CHAPTER FIVE #2
“The old gods, Claire,” he said softly. “The gods most of Alba have forsaken.”
She felt chills. Her theory had to be correct.
Someone, perhaps in medieval times, perhaps much earlier, had stumbled upon time travel.
Such knowledge would be carefully guarded and carefully passed on.
Of course he believed that his ability was given by the gods.
His culture was a primitive one. Throughout time, mankind sought explanations for events and phenomena they did not understand in religion.
But he was treading in dangerous waters with such beliefs. “Which old gods?” she asked, fear arising.
He just looked at her.
“If you believe you have powers from a god, any god, even Jesus, that’s heresy.”
His mouth hardened. “I be Catholic, Claire.”
Claire shuddered. No Catholic believed as he did.
Her mind raced. Heresy was a serious crime in the Middle Ages.
In Europe, the Church had actively and aggressively prosecuted heretical movements, using the notorious court of the Inquisition to do so.
Heretics were usually excommunicated and outlawed, not executed.
On the other hand, a member of the Lollard movement had been burned for heresy by the Church, right there in Scotland.
The date was unforgettable, because the great wave of prosecutions had come a century later.
“Have you ever heard of John Resby?”
His eyes widened. “Aye.”
Claire tensed. “He was burned at the stake for his beliefs in 1409.”
“I was a small boy.”
Claire inhaled. “Then you know you should not be talking so openly about old gods and having powers a man should not have.”
“’Tis a privy discussion,” he said darkly. “I be trustin’ ye, lass. Ye have no fanatical beliefs.”
“How would you know that? But you’re right. I’m not even Catholic, Malcolm. I’m Episcopalian.” And that made her a heretic in his time, as well. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He nodded. “If I didna trust ye, I’d never tell ye the truth.”
She couldn’t imagine why he would trust her, an absolute stranger. He added, “But ye’ll come to the mass with me, Claire.”
“Of course I will. I’m not a fool—I have no problem playing along with orthodoxy until I go home.”
His gaze flickered oddly and he walked away from her.
“How many of you are there?” she asked grimly.
The ramifications of his beliefs kept growing.
A man who had extraordinary powers could be accused of witchcraft, sorcery, association with the devil.
Thank God the great witch hunts were in the next century, not this one.
“Can Black Royce travel through time? Is he one of you? Does he believe this power comes from the Ancients, too? And how have you kept yourselves secret?”
A cool smile flashed. “Why do ye care about Royce’s powers?”
“He’s different, like you,” Claire said firmly.
“Nay.” He turned away from her, his stance stiff and braced. “Royce be the earl of Morvern, nothin’ more.”
Claire hesitated, very aware that Malcolm was closing the discussion now.
But they were treading upon dangerous and probably forbidden territory.
His beliefs—and his ability to travel through time—were undoubtedly a very secret subject.
But she was beyond certain that Royce had Malcolm’s abilities, and probably his beliefs, too.
She slowly walked up behind him. When he turned, she was aware that only an inch separated them, and that she should not use any feminine wiles to get the answers she wanted. She slowly laid her hand on his chest.
A huge jolt of desire stabbed her as her palm smoothed the linen shirt flat against his hard muscle. “Tell me. Finish it. You’ve already told me a terrible secret, one that threatens your life, so tell me the rest.”
His smile was twisted. “Dinna play me, Claire.” But his eyes blazed and not just with anger. Claire recognized lust.
“Why not?” Touching him was making her feel weak and faint. “You’ve played me from the start.”
“Then ye play with yer life.”
In spite of the pulse now throbbing against the silk of her thong, she felt more chills. “No. I trust you, too.” Oddly, she realized she did. “How many of you can time travel? And why do you do it? Do you belong to some kind of religious order, a secret society?” But she knew the answer.
His stare hardened and his hand covered hers, pressing her palm even more firmly to his chest. “Ye ask too many questions. Ye dinna need so many answers.”
“Not fair! You brought me here—I do need to know,” she cried. And she did what would have been unthinkable in New York City—she slid her hand into the slit neckline of his leine, her fingers brushing a heavy cross and chain and then settling against his hot skin.
His smile was tight. “Fire, lass,” he warned.
Something bumped her hip. Claire tried to breathe. “You said you trust me. You brought me here. I’m a historian, Malcolm, a scholar. That’s why I know so much about your time. Please. I have to know.” She looked at him imploringly.
He breathed hard. “The Masters are sworn to defend God an’ the Ancients, keep Faith, an’ guard the Books.”
She gasped, trembling with the excitement of discovery.
“We are sworn to protect ye, Claire, an’ all like ye. Protect Innocence. ’Tis the holiest of the vows after the vows we make to God.”
She could not look away. “I knew it. You’re not the first knight to belong to a secret order with heretical beliefs. Will you tell me the name of the order?”
His smile was like a snarl. “There be no name.” And he jerked away from her, his leine bulging over his stiff manhood.
She could not retreat now. “What are you defending God from? What are you defending the Ancients from? What are you defending the Books and people like me from?”
He whirled. “Evil.”
Chills broke out all over Claire’s body.
“What be wrong, Claire? Ye look frightened. Or have ye asked too many questions fer that pretty little head?” He was cool, mocking and furious.
She swallowed. “I don’t care how condescending you are. Yes, you have frightened me. We both know there is evil in the world. You just made it sound…organized.”
His stare intensified, making her want to squirm. “Do ye nay believe in the devil, lass?”
And Claire thought about her mother. She stared at the back of the frayed tweed sofa as she hid behind it, trembling with fear, wishing her mother would come home. A shadow drifted into the room…
“No, I do not,” she gasped, sweating profusely now. “Do you want to frighten me?”
His expression lost its ferocity. “Ye pushed me, lass. An’ ye seduced me with a simple touch. I want t’ protect ye, but mayhap this be best. Mayhap ye need ken the way o’ life here.”
She seized the opening. “How many Masters are there?”
He made a harsh sound, stalking over to the table to pour more wine. Claire realized he was not going to give up his fellow knights.
She changed tack. “Why were we attacked? Who were those men and what did they want?”
“They were Moray’s men. Moray wants the page, Claire. He also wants me dead.”
Claire tensed, suddenly sick in her soul. “Moray is your enemy.”
“The earl of Moray be God’s enemy, Claire. He sent Sybilla to yer shop t’ find the page. He must not find the page or the book.” He added intensely, “He be yer enemy, as well.”
She could not shake the sick feeling. “I get it. The books are holy relics, really. You guys are fighting over them and you’ll kill to discover them—and to prevent your enemy from taking them.”
“The Cathach be safe in its shrine,” Malcolm said. “I be sworn t’ guard the sacred books, Claire. If the Cladich be near, I must use all me power to find it an’ return it to Iona.”
“You keep saying books. How many are there?”
“Three.”
“I know the Cathach is the Book of Wisdom, the Cladich the Book of Healing. What does the third book offer?”
“It holds every power known to the Ancients.”
Claire’s insides lurched. Somehow, she knew this was not good. “I don’t understand.”
“The Duaisean holds the power to leap time, the power to take life, the power t’ give it. In it is the power o’ minds, o’ slavery, o’ dreams. There be many more powers, too.” He was grim. “This book gives anyone its powers.”
That sounded terrifying. Of course, no book could give anyone such powers.
And while she didn’t believe in these powers, he did, and so did everyone who was a part of his order.
She knew the power of the mind. These Masters were probably empowered by their beliefs.
Hadn’t she seen Malcolm in action on the battlefield?
He’d had superhuman prowess—or that was how it had appeared.
Claire sought calm and failed. “Where is the third book?”
He simply looked at her.
Oh, my God, Claire thought. She tried to remind herself that the book had no power, but she whispered, “Your enemies have it.”
“Aye. It’s with Moray an’ it has been with him fer a long time.” He added in warning, “He has great powers, Claire, an’ nay Master has been able to defeat him.”
And Moray wanted Malcolm dead. She did not want to care—this wasn’t her affair, not at all—but if Malcolm believed Moray to be invincible, he would never defeat him. Suddenly she wasn’t excited, not at all.
Instead, she was afraid, not for herself, but for Malcolm.
WHEN MALCOLM LEFT, Claire ignored his parting words to rest. Her head was spinning—sleep would be impossible.
She turned and slowly paced the small chamber, trying to sort through everything she had learned.
Malcolm was a religiously motivated knight.
There was no doubt he took his vows very seriously and would probably give his life to fulfill them.
The Masters had to form a secret society, otherwise they’d be prosecuted for their heretical beliefs.
Still, no matter their faith, they seemed to serve mankind.
That was admirable and she admired him now, even if she wasn’t sure she should.