CHAPTER NINE
“MY LORD,” his steward said carefully, but his eyes were filled with fear, “the earl of Moray is downstairs and he has requested your presence.”
Aidan already knew that the lord of darkness was in his castle.
He had felt his dark, chilling presence while he was buried deeply inside the woman who was his most recent lover.
He glanced at her with regret. She lay beneath a cover, waist-length blond curls spilling past her naked shoulders, beyond any doubt the fairest woman in all of Scotland.
Her beauty was breathtaking—and now she was his.
When it came to beauty, he never denied himself.
He had been prepared to battle her father for her favors, besieging his keep if necessary until the man came to heel, but that hadn’t been necessary.
Isabel’s father had understood the lengths he would go to have her.
There hadn’t been bloody battles, just a swift negotiation.
Aidan would see Isabel properly wed when he was done with her, providing a very generous dowry.
As MacIver lived on land adjacent to Awe, Aidan would marry her off to one of the lesser lords who served him.
In the end, Isabel’s father would be a new lieutenant serving Aidan, and his daughter would be lady of her own small keep.
Aidan bent over her. He was hardly sated but she was exhausted. “Sleep well, my beauty, ye deserve it.” He stroked his thumb over her swollen mouth, when he would prefer to caress her lips with his tongue.
Her eyes shone with adoration. “My lord.”
His reputation as a lover with infinite stamina and as much generosity was well established and deserved.
He turned away, very pleased. Maybe this time it would be different.
Maybe this time the ennui would be slower to come.
Thanks to his damn father, he had blood that was always hot but his interest always waned, and quickly.
Isabel had been at Awe for five days. He wished he could enjoy her for many months, or even longer, but knew it would be only a matter of weeks before he moved on.
Of course, it didn’t really matter. There would be someone new to replace her in his bed. There always was.
Clearly, he had not inherited a single trait from his mother, a noblewoman of great character.
She was a woman capable of undying love and loyalty.
He could not imagine pining away for a deceased spouse as she did.
But she had loved her husband, and she preferred the cloister now that he was gone.
Until recently, he had never loved anyone—not his mother, whom he did not know, and not his foster parents, who had raised him only because they had not been given any choice.
That had changed, though, with the birth of his son, whom he cherished and adored.
“Shall I tell his lordship you will be down shortly?” Rob asked, his face flushed.
Aidan was still. Briefly he imagined denying the most powerful and dangerous man in the realm. He would relish thwarting Moray, but was hardly foolish enough to do so over such an insignificant issue. He smiled coldly. “Nay. I’ll speak with him myself.”
His gut twisted as he went downstairs. No one could instill as much tension in him as the earl of Moray.
He hated the game they played, the war they waged.
There was no other choice. However, there was one small consolation.
Moray had yet to kill him, and Aidan had begun to think that he never would.
Moray intended victory over him, at all costs. It was a matter of the devil’s pride.
The closer Aidan came to the great hall, the more frigid the castle became. He was used to it, but he shivered anyway. The shudder was filled with distaste and dread.
Moray was alone in the great hall, admiring an oil painting by John Constable.
No one knew the earl’s true age, but he appeared to be in his midthirties.
He was so beautiful, blond and blue-eyed, that women fought to share his bed, even though they rarely survived the night. Men fought to enjoy such “favors,” too.
He was dressed in the current court style of long red robes and crimson hose, his short, skirted jacket black.
And of course, he wore the red, black and gold brat of Moray and many jewels.
Moray had furnished the hall over the centuries before handing Castle Awe to Aidan, in the hope of buying his loyalty, aware of his preference for great beauty.
Aidan had continued the endeavor, and the vast room was filled with treasures from all over the world and many different centuries, including those in the future.
“I believe you have something for me,” the lord of darkness said.
Refusing to reveal his tension, Aidan guarded his mind so Moray could not read his thoughts.
But of course the earl would somehow know he had found the missing page in the New York bookstore.
Moray had spies everywhere. And he probably spied on Aidan’s thoughts when they were not guarded, as well as his dreams.
“Aye, I have found the page from the Cladich. But what good is it to me if I hand it to ye?”
“You will remain in my favor,” Moray said softly, his pale eyes gleaming. “You curry nothing but disfavor with your reckless, ungrateful and independent behavior.”
“Ye can always take off my head an’ be rid of such a nuisance,” Aidan said.
Moray was undefeated in battle. He could probably do such a thing before Aidan could even unsheathe his sword.
Aidan walked to the trestle table and poured claret into a beautiful crystal wineglass made by someone named Baccarat.
He handed it to Moray, who accepted it, then poured a glass for himself.
“We both know I am never defeated. In the end, I will win. You will realize you have wasted the first years of your life on the Brotherhood. You are destined to be one of the most powerful demons of all time. You are destined to serve me.”
Aidan saluted him and drank. He was not a good man, but he was not evil, either.
He had protected Innocence in spite of his ambivalence about his vows, and would continue to do so, although he much preferred seducing it.
What he would not do was take pleasure in death, even if at times his loins screamed for such fulfillment.
He would kill himself first. He hated Moray that much.
“We both know you will enjoy your new lover even more if you taste her pure life, if you take her power while you are fucking her,” Moray murmured.
He stiffened. “Aye, fer a moment.” He turned away, aroused and hating it, going to the locked chest on the room’s far side.
It was from a place called India, and was made of solid gold and silver.
He removed the key from the chain on his neck, unlocked it and handed Moray what he wanted—a page from the sacred Cladich.
Maybe then the lord of darkness would leave him in peace.
This particular page had great powers, for Aidan had had his priest translate it.
The third verse could give life back to the dying, if the wounds were inflicted by sword, or a similar weapon that cut a man in that way, such as a dagger or knife.
Considering the nature of most battles, there could be no more important page in the entire book of healing.
Moray took the page instantly, his eyes turned red with fury. “This is useless! Its power is gone.”
Aidan smiled, pleased. “Aye, ’tis worthless. I tried it meself on one o’ me squires who fell on his sword, impaling himself instantly. But he died from the wound.”
Moray let the parchment fall to the floor. “You think to deceive me?”
Aidan’s heart accelerated. “I found this in the bookstore. ’Tis nay my fault it be useless. I believe it to be a forgery.”
Moray smiled, his eyes still glowing. “You played me and enjoyed it.”
Aidan tensed, aware of his fear escalating. He was afraid of Moray, but not of dying, although he very much preferred to live. “Ye didna ask if it be potent.” He shrugged.
Moray reached out and cupped Aidan’s cheek. Aidan tensed. He leaned close enough that his lips brushed his skin. “Then I’ll be taking the woman.” He added, his mouth a caress, “This time.”
Aidan jerked away in horror, for he understood the threat. Moray would take Isabel, taste her, fuck her and kill her, shouting in pleasure as he did so. And Isabel would die in pleasure, too.
This time.
Next time, there was Aidan’s infant son.
Aidan saw red. He grasped the hilt of his sword, bracing himself for battle, his heart thundering now.
It was his duty to protect his lover, but he would die for his son.
Moray was far more powerful than he was and his victory was certain, but if the Ancients forgave him his many sins, maybe he would discover a new power. Moray must not escape unscathed.
Surely Malcolm of Dunroch, a noble man, would protect his son from the darkness.
A serving wench he sometimes took to bed, a very beautiful fifteen-year-old lass, hurried into the room. Her eyes were glazed and Aidan immediately knew she was entranced.
“My lord.” She knelt before Moray.
Aidan drew his sword. “Nay!”
Moray looked down on her and she crumpled slowly to the floor. Aidan did not have to kneel by her to know that she was dead. His power was so great he could take an entire human life in the space of a single heartbeat.
Moray turned, but he did not look sated. Lust burned in his red eyes. “A small warning. I lose patience with every rising moon.”
Aidan breathed hard. “One day, someone will send ye to hell.”
Moray laughed, and Aidan was flung against the far wall by his invisible force. He had not expected the energy blow and he’d had no time to use his own power to dilute it. His head hit the stone and he saw stars.
When the stars vanished, Moray stood over him. “Next time, Isabel.”