CHAPTER TEN
THE SUN WAS SETTING as they trekked up the short, steep ascent to Dunroch from the port below.
The galley had been portaged halfway up the road and then laid on wood blocks.
Claire chose to walk far behind Malcolm, hoping for some privacy for her thoughts, even though she wanted to get inside Dunroch’s walls before dark.
No day could have been longer. There had been one stunning revelation after another, without respite.
She was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
Claire glanced ahead toward the drawbridge and gatehouse. In another hour or so it would be dark.
Claire’s desire flared. And Malcolm knew, because he halted and turned to look at her.
There was no longer any decision to make about their relationship.
She wanted him acutely, so much so that she could almost feel him inside her now, hot and strong, the friction insane.
She had a frightening attraction to him, one she no longer believed she could resist, even if she wanted to.
But she didn’t want to resist. There was no point.
Her world had changed. She didn’t know if she was going to live for very long, and the values she’d clung to her entire life seemed frivolous now.
Waiting for love in order to be with a man like Malcolm was absurd, given the probability that her life span was going to be really short, despite what MacNeil had said.
She’d had time to think about that. If he had seen her imminent demise, he would not tell her.
That might only lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy.
And Claire was pretty certain that, unless she was given superpowers, she wasn’t going to survive for very long as a Deamhan hunter.
The Deamhanain were just too damn strong.
As for falling in love with Malcolm, she’d fight her heart’s ridiculous need for love before having sex. And if she failed, so what? A broken heart didn’t seem like the worst deal. It seemed pretty mundane, in fact.
The men vanished through the gatehouse. Malcolm waited for her by the drawbridge.
As she came up to him, his gray eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Claire walked past him. Acutely aware of him behind her, she went through the gatehouse and into the bailey.
The men were veering off toward their hall, glad cries sounding from some children as they did so.
Claire was relieved to be inside the curtain walls, more so when she turned to watch the drawbridge being raised, the portcullis slamming closed.
Malcolm smiled with so much promise that her heart turned over in response, as if to say, “Tough luck.” Her world had changed but her heart didn’t seem to care.
She followed Ironheart into the hall. Malcolm paused to close the studded front door behind her, and his gaze was not directed upon her now. Claire was very surprised to see Royce sitting before the fire. As they all walked into the room, he rose, quads rippling, biceps bulging.
Malcolm strode forward, meeting Royce halfway across the hall, clearly surprised to see him. “What brings ye back?”
Royce said, his tone noncommittal, “I decided a visit to Aidan be in order. I will join ye tomorrow.”
Claire saw Malcolm’s expression become as blank as Royce’s. She wondered what the hell was going on.
She hesitated. Both Seamus and Irohheart had sat down on the benches at the long table, taking up mugs of wine. She could smell roasted game and knew a meal was about to be served, and in spite of her worries, she was starving.
But Ironheart continued to make her uneasy. She had felt his eyes on her repeatedly during the journey back to Mull and knew he did not like or trust her. Now, she smiled at him, helping herself to a mug of claret, as well. “May I?” Claire asked.
“Lady Claire, o’ course ye can sit. Ye be Malcolm’s guest.”
Claire sat down across from him, aware of Malcolm glancing at her. “Thank you.”
Ironheart stared. “Why do ye wish to go to Awe with Malcolm?”
Claire met his flat gaze. “Why not?”
“There may be battles ahead.”
“I can protect myself.” Claire grimaced.
She needed a weapon. But Malcolm didn’t seem all that worried about facing off with Aidan, and that was comforting.
On the other hand, nothing was comforting about the earl of Moray, whom Claire had learned was Defender of the Realm, the Highland equivalent to commander in chief. “Refresh my memory—who is king?”
Ironheart gave her an odd glance. “James be king an’ afore ye ask, his queen be Joan Beaufort.”
“Are they on our side or—theirs?”
“The king spent most o’ his life a hostage o’ King Henry V in England. He has but one side—his own.”
Claire translated Ironheart’s words to mean that King James was human.
If he’d spent most of his life held at the English court, he was probably interested in his own power and his own throne.
Most of Scotland’s kings had had huge problems bringing the Highlands under control. That would explain the summons.
On the other hand, a new source of power existed, and it was evil. She did not like where her mind wanted to go, but all James had to do was sell his soul and the kingdom would be his—with Moray at the forefront of his troops.
Moray was already there.
Her temples ached. Maybe James had sold his soul already. “I need a weapon,” she said seriously, looking up. Going to Awe unarmed was insane. “I need a dagger—and Malcolm must show me how to use it.”
“An’ that will help ye do what, lass?”
Another medieval chauvinist, she thought.
She decided not to bother to fill him in on the state of modern women.
“Well, I was actually thinking about staying alive, and defending myself when my protector isn’t about.
There’s the little matter of the Deamhanain.
They seem to appear out of nowhere—whoops, out of time—and I am not looking forward to facing Sibylla again.
” That was a gross understatement. But if she couldn’t vanquish Sibylla, a human possessed by evil, how would she ever get the demon who’d murdered her mother?
“Lass, ye will never find the Deamhan who killed yer mother. Leave it to a Master.”
“Like hell,” Claire said softly. “I just need tools, weapons, knowledge. And it’s rude to read my mind!”
Ironheart stared. Then he spoke grimly. “If Malcolm will nay teach ye, I will.”
“You? Why would you do such a thing?” She was incredulous.
“I have spoken the same vows as Malcolm, Claire. ’Tis my duty t’ protect ye. If ye think to hunt a Deamhan, then ye need some skill. But,” he added darkly, “ye willna succeed alone. Ye had better sway Malcolm to yer cause.”
She had already reached that exact conclusion. “Thank you.”
His attention was diverted as two women began placing streaming trays of meat and fish on the table. Both men began to heap their trenchers with game and fish.
Claire was also diverted, for Malcolm and Royce were coming to sit down. Royce smiled at her. “Hallo a Chlaire.”
“Hallo a Rhuari,” she returned swiftly in Gaelic.
His smile widened as he sat down besides her. “Ciamar a tha sibh?”
Claire had heard this phrase several times since arriving in the past. She had also heard the response. “Tha gu math,” she said.
Royce grinned and Malcolm turned to stare. Royce murmured, “An’ you might also say, Tapadh leibh.”
He was flirting. Claire didn’t mind, and why would she?
His chest rippled beneath the leine and his biceps bulged.
Today he wore a huge, wide gold cuff on his left arm, one with a citrine cross in its center.
Besides, maybe he was only half the chauvinist that Malcolm was.
She might need an ally down the road. “Tapadh leibh,” she said.
He smiled, revealing the fact that he had dimples, too. “Ye have a fine ear, lass,” he murmured.
“Did you just ask me how I am?”
“Aye, and ye said, ‘Fine, thank ye kindly.’” His gray eyes were warm—too warm.
Malcolm sat down beside Ironheart, facing them, his gaze narrowed. He was not pleased.
“O’ course, if we be familiar,” he said softly, “I’d ask ye differently. Ciamar a tha thu?”
He was definitely flirting. And Malcolm was jealous. Claire was pleased. She also understood. She’d caught quite a bit of Gaelic in the past few days. “Tha gu math, tapadh…leat?”
Royce’s eyes gleamed. “Ye learn fast, lass.”
Malcolm slammed his fist on the table. “An’I’ll be the one teachin’ her now.”
Claire grinned, enjoying his primitive jealousy. There was an upside to medieval chauvinism. “But Ironheart has already offered to teach me how to fight with a dagger and a sword,” she said innocently, batting her lashes at him.
Ironheart choked.
Malcolm turned red. “Like hell. We already discussed this. Ye’ll wind up dead. I ken ye wish t’ fight the Deamhanain, Claire, but ye canna. Yer a woman, an’ a mortal one at that.”
Claire became dead serious. “Do you think I think I will succeed? But I have to try! My days are numbered—I know it. But I will do what I have to do. Which is why you must help me by teaching me what I need to know!”
Malcolm recovered his composure. “Lass. Yer too brave fer yer own good.”
He meant it and even though he was wrong, his praise moved her to no end. “Malcolm, I’m not brave. I’m afraid. But you need to try to see my side.”
“A warrior without fear be a very foolish man,” Malcolm said. “Men fight because they are strong. Women stay safe behind stone walls t’ bear their bairns. ’Tis the way o’ the world. If I can, when we are done here, I’ll find the Deamhan who murdered yer mother.”
He wasn’t going to even try to hear what she was saying, she thought. It took Claire a moment to respond. “Is it your vows? Do you think to protect me even when I leave because you swore to do so? Because when I go back, my life is my own.”
His jaw flexed. “I ha’ told ye again an’ again, I dinna wish to see ye dead.”