by Brenda Joyce
She watched him playing with himself. “He is the king’s prisoner.”
He gave her a look. “Do ye nay wish to fuck all night? Do ye nay remember that I never tire, never slacken? Do ye nay wish to put yer tongue here?”
Tears rolled down her face. “I can make you pay dearly, Ruari.”
He ignored that. “I want to make ye come, Joan. I want to make ye come a hundred times.” She gasped, and he knew she would come the moment he touched her. “But my duty is to my nephew. We both ken ye can control yer husband when ye wish to. Release Malcolm.”
She was flushed with arousal and breathing so hard it was a moment before she spoke. “I believe you don’t care if you die. But you must know that I can release him today and imprison him tomorrow.”
“Yer right. I am an old, tired man who doesna care if he dies at yer hand or the king’s.” He wanted her to make up her mind. He was ready to go inside her now and enjoy himself immensely.
She understood what he meant instantly. Her eyes widened.
He no longer smiled. If he had to expose the queen’s infidelity, so be it. He’d lose his head, but she would never recover her lost power.
“If you were not such a great lover,” she managed, “I would kill you with my own hand.”
“I want to fuck ye, woman. Hurry up.”
She turned to the door, parted it. “Release Malcolm of Dunroch. He is free to leave the court tonight.”
Royce began to smile, very pleased. He strode up to her as she closed the door and before she could face him, he put his arms around her, clasping her between her thighs. He lifted her higher. She went still, convulsively, eagerly, and he felt his arousal grow to a fever pitch. “Who be master now? Who be the slave?”
Red need blinded him; he drove deep.
The queen wept in her release.
CLAIRE COULDN’T SLEEP. The moon was high and she stared through her window at it. She had dreamed of trying to find Malcolm, and she was very tempted to try to do so now, in the dead of the night. On the other hand, she knew he would be under guard and she was fairly certain she would not be able to charm the guards into letting her see him. And then there was Moray.
The last thing she wanted to do was run into him in the middle of the black night while alone in the palace.
She turned away from the shining moon to stare at the fire. What was going to happen to Malcolm and his uncle now? Would they be charged for assaulting Sibylla? Did Sibylla live? And how were they going to deal with Moray?
And Claire felt Malcolm.
Confused, she glanced toward the chamber door, which was closed. And then the door was thrust open and Malcolm strode into the room. Claire cried out, rushing into his arms. He held her tight.
“Is this a dream?” she gasped, aware of his heat, his strength.
He smiled tenderly at her. “’Tis no dream. Royce is with the Queen. They be lovers. I imagine he has used his powers o’ persuasion to order my release and his.”
Claire could not think about Royce now. She touched Malcolm’s cheek, and to her surprise he clasped her hand there. His eyes shimmered the way they had in her dream. Claire tensed. She would give anything to hear him say those three words.
“I be free to go.”
He dropped his hand, only to let it settle on her shoulder. “You are?”
“Aye, but Claire, how can I leave my uncle now? As long as he beds the Queen, he be in jeopardy.” He looked slowly around the chamber.
Claire hesitated, realizing what Royce’s affair could cost him. “Malcolm, if Royce’s affair is discovered, no one can help him. Only a leap will save him.”
An anguished expression crossed Malcolm’s face and he turned away from her.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “He won’t leap, Claire. I dinna think he cares much fer this world anymore.”
What did that mean? She went to Malcolm, but he gave her a dark look.
Claire did not like it and she tensed.
“What happened in this chamber t’ night, Claire?”
She recognized his dangerous jealousy, but she had not been thinking about that terrible encounter with Aidan. “Nothing,” she began.
He looked at the bed. “I dreamed about ye a few hours ago. I dreamed ye were on the run from Moray,” Malcolm said softly. He finally looked at her. “Then I dreamed we were in bed. I can sense ye had pleasure tonight, Claire.”
“I was dreaming of you, too,” she whispered, stunned. “It was so real.”
“Why can I scent Aidan in yer chamber?”
Claire tensed. No good was going to come of this.
He began to tremble with anger. “I ken ye didna break yer vows. Why was my bastard brother in here with ye? Did he try to seduce ye while I was locked up in the tower?”
“No!” she cried. She seized his hands. “He was watching over me, Malcolm—for you.” Impossibly, she was defending Aidan now. “I did find pleasure tonight,” she whispered, blushing. “It was only a dream, but I was with you and it was wonderful. He heard me from the hall and thought I might be with a demon. He barged in to rescue me. That is all,” she said firmly.
Malcolm stared at her. Claire hated lying by omission. “Please forgive him,” she said hoarsely. “He’s your brother. The two of you should be allies, friends.”
Malcolm’s gaze turned ice-cold. “He’ll stay away from ye now. I’ve had enough of his lustin’ fer ye.”
“He doesn’t lust for me,” she cried.
He raised both brows.
“Malcolm! All the Masters are impossibly oversexed. Aidan lusts for anything young, pretty and female!”
Some of his tension eased. “Ye wish fer us to be friends?” He was clearly disbelieving.
“Yes, I do.”
“He be Moray’s son. He be a rogue.” He was grim, and from his expression, she saw that he did not trust Aidan. And how could he, when Aidan chose to behave so erratically and selfishly? At times she liked him and trusted him, but at other times she did not.
Malcolm had pulled away. He lifted his gaze to her. “I need ye, Claire. In bed, the way ye want it. Slow.”
Claire’s eyes widened. Was he telling her he wanted to make love to her? Or that he wanted to have sex, just in a less frenzied way?
She began to nod. The tension that was pulsing now felt right, not dark, not evil.
“Well,” she said softly, breathless now, “there’s a few hours before dawn.”
He slowly smiled, the most seductive smile she had ever seen. Her body erupted into flames.
Past his shoulder, through the open door, she saw Aidan coming down the hall. Claire was filled with dismay. It was too late. Malcolm turned. Aidan glanced inside and faltered, starting as he saw Malcolm.
Go away! Claire thought silently, praying Aidan might hear.
But he only glanced briefly at her as he stepped to the threshold of the room. “Ye been released?” he exclaimed to Malcolm, his relief evident.
“Aye.” Malcolm smiled coldly. “An’ I be tired o’ watchin’ ye lust fer what is mine.”
Aidan’s relief vanished. He smiled coolly. “I’d never touch yer woman.” He turned and walked up the hall, toward the chamber he shared with Isabel.
Claire leaped past Malcolm and slammed their door closed. “I am proud of you,” she began, when a sudden sense of dread began and she knew something terrible was about to happen.
Malcolm felt it, too, because he tensed, his expression becoming one of alarm, an expression she now hated.
“What is it? Is it evil?” she gasped hoarsely.
Before Malcolm could answer, a horrible cry sounded. It was anguished, a cry of protest, of outrage.
“Aidan!” Malcolm exclaimed.
He seized the door, flinging it open. Claire followed him, uncertain that he had correctly identified the cry, because she could not recognize Aidan’s voice in that raw sound. And now there was only a terrible, frightening silence.
Malcolm ran
past several doors, Claire on his heels. Aidan’s door was ajar and Malcolm barged inside, Claire with him. She saw Aidan on his knees, head bowed. For a split second she thought he was praying.
And then she saw Isabel.
She lay on her back, naked, hair streaming, eyes wide and sightless.
Claire gasped in horror. And then she saw the slight smile on her face.
Malcolm knelt. “Can ye find yer powers?”
Aidan did not speak. He was as still as a statue, staring at his mistress.
Malcolm touched Isabel and jerked to look at Claire. “She’s cold. She’s gone.”
“Close her eyes,” Claire said harshly. She rushed to Aidan and knelt, carefully touching his shoulder. She saw shock on his face and looked at Malcolm. Moray had done this. She had no doubt. “Help him.”
Malcolm lifted Isabel and laid her on the bed, covering her entirely with a blanket. As he did, Aidan stood. The shock vanished from his expression. He stared at Isabel’s corpse, his eyes burning with hatred, and Claire knew he was lusting for vengeance.
“Aidan,” Claire said. Resolute, she went to him and tried to take his hand. “I am so sorry. Come, sit down. You’re in shock.”
He jerked free, not looking at her; Claire wasn’t sure he’d even heard her or knew she was there. He started for the door.
Malcolm ran in front of him and barred his way. “Ye canna defeat Moray. Ye’ll die.”
Aidan smiled coldly. “Get out o’ my way.”
“Don’t let him go,” Claire whispered.
Malcolm did not take his gaze from his half brother. “I canna allow ye to hunt Moray.”
“Get out o’ my way,” Aidan snarled. His teeth gleamed very brightly, and saliva dripped.
His expression was odd and frightening. Claire had never seen such a savage look on a man’s face.
Aidan snarled at Malcolm.
The sound was filled with menace and was unbelievably bestial. Claire’s insides lurched. She had a very bad feeling, but she did not know what to expect.
And she saw Aidan’s beard growing at an impossible rate.
Malcolm stiffened. “Aidan!” It was an alarmed cry of protest.
Aidan snarled again. This time there was no mistaking the sound—it wasn’t human, it was canine. And before her eyes she saw a gray wolf appear in his place.
Claire cried out, backing away. The wolf stood very still, crouched to attack, hackles raised, growling in such a way that it was clear he would assault Malcolm and ravage him to death.
Claire was stunned, but she instantly understood. Shape-shifting was one of the most basic tenets of Celtic culture, so why wouldn’t these Masters have the ability to change from man to beast? If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. What she didn’t know was whether Aidan remained inside the animal at all, or if only a murderous beast was there instead.
“Malcolm, get out of his way,” she said, her heart thundering.
The wolf snarled once again, fangs dripping. Claire was afraid it would leap on Malcolm at any moment.
Malcolm did not move. “I didna believe ye could shape-shift,” he said slowly. “Even though I heard ye called the Wolf of Awe.” He hesitated. “Don’t do this. Claire be right. Yer my brother. We’ll hunt Moray together, the way brothers should.”
The wolf snarled and sprang. His assault was so powerful that Claire knew Malcolm could not defend himself against such a supernatural beast. She screamed.
But Malcolm got down on one knee and the wolf bounded easily over him. It raced into the hall at such speed its feet barely touched the floor.
Malcolm followed, as did Claire. The wolf ran down the corridor toward the window. They ran after it. “Aidan, don’t!” Malcolm shouted.
Too late. It leaped through the window, breaking the glazed glass.
Claire could not control another scream, this one of horror. She ran with Malcolm to the window and looked down. They were on the third floor. She expected to see a mangled wolf lying below, or a mangled man. Nothing lay in the shadows of the courtyard.
Malcolm grasped her elbow.
She followed his gaze. Against the moon, she saw a hawk soaring rapidly into the distance.
Tears began. Claire wept for Isabel, and she wept for Aidan, too.
Malcolm pulled her into his arms.
MALCOLM POURED THEM BOTH mugs of wine. Claire stood at the window, watching the night sky fading, turning mauve. He handed her the wine and she thanked him. More tears fell.
He put his arm around her. “I ken ye wanted t’ save Isabel.”
“With all my heart!” she cried. “She was sweet, guileless, more child than woman. She reminded me of my cousin Lorie.”
Malcolm pulled away, his expression dark and grim.
Claire wiped her tears. She wanted to grieve, but there wasn’t time. “I think we should return to Dunroch. We can’t help Aidan if the king throws you back in prison. We should leave while we still can.”
He stared at her, looking damned unhappy.
“I know you are worried about Royce and Aidan.” She took both of his hands. “Can you admit it?”
“Aye, I be worried fer them both. But there be truth in yer words, Claire. If I dinna leave, I may be returned to the tower. I canna help anyone then.”
“So we’ll go?”
“Aye, at first light.”
She didn’t let him walk away. “Malcolm, you promised you would teach me to fight. It’s clear that I am at a disadvantage here, in your time, even at court, by not having some fighting skills. And we both know I will need those skills when I go home, because I won’t be surrounded by Masters then.” The thought of going home made her feel even sadder than she already felt, but she’d deal with her feelings another time. She had to learn to fight. She’d had enough of evil. She’d had enough of destruction and death.
He pulled his hands from hers. “I’ll teach ye at Dunroch.”
Claire could feel him thinking about her going home, but not his exact thoughts. “I have to go back some time,” she said hesitantly, almost wishing he’d refute her words.
He turned away.
She retreated. They had enough burdens now, and she wanted to ease Malcolm’s worries if she could, just a bit. “Look, I don’t think Aidan is rushing after Moray this instant. After all, Moray is here. He isn’t going to assault the Defender of the Realm at court. He’s smart. He’ll cool down.”
“If Aidan hunts Moray, he will die. He doesna have the power to defeat his father.”
“Will he ever have that power?”
“Moray’s power comes from Satan.”
Claire had a striking thought. “Aidan is Moray’s son. I bet, genetically, his powers are close to his father’s. Maybe he’ll get the power he needs from God—if we don’t nail the bastard demon first.”
“Mayhap.”
She had never seen Malcolm so grim. “So you admit he is not evil?”
He seemed reluctant. “He’s nay evil.”
Claire almost smiled. He was capable of changing profound beliefs. He was open-minded, and it meant everything to her—not that it changed their future.
A wolf howled.
Goose bumps began and Claire and Malcolm exchanged looks. The howl continued, a sound of anguish and loneliness. And Claire was certain that it was also a sound of guilt and regret.
She went to Malcolm, who was stricken. He put an arm around her. The wolf howled again. Aidan was entitled to his grief, even if Isabel had been a passing fancy. “He blames himself,” she whispered.
“Aye. He be her lord an’ he failed in his duty to her. ’Twas his responsibility to protect her.”
Moray had done this to his own son, Claire thought grimly as a knock sounded on the door.
Malcolm’s expression turned stoic, impossible to read. He went to the door, where a household guard stood. She tensed as the two exchanged words in Gaelic. Then the guard left, but she did not relax. “What is it?”
It took Claire one moment to become enraged and horrified. “She’s summoning you in the middle of the night? For what purpose?” she cried. Before Malcolm could answer, she said, “Oh, let me guess! She’s done with Royce and she wants to try you out in her bed!”
“Claire, we dinna ken what she wishes. But I canna refuse her summons.”
And he couldn’t refuse an invitation for sex, either, could he? “Where the hell is the king?”
“Dinna fret so. James be an early riser an’ it’s almost dawn. She willna be takin’ a lover at this hour.” And then he shocked her by pulling her close and kissing her lightly on the cheek, the way a suburban husband might before his daily commute.
Claire wasn’t reassured. She watched him go, hating her helplessness and the tyranny of the king and queen. In that one moment she had never appreciated the freedom of an open, democratic society more.
She tried to remind herself that she didn’t know what the queen really wanted. But damn it, if her suspicions were right, Malcolm would have to pleasure the queen when he belonged to her.
Claire shivered. The last thing they needed was for Malcolm to get on the queen’s sexual radar. She pulled her brat closer to her body, wondering if they’d left the shutters open. But a quick glance showed her that Malcolm had closed the shutter.
The chamber became frigidly cold.
Comprehension began. Claire turned slowly, horror rising.
And the earl of Moray smiled at her, exactly as he had a few hours ago in her dream. “I said I would come back for you,” he murmured.
Terror overcame her and she could barely think.
The Deamhan opened the closet door and held out his hand. Terrified, the child took it, and he pulled her into the light and she saw his face.
Claire cried out. “It was you!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MALCOLM STRODE toward the queen’s hall, passing only a handful of solemn noblemen and taciturn royal soldiers as he did so. It was still early, the sun straining to rise, the sky outside only just blushing. Undoubtedly the revelry had gone on to the midnight hour last night.
