CHAPTER NINE #3
“Of course,” Claire murmured. History had been misinterpreted.
“Ye be wise, Claire. Ye dinna need the wisdom o’ the Cathach.”
She stared at him again. “I need power. I need the kind of power you guys have, so I can hunt demons—so I can hunt the demon that killed my mother.”
“I be sorry, lass, but I canna give ye such powers. Only the devil can.”
Claire shuddered.
Giving her a sidelong glance, he closed the bejeweled cover and locked it. Then he slid the book back into the reliquary chest, which he also locked.
Wisdom was even stronger than power, Claire thought. She wished to get rid of MacNeil and somehow open the chest and the book. As she couldn’t read it, she’d touch the pages and pray. Maybe it would give her the wisdom to find her enemy. Maybe it would give her the wisdom to defeat him, too.
But she wasn’t going to try to break the lock of such a sacred relic. She needed the key. She looked at MacNeil, wondering if she could seduce him and take the key as she did so.
He grinned. “Ah, lass, I’d love to be seduced, but ye’d still fail to steal the key. Yer entranced. Ye’ll feel better when ye leave the shrine.” He laid his large palm on her shoulder. “I need to speak with Malcolm. Stay here if ye wish. We trust ye, lass.”
She nodded. His green eyes were warm and amused as he dropped his hand and left.
She trembled. She had actually been thinking of violating a sacred shrine. She did not want to be entranced by the Cathach, but it was hard to think clearly. The power and grace in the chapel felt stronger than ever before.
Claire didn’t hesitate. She stepped closer and ran her hands over the gold-filigreed iron chest. She was going to find and kill the demon that had murdered her mother or die trying—with or without enhanced power and wisdom.
But a little help would go a long way.
Claire hadn’t prayed in years. Long ago, she had decided God didn’t really care about her and her problems. But it felt like He might care now.
Her temples throbbed. So did the iron box under her hand, and her mother’s pendant burned her chest. Claire whispered, “Is this why I am here? Am I here to help the Masters somehow? If so, am I supposed to use my mind—my education? Or am I supposed to pick up arms and engage the enemy, the way Malcolm does?”
She inhaled. “I need help. Help me do this. Help me find the strength, the courage, to fight evil. Please keep Amy, John and the kids safe.” She bit her lip, thinking of Malcolm, her heart accelerating. “Please help Malcolm. Help him fight evil—help him stay in Your light.”
The chapel felt as if it were spinning, like a carousel.
“Faola. If you are listening, thank you for sending Malcolm to me.” She faltered.
Did she believe in the goddess? “Help Malcolm and me. Help us fight evil, help us fight Moray.” She shuddered.
Moray was Faola’s son, if all was to be believed.
“And if it’s not too much to ask, help me make the right choices. I want to help Malcolm, not hurt him.”
She had one more request. “A little superpower would be appreciated.” She grimaced. “Amen.”
Claire stared at the reliquary, which was as blurred as the rest of the chapel. She fought to breathe slowly, deeply, as she fought for calm. The heaviness in the chapel was suffocating.
And then the air lightened.
Claire realized the reliquary no longer burned her hand and she felt lighter. She felt that He had listened. Maybe the goddess had listened, too.
“Halt!”
Claire froze at the sound of the sharp command, spoken in French.
“Take yer hand from the chest.”
Claire slowly turned.
A towering Highlander faced her. Dark and handsome, his eyes blazing with the wrath of gods, he exuded authority and danger. His hand was on the hilt of a two-handed broadsword. Claire knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. “Step away.”
Claire obeyed. “MacNeil said I could spend a few minutes alone. I needed to pray.”
His eyes widened. They were spring-green, lighter than MacNeil’s. “Yer an American.”
Claire was surprised. Had he traveled to her country in her time?
But he had not relaxed. Suspicion filled his strong features. He gestured now. “Come forward.”
Claire did so. “I am with Malcolm of Dunroch,” she said tersely.
This man appeared to be about forty, which meant he was older even than MacNeil, didn’t it?
His eyes were hard, terribly hard. He did not look as if he had ever smiled, not once in his entire long life.
He made Malcolm, Royce and MacNeil look like charming playboys.
His eyes narrowed, sliding over her in a cursory inspection, and then it veered abruptly to her throat. He met her gaze. “If ye be friends with Malcolm and if MacNeil truly left ye alone here, then I will only advise ye to never touch the shrine.”
“I’ll go.”
“Ye be from a foreign land, but ye wear a Highland charm.”
Claire froze. She touched her pendant, which was shockingly hot again. First Malcolm had been fascinated with the stone, now this stranger. “Yes. It was my mother’s. Who are you?”
“Ironheart of Lachlan.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Claire said uneasily, “I should go. I bet Malcolm is looking for me.”
“How did your mother get the stone?”
“I don’t know.”
“May I see it?”
Claire stiffened. She rarely took the charm off, and then only to clean and polish it. She didn’t want this stranger touching it.
“Lady.” He smiled now. His eyes had become warm and friendly. “Mayhap a proper introduction is in order? I be the earl of Lachlan, an old friend of Malcolm’s.” His tone had softened and Claire had no doubt he often used it on women to lure them to his bed.
“I am Claire—Lady Claire Camden,” she amended, relaxing.
He nodded, his gaze holding hers. “My brother had a similar stone once. It was stolen. I canna help wonder if ye wear his stone.” His regard became intense.
Claire was stunned. It was impossible to look away.
“I should like to see the stone more closely,” he murmured, his stare turning to smoke, yet it remained direct, penetrating. “I ken ye dinna mind to give it over to me, Claire Camden.”
Why would she mind? she wondered. She reached for the clasp and undid it, handing the necklace over.
As he held the pendant up to the light, the fog lifted.
Claire realized she had been entranced and she shook her head to clear it.
She had just handed her mother’s necklace to a medieval stranger!
Ironheart’s power to mesmerize was far more potent than Malcolm’s.
She hadn’t been able to even think about what he had asked her to do until he turned away.
She bit her lip, shaken.
He handed it back to her, ruefully smiling, his eyes soft. “’Tis nay my brother’s, but then, ’twould be a miracle if it was.” His tone was offhand, but his gaze was searching.
Claire put the necklace back on, avoiding his eyes. “Malcolm is looking for me,” she said firmly, wanting to get away from this man. He had so much power. Didn’t the demons have this kind of power, too? She must never let her guard down again, not in this time or any time.
“I’ll take ye to him,” Ironheart said. “’Tis my pleasure.”
“IF AIDAN HAS THE PAGE from the Cladich, I be confident he will bring it here,” MacNeil said. The two men were strolling in the orchard, where no one, not even another Master, could overhear them.
“An’ I nay be confident,” Malcolm said flatly. “I go to Awe immediately.”
“Give Aidan a chance to relinquish the page,” MacNeil said softly, but it was an order and they both knew it.
“How many chances will ye give him before ye ken he be as evil an’ twisted as Moray?”
“Is that what ye really believe?”
Malcolm tensed. The truth was, he didn’t know what to believe about the Wolf of Awe.
Aidan had been sworn to uphold the Code, but as often as not he ignored his orders, chasing his own ambition.
While his father, Moray, had given him Castle Awe, clearly forging an alliance with his rebel son, Aidan had turned around and married a great heiress, vastly expanding his lands and his power.
It was uncertain if he supported Moray or not.
His wife had died a few months ago in childbirth, his son surviving.
Malcolm knew Aidan would find another heiress, and soon.
Aidan had also somehow convinced the king to pass on his wife’s title to him, when the title should have passed directly to his son. He was now the earl of Lismore.
What Malcolm did know was that Aidan could not be trusted.
“Aidan can bring the page to ye, under my protection, by my escort, or he can hand it over to me. One way or another, ye will have the page.” Malcolm meant it. He relished the coming confrontation.
“I see ye will harbor yer grudge. When will ye speak of what ye really wish to speak of—the beautiful woman?” MacNeil smiled with knowing amusement.
Malcolm’s blood swelled in his veins. He could not control his mind, his desire or his rising cock. In a few hours, it would be dark….
“I ken what ye wish to be asking, Malcolm,” MacNeil said with a laugh.
He faced MacNeil angrily. “Will it amuse ye when I take the woman t’ bed and at dawn she is lyin’ there dead?”
MacNeil’s smile faded. “Ye have not strayed a single time since Urquhart. Why do ye think to stray into the dark now? Ye tasted unholy pleasure once. Ye can master the urge to do so again.”
Malcolm knew he turned red. “I fear my lust is unholy,” he flashed. “Because I want her more than I have ever wanted any woman or anything. I think when I am comin’ inside her, I will want more than her body.”
“Then ye’ll have to fight temptation,” MacNeil said, his tone dry. “Will ye not?”
“Yer enjoyin’ my discomfort!”
“Aye, I am. Go fuck a chambermaid. That should help.”
“I dinna want another! An’ I ken ye have the power t’ help me, MacNeil.” He was angry and frustrated enough to throw a primitive blow at him, but he managed to restrain himself. “Mayhap ye be thinkin’ to deny me, as I have denied ye!”