges.
Royce strode over to her. “Break the fast. We willna stop until we reach Iona.”
Claire met his gaze and saw no hostility, just quiet determination. She couldn’t care less about breakfast. “Where is Malcolm? I have to say goodbye.”
Royce said, “Outside.”
She had been afraid they would not have a last word before parting. Claire hurried out. Malcolm’s fifty men were already mounted, their horses blowing impatiently in the brisk chill of dawn. Instantly she saw Malcolm astride his big gray. He glanced her way and their eyes met. Malcolm moved the charger toward her.
Claire rushed over to him. “You wouldn’t dare leave without telling me goodbye!”
He looked as tired as she felt, Claire realized, and that meant he’d had a rotten night, too. But she knew better than to believe he’d been tossing and turning over his undying affection for her. “I’ll go with ye an’ Royce as far as the sea loch,” he said.
Claire was thrilled. She grasped one of his reins. “What changed your mind?”
His gaze held hers. “Dinna think so hard, Claire. I go back to Dunroch and ’tis the best way. I never said I wouldn’t make part of the journey with ye.” He turned his mount away.
Claire looked around for her mount. She knew exactly who she was riding through the pass with. Royce joined her, leading the brown gelding. “Mount up, Lady Claire.”
Claire took Saint Will’s reins and swung into the saddle, finding the wood stirrups. When she looked up, Aidan was handing her a revolver.
Claire grinned, briefly forgetting all about being in a situation in which she had no say and no control. “You didn’t forget! Is it loaded?”
“If ye mean does it have six round pellets inside, aye, it does,” he said with a grin of his own.
Claire would have kissed his cheek if she wasn’t astride and if Malcolm hadn’t been so jealous yesterday. “Thank you. Not just for the dagger and the gun, but for everything.”
“I canna refuse a beautiful woman,” he said, smiling.
Claire glanced across the troops and saw Malcolm watching her. She hoped he was reading her mind now. “That is obvious,” Claire said. She leaned closer. “Be nice to Isabel. She’s very young for your shenanigans.”
His eyes widened. “Claire, she kens the way o’ the world.”
Claire thought it sad that she probably did at such a young age. She wasn’t sure why she hoped to save Isabel from the broken heart that would be her fate, but she did. She moved her horse toward Malcolm, tucking the revolver carefully in her belt. Claire came abreast of him, uncertain. “Are you waiting for me?”
“Aye.” He gestured that they should follow the men trotting under the raised portcullis and through the middle ward. A moment later, Claire was riding across the first drawbridge with Malcolm. The sky was turning pale blue, the sun shining faintly yellow as it crept over the still waters of the loch. To the north, Ben More and the lower, adjacent peaks remained shrouded in shadow and mist. As Royce and the first few men trotted onto the marshland, two does and a magnificent buck with huge antlers leaped out of the forest and across the road. Claire smiled at Malcolm. So much had happened since that terrible battle with Moray and she missed him.
He met her gaze. His eyes were unguarded, almost soft.
“Are you eavesdropping?”
“Will ye shout?”
She almost laughed. “No.”
“’Tis called lurking, Claire, and with ye, I dinna have t’ even try to hear ye. Ye think so loud.”
Her heart raced as they passed through the raised portcullis. “Then you know that I miss moments like this one.”
His jaw flexed and his lashes lowered over his eyes.
“The rising sun, the crisp, clean air, the towering mountains, the scent of wood and pine…and you, here with me, like this.”
“I canna change the past. ’Tis nay allowed.”
“Malcolm.”
“Aye,” he said slowly, looking up at her. “I heard ye. But I willna say I miss the pleasant times. Dinna push me, lass. The affairs o’ the court weigh on me mind now.” He added, “’Tis where Moray has gone.”
“Tell me what you are thinking,” she said softly. “Do you have a plan for Moray?”
He gave her a look she could not decipher.
“Where does Moray fit in?” Claire asked. “He controls the royal armies. The king must depend upon him heavily.”
“Aye, he does. But he controls Moray, Claire, not the other way. James be clever, ambitious and devout. An’ ye can say a prayer o’ thanks to any god ye choose that the king be so faithful.”
Claire got his drift. James’s religious beliefs were keeping him out of Moray’s clutches. That was a relief. “How devout is James? Is he fanatical? Is that what it takes to make a soul secure?”
“Ye think I should pray.”
She wet her lips. “It can’t hurt.” And she started to think about the prayer she’d been saying when Malcolm had been dying on the ramparts. She hadn’t memorized that verse, but it had come pouring out of her.
Malcolm hadn’t died. And James wasn’t Moray’s soulless lackey. The gods were out there, and God had always been the bulwark against evil. She had to get religion.
“Ye want to use religion, Claire,” Malcolm said quietly, “but usin’ it, even fer a good cause, an’ havin’ faith be two different things.” The words were barely out of his mouth when a terrible expression of alarm covered his face. And that was when Claire felt a chilling wind rush over the marshes.
Royce whirled his horse, shouting commands in Gaelic, and she heard the wild battle cries of the approaching army as they burst into the glen.
Fear choked her. She saw perhaps a hundred mail-clad foot soldiers, wielding pikes and shields, and two dozen fully armored, mounted men. Claire glanced behind her as the knights bore down upon them at a mad gallop. Castle Awe was a mile distant. The marsh was no more than a mile wide from side to side, surrounded by impenetrable forested mountains, the pass ahead. Claire wasn’t a military strategist, but she didn’t have to be one to know that they were too far from the castle to return safely to it, and that they were caught out in the open with no place to run or hide.
Royce galloped to them, slamming something at Malcolm, which he seized. “Take the page an’ Claire,” he said. “I’ll hold them off here.”
Claire expected Malcolm to protest as the first knights engaged his men, their bloodcurdling cries filling the dawn, lance against shield, sword against sword. But he seized her reins. “Claire!”
Claire grabbed the horse’s mane as they wheeled and galloped back toward Awe. She looked back at the expanding battle. Everyone was now engaged, even the foot soldiers, making them terribly outnumbered. Horses screamed and men cried out, swords ringing, clashing, echoing. She turned ahead as they galloped toward the castle, breathing hard. The outer drawbridge was being slowly and cumbrously lowered. In minutes, surely, Aidan and his men would emerge. But her little gelding was on Malcolm’s steed’s flank, and she wasn’t going to be able to keep up with his stallion for long.
She looked over her shoulder again. A dozen riders were pursuing them, ignoring t
he main battle. “Malcolm!” she screamed into the wind. The drawbridge felt as if it were a hundred miles away.
And Malcolm thought so, too. He slowed his gray, holding out his hand. We’ll leap.
Claire reached out for him and their fingers brushed, but he missed grasping her hand.
“Claire!” He halted his stallion abruptly and it reared. Saint Will raced past the gray and was instantly flung backward by the rein Malcolm was holding, stumbling hard. Claire sailed over his head.
She somersaulted and landed hard right below her neck, where it joined her spine. For one moment, she just lay there, stunned, stars shooting in the sky above. Malcolm raced to her on foot now and Claire saw the pair of knights galloping toward him from behind, swords raised. She sat, pointing the gun, her hand shaking wildly. “Malcolm!” she warned him, firing.
She aimed at the horse. It went down, the knight rolling just out of the charger’s way, avoiding being crushed. Malcolm whirled, sword and shield raised, to meet the other knight’s attack. On foot, he swung hard at the rider, who swung as hard back. Malcolm staggered backward as their blades locked.
Three foot soldiers were upon them. Two wore mail shirts, one just a leine. Claire knelt, aimed, fired and saw one man fall. When he did not get up, she guessed they were men that Moray had turned to evil, not demons. Suddenly two knights were hauling their horses to a halt before her, cutting her off from Malcolm.
The first lifted her visor. “Hello, Claire.” Sibylla grinned.
Claire froze, pointing the gun at her. Behind Sibylla, Malcolm was trying to fight three men at once. Her escalating heart rate made her feel faint. It was hard to aim straight.
“I wouldn’t make me angry, if I were you, Claire,” the redhead said, her smile widening. “You really don’t want to get on my bad side.” She rode at Claire.
Her heart slamming in alarm, Claire didn’t hesitate. She fired. The bullet hit Sibylla in the chest and the impact through her armor should have sent her flying from her horse; it did not. Instead, she reached down and jerked the gun from Claire as if she hadn’t felt the gunshot. From her eyes, Claire saw that she had felt some pain and that she was now angry, but it wasn’t stopping her. Worse, as their gazes met, Claire felt a terrible sensation, as if her insides were being turned to jelly. Her racing heart slowed.
