by Brenda Joyce
“I’m nay like him,” he said with warning. “I use my powers to please me, not the Brotherhood or the Ancients.” His eyes were impossibly hard. “I dinna care about any Code. I care about my pleasure.”
She flushed, refusing to believe him entirely. Filled with new tension, she strode ahead of him into the courtyard, glancing around at the three long, narrow, high buildings enclosing it. In the twenty-first century, Linlithgow Palace had been entirely enclosed.
The tallest, most imposing building was directly ahead, where the great hall was. Her heart sped and she increased her pace, Aidan falling into step beside her, both of them now ignoring the other. Many courtiers were coming and going, some of them in Highland dress, others clad in the English-court style. Claire did a double take, recognizing one clearly ranking and very handsome Lowlander—the Master she had glimpsed on Iona.
This time he wore pointy shoes instead of boots and burgundy hose, a short, full-skirted blue velvet jacket with puffed sleeves, but like before, he was fully armed. She blushed again, because it was impossible not to look at his bulging codpiece.
He smiled at her, clearly recognizing her, as well, and as he walked by, he swept her a courtly bow.
“That be Alexander of Blackwood, Sibylla’s brother,” Aidan said darkly. “Dinna ogle him!”
Claire halted in her tracks and turned a full 180 degrees to stare after him. “But I saw him on Iona, Aidan,” she said, trembling. “He’s a Master.”
“Aye,” Aidan said softly. “An’ he hates his sister, as he should.”
He tapped her arm and strode ahead. Recovering, Claire ran to catch up. The two massive, engraved doors of the great hall were open, and as she followed him inside, she saw the crowd milling within, awaiting either a summons or an audience with one of the royals. Claire became still, her heart pounding with sudden excitement. She was at court in the fifteenth century. She seized Aidan’s brat as she scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Malcolm. It had been only a few days, but she missed him terribly and she now anticipated a not particularly pleasant reception. “Is the king or queen here?”
“Nay.” Aidan suddenly stiffened, his eyes widening in shock.
Alarmed, Claire followed his gaze, and she saw Isabel standing in the midst of a small group of noblemen, pleasantly conversing. “That’s not her twin, is it?” Claire whispered.
Aidan could not tear his eyes from her. “She has no twin.”
“What day is this?”
“July 31.”
They had made the leap yesterday and Isabel had been at Awe, bidding them goodbye. There was only one way she could have made it to Linlithgow in the same amount of time as they had. Moray had taken her. Dread uncoiled, making Claire feel sick. Aidan was pushing through the crowd, and she followed him.
Isabel saw him and her expression became one of terrible relief. She made her apologies to the noblemen and rushed to Aidan, flinging herself against his chest. Aidan put his arms around her. “Ye be well?”
She nodded, looking up, tears shining in her eyes. “I am so glad you are here!” she cried. “I am so afraid.”
Claire tried to breathe naturally and failed. Moray had done this—and God only knew what else he had done and intended to do. He would use Isabel now, against his own son. And Isabel was not a woman of intelligence and fortitude. She was a lamb being led to the slaughter. Claire was ill.
“What happened? How did ye get here?” Aidan demanded, his eyes flashing with fury.
“Do not be angry with me! Your father insisted. I cannot refuse the earl of Moray—no one can! And I don’t know how I got here!” She began to cry. “He used a spell, Aidan, and when I awoke, I was in one of the court chambers.”
Aidan’s eyes were wide, hard. “Did he touch ye?”
Isabel looked blankly at him, then cried out, drying her tear-stained cheeks with her hand. “No, of course not. He has been charming, nothing more. But I am so afraid of him! When I look into his eyes, I am filled with fear.”
“I’m takin’ ye home,” Aidan said abruptly. He smiled, intending to reassure her, tilting up her chin. “Ye have no reason to fear. I’ll manage Moray.”
“You can’t take me home. I’ve met the queen.” More tears came. “She has ordered me to wait upon her, Aidan. I am to do so tonight.”
Aidan’s eyes turned hard. “Then ye’ll obey yer liege.”
Claire wasn’t certain what this meant, other than the fact that Isabel would remain at court indefinitely, so Moray could cruelly play cat and mouse with her and Aidan.
Then she glimpsed Malcolm.
Her heart thundered as their eyes locked. His expression was one of shock and disbelief. And then it became one of sheer fury.
She had known he would be angry when he saw her. Claire moved toward him, promising herself that she would not become angry in return. But he turned and started striding away, leaving the room, entering the long gallery that ran the length of the hall. Numerous windows allowed sunlight to filter within.
“Wait!” she cried, hurrying after him.
He suddenly whirled to face her, standing by a window that overlooked the western hills. “Ye disobey me another time?” he asked dangerously.
Claire tensed, but her heart slammed with joy and desire. “Malcolm.” She cupped his cheek, causing his eyes to widen. “I know you are angry. But I couldn’t go to the abbey and twiddle my thumbs while you are hunting Sibylla with Moray here!”
He jerked away from her hand. “Will ye ever obey me?”
She inhaled. “I can’t take orders from you if I do not agree. I am not a medieval woman. I am not like Glenna or Isabel. You can’t expect me to be.”
“Ye think I dinna ken? Yer like no woman I have ever met!”
“Do you really want me to be weak, mindless and dependent?” she cried.
He stared, mouth hard. “Nay,” he finally said, looking as if it killed him to admit it.
There was hope. “Malcolm, why can’t agree on an action together? Why can’t we sit down and discuss plans and come to terms that way?”
It was a moment before he spoke. “Ye wish fer us to be our own parliament?”
“Yes,” she whispered, praying he might finally understand. “Malcolm, you were raised to give orders like a king. I was raised to think for myself, to make my own decisions.”
She felt him finally considering her words.
“I know you understand compromise. You negotiate with other lords, and your enemies, all the time.”
“Aye. I do.” He folded his arms across her chest. “But we be in battle now, Claire.” His tone was calm. “In battle, every man in my command obeys me.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Point taken. I’ll obey you while we’re in battle. I’ll even obey you at court, if you agree that we’re from different times, and that you cannot treat me like you do other women. If you agree that we will be our own parliament. No more orders, Malcolm. We make important decisions together!”
He stared thoughtfully. “’Tis quite a talent, lass, that ye have.” He softened. “Yer too clever fer a maid.”
Claire waited, forgetting to breathe.
“Agreed. Ye give yer word. I give mine.”
She could not believe that they had crossed over the biggest cultural gulf separating them. She hadn’t gotten everything she wanted, but this was a beginning. “I’ll write it in blood, if you want,” she teased. She realized she was happy. A maelstrom of evil awaited them, and she wanted to cling to this brief respite.
“Ye spilled enough blood at Awe.” He sobered. “How did ye convince Aidan to bring ye here?”
She decided to ignore the question. This was not the time to espouse Aidan’s cause. “Isabel is here, Malcolm. Moray brought her. I don’t know what he intends.” Dread arose, huge and swift.
“Ye ken what he wants. He wants to use her against Aidan and he wants pleasure in death.”
Claire felt ill. “Aidan wanted to take her back to Awe, maybe to Iona, but the queen
has ordered her to wait on her tonight. Maybe that will save her from Moray.”
Malcolm gave her an odd look. “The queen is a lusty woman, Claire. She takes many lovers, and the gossip is that she even enjoys the services of her ladies.”
“She likes women?” Claire gasped.
“Nay, she likes pleasure, an’ she has had many men in her bed. Isabel will have to wait on her queen. It may save her life.”
Claire simply stared into his eyes, shaken. The injustice of the medieval world was glaring at them both. No one had rights. Freedom did not exist. Everyone was at the whim of tyranny.
The midday bells began to toll. And chills crept up and down Claire’s spine. Malcolm’s eyes hardened. She whirled.
Sibylla had entered the north end of the gallery. She obviously had sensed their presence, because she approached in her crimson velvet gown, trailing her embroidered sleeves. Her eyes gleamed.
Claire’s heart turned over. That demon had taken her life. It had been sexual—and she had wanted more.
Malcolm stepped in front of her. “Ah, lady, I have been hopin’ our paths would cross.”
Sibylla paused, alarm flickering in her black eyes. “You can’t be thinking of battle now, here at court. My lord is a favorite of the king. We do not war in the presence of the royals. Here, we have a truce.”
Claire slid her dagger into her hand. Her heart pumped so hard, she felt faint. There was no rational thought now. She had one question: What would happen if she stabbed Sibylla in the heart? Would she die? Her body was human. It would have to let go if all the blood was drained.
Sibylla looked at her, her smile wary. “So much courage, ma doucette? The king will take your head if you take mine.”
Claire heard her, but she didn’t care. If she didn’t destroy Sibylla, she was coming back.
Claire, dinna do it. Not here, with the royal guards in the hall. We’ll find a way, later, when there be no chance o’ public display.
Claire heard Malcolm. She wet her lips. She didn’t care that two guards stood by the entrance to the hall and that nobles were coming and going. “You said you weren’t allowed to kill me.” Her palms were sweating. “I get it now. I know who wants me alive.”
Claire, nay. Malcolm clasped her shoulder.
Leave me be, Malcolm! “But no one has forbidden me from killing you,” Claire cried. And she lunged.
“Claire!” Malcolm shouted, seizing her wrist.
But Claire felt her blade sink into warm, living flesh.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HOT BLOOD SPURTED over Claire’s hand. Malcolm wrestled her away from the woman. Claire saw that she had missed Sibylla’s heart, but she had stabbed her deeply in her chest. Sibylla reeled, turning pale, and then fury turned her eyes red. Malcolm pushed Claire against the window seat and seized the dagger, wrenching it from Sibylla’s chest.
“Finish her!” Claire screamed.
But chaos erupted in the gallery before Malcolm could do as she wanted. Sibylla pushed past him, apparently intending to run, but the passing noblemen blocked her way and she collapsed against one man. Claire heard footsteps pounding as heated exclamations and accusations began. Suddenly Royce shoved into their midst, seizing Malcolm’s arm. Just as she began to realize what she had done—and what it might mean—she was seized from behind.
She struggled to get free of her captor and Aidan hissed, “Fool!” Instantly she went still, realizing he had grabbed her.
Panting, Claire saw Malcolm and Royce exchange looks as Malcolm dropped the bloody blade. The two royal guards appeared, ordering everyone aside, marching up to Malcolm and Royce. And in that moment Claire finally understood she had made a terrible mistake. “Let me go,” she told Aidan, wondering what was going to happen to her now. She was pretty certain one could not stab a royal guest in the heat of the moment, even if that guest was a demon.
Her gaze met Malcolm’s. He was furious and she heard him as clear as day, even though he did not speak aloud. Ye gave me your word.
“I am sorry,” Claire whispered.
Aidan jerked on her.
Dinna speak another word!
“What happened here?” a guard demanded as the royal steward who had first ushered them into the hall appeared.
“Lady Sibylla has been attacked,” someone said.
Claire began to shake. Before she could confess to her crimes, Blackwood strode through the assembled crowd, his expression ruthless. He took one look at Sibylla and paled. For Claire, his look spoke volumes. He did not hate his possessed sister at all.
Sibylla cried out as Blackwood went to her, taking her into his arms. She was pale and bleeding heavily. Spittle ran from her mouth. Most of the bodice of her red dress was soaked with her blood. She looked at Claire with vicious hatred.
Sibylla wanted to kill her, Claire thought, her heart lurching at the murderous look in the other woman’s eyes.
“I’ll take care o’ her,” Blackwood said, lifting her into his arms.
Claire wanted to scream at him to finish the job. She was pretty certain he was going to get Sibylla medical attention, instead. He strode away, his sister finally fainting.
Malcolm picked up the dagger and looked at the steward. “Here’s the weapon that may have murdered Lady Sibylla,” he said grimly. “I admit to the crime.”
“Arrest him,” the steward snapped.
Claire cried out in horror. He would protect her this way? But as she began to protest, Aidan’s grasp on her became a tight, even cruel embrace. “Dinna speak,” he hissed at her as the guards seized Malcolm.
“My nephew lies,” Royce said calmly. “I have marked Sibylla fer the grave long ago. He thinks to protect me. I stabbed her.”
Claire gasped, her knees turning weak and useless. Royce’s actions were incredibly selfless, but selfishly she prayed he would be the one arrested now.
Malcolm turned a black look on Royce. “He thinks to protect me. Sibylla has declared war on me an’ mine. The deadly deed was done by my own hand.”
Everyone began to talk at once, in the excited tones of a crowd mesmerized by high drama.
“It was me,” Claire cried.
But in the frenzy of gossip and speculation, no one seemed to hear. Aidan jerked on her, literally dragging her from the hall. “Let me go,” Claire began furiously.
“Arrest them both,” the steward ordered, “until this matter can be decided by the king.”
Claire was disbelieving. “It was me,” she shouted loudly. “Damn it!” Looking over her shoulder, she saw that no one heard or cared to hear.
Malcolm was set on taking the fall for her.
I am sorry!
Dinna worry. I will be fine.
What will they do to you?
He did not answer her and Claire saw the guards strip him of his sword and dagger as Aidan pulled her from the hall. She found herself outside in the bailey, so sickened in her heart she was nauseated. She had lost all control—and now, Malcolm might pay a terrible price for what she had done.
Aidan let her go. “What will they do to him?” she cried.
“Could ye nay hold yer temper? Ye canna murder a lady in cold blood in front o’ witnesses!” Aidan exclaimed.
Claire hugged herself, choking on her fear. She had wanted to kill Sibylla; now she was afraid she would die.
Aidan was lurking, because he said, “Blackwood will have her healed.”
It was a double-edged sword. “So Sibylla will live to do her evil another day.”
Aidan’s eyes darkened. “Ye ferget she’s as human as ye, Claire. He’ll take her to Iona fer an exorcism.”
And suddenly her bitterness faded as she understood. “He wants to exorcize the demon.”
“She be Blackwood’s sister. She deserves a chance to live again. And he deserves the chance to try to free his sister’s soul.”
Claire could only stare. Sanity finally returned. She had wanted Sibylla to die. She had been entirely consumed with murdering her
enemy, so much so that she hadn’t thought once about the fact that Sibylla was a human being. Once, she had been as normal as Claire. She began to shake, ashamed of her own violent behavior.
“And what if the exorcism fails?”
Aidan said coldly, “Blackwood will kill her.”
She inhaled, shaken all over again. Everything was spinning wildly out of control. She could no longer think—or care—about Sibylla’s fate. “I have to go back inside and tell the truth,” she pleaded. “I can’t let Malcolm be punished for what I did—or Royce, for that matter.”
“’Tis what a man does fer his woman,” Aidan said grimly. “An’ it be far too late fer regrets.”
“They can leap,” Claire finally said. “Thank God they can leap to escape if they have to!”
“If they leap they will be outlaws, an’ they will never be able to come back to this time.”
Another thought occurred. “Let’s leap back in time—back to Awe before Malcolm left! Now that we know what will happen, we can convince Malcolm to leave Sibylla alone.”
Aidan shook his head. “’Tis nay allowed. A Master canna go back to the past an’ change it fer his own whim.”
“You follow the rules now?” she cried furiously.
He gave her a look. “No god would allow the Code to be broken like ye wish, Claire.”
Claire gave up, for she didn’t understand that. “Then what are we going to do?”
“I’ll do what needs to be done, Claire. Ye’ll do nothing. Yer in my care now, until Malcolm be released. In fact, I’m takin’ ye far from the court, as there be nothin’ here fer ye.”
“Malcolm is here—locked up and awaiting a verdict for what I have done. I am not leaving court without him.” She had never meant her words more.
He stared.
“I am desperate, Aidan,” Claire admitted, resorting to any feminine wiles she had left. She let tears fill her eyes—genuine tears of fear for Malcolm. “I love him and I have to stand by him, just as he has stood by me.”
Aidan softened. “I ken ye love him deeply. I dinna think he’ll be imprisoned fer too long. He’ll probably pay a high price in coin and lands fer the assault. Very well. I’ll find us rooms until he be released. But,” he said fiercely, “ye’ll do nothing to make matters worse.”
