CHAPTER TWELVE #3
Claire couldn’t focus on the two men. Malcolm was shockingly pale from the loss of so much blood.
She was afraid he was going to die anyway.
Claire sent him a smile she was certain was pitiful.
“Royce. That needs to be cauterized.” The bleeding might have stopped but how could he survive this kind of wound without modern medical attention?
“I go to MacNeil,” Ironheart said, and vanished.
Claire began to shake. Apparently, they had stopped the bleeding and resuscitated him, but the crisis wasn’t over. She was so afraid he was going to die at any moment. “Can MacNeil save him? Can he heal?”
“He has the power—if he gets here in time.” Royce leaped up and hurried from the ramparts.
Claire couldn’t fathom where he was going, when Malcolm said, “Come here, lass.”
She jerked at his seductive tone. It went through her body, instantly causing warmth and heat. Stunned, she met his glittering eyes. His voice was hoarse, choked with pain. “I need ye, Claire…I’m dying…” And his intense regard held hers.
She could not look away. Claire went still, shocking desire crashing over and exploding inside her.
There was no mistaking his meaning. He wanted to take life from her while he was buried inside her womb—the source of life.
In that moment, there was complete comprehension and it made absolute sense.
He needed her desperately—as desperately, she needed him.
Her eyes went past the gaping bloody wound and she saw his manhood stirring, filling. Her gaze flew back to his eyes.
She should have been shocked but wasn’t.
She knew she could heal him. She would give him her body and all of her being while he gave her impossible rapture.
Her heart beat more frantically now. Somehow she knew what was in store.
Le Puissance. The Power…She wet her lips, lowering her face to his.
She gasped when her mouth found his. There was so much near-orgasmic pleasure in such a simple kiss.
And Claire felt him grasp on to her life.
He gasped, and she reeled in a wave of brilliant, intense pleasure, ecstasy beckoning…
Suddenly, strong hands tore her away from Malcolm. Claire fought Aidan, her entire body throbbing relentlessly now. “No! Fool! He will die!”
“An’ ye will die, ’cause he needs yer life an’ he doesna ken what he be doing now. Ye give him yer life, an’ Malcolm belongs to Moray,” Aidan snapped.
Claire couldn’t understand. There was too much desperation and too much lust, as if she were an animal in heat.
She stared at Malcolm, who lay prone on the stone, consumed with pain, breathing hard, desperately needing her, urgently wanting her.
She had to go to him. Furious, she tried to jerk away from Aidan.
“I can help him!” She was enraged. “Leave us alone!”
Ignoring her, Aidan easily pulled her toward the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Claire cried, disbelieving, but some of the shocking lust eased. In the back of her mind, she became aware of coming out of a trance. “Malcolm will die if I don’t help him! He needs me…Let go!”
“Yer out o’ yer head…an’ so is he. Moray has trapped my brother another time. He willna become a Deamhan.” He wrapped his arm around her, the vise like steel.
Claire struggled and looked back. Malcolm remained prone, as still as a hunter in the forest, his glittering gaze on her, tracking her as Aidan forced her to leave.
I need ye, Claire…dinna go. Dinna listen to them…Come back to me…
His mouth never moved but she heard him as if he had spoken aloud.
The terrible urgency began all over again.
I’ll come, she promised. I will always come when you call…
Royce bounded up the stairs, past Claire and Aidan, holding a red-hot iron that gleamed like hell’s fires in the night.
And Claire fought Aidan wildly. “He doesn’t need that,” she screamed. “He needs me!”
Claire saw Royce hand Malcolm a dagger. She stopped struggling, panting in fear. Malcolm put the hilt in his mouth, biting down on the bone handle, his silver regard steady on her, unwavering there.
Claire held on to Aidan hard. Malcolm choked. The horrific smell of burning flesh rent the night.
Claire gagged, knees buckling. Aidan caught her, holding her tightly to his chest. “Oh, God,” she gasped, weeping. She had to go to him now. “Please, Aidan,” she cried, “Please!”
“He be unconscious. Ye canna help him now.”
“I can,” she sobbed. “I can.”
Aidan looked back at Royce. Royce nodded. “The tower above,” Aidan said. “There be but one way in an’ one way out. I’ll have locks put on the door.”
They were going to lock him up like an animal, Claire thought, horrified. “I swear I will stay away from him,” she lied. “Please, don’t lock him up.”
“I’m sorry, Claire. ’Tis best fer Malcolm,” Aidan said. “And this be best fer ye, as well.”
The blow on the back of her head took her by surprise. There was stunning pain and shocking comprehension. And then there was only darkness.
MALCOLM AWOKE.
He was burning in the fires of hell. He choked on the searing pain but could not move, the torment so terrible he couldn’t even open his eyes. It took him a moment to fight the pain of the fire consuming most of his body and only then could he find any thought. He was dizzy, ready to faint.
He was close to death. He finally gasped, unable to hold back the sound, choking from the pain. Tears burned his eyes and he swam in his world of torment.
Lust began—the lust to live.
There were vows. He was a Master. It could not end this way.
He had to hold the pain back—he had to think. He tried to become oriented. Where was he? He needed life now.
His body knew what to do.
Malcolm became still, trying to scent life.
He lay on the floor, a pallet soft beneath his back, the stone cold beneath his hand. He heard himself moan again, and then he heard the pounding rain.
He turned his head. He saw an arrow slit on the far side of the small round chamber and the wooden door.
Had they locked him in? He stared at the door, and suddenly, shockingly, he could see through it.
A padlock hung on the other side. It didn’t matter.
Even if they’d left the door open, he didn’t think he could stand, or even crawl to the door, much less break it down.
He had only felt so much weakness a single time in his life, at Urquhart, when he was skewered to the wall by Moray’s sword, left there to die that way. But he hadn’t died, he had taken the maid instead. Her life had saved him….
He burned for life. It was all he could think of. He tried to scent life again. And this time, instantly, he did so. Claire was below him.
Now, he had no other coherent thought. She was asleep, but he needed her with him.
Wake up, Claire. I need ye. Wake up…
He felt her stirring, he felt her shock. Malcolm inhaled hard. The need to bring her close and take power from her consuming. He tracked her with his mind as she stumbled from the bed. But something was stirring elsewhere, in his chest, his heart. A memory…
Whatever it was, he ignored it.
I be hurt. They ha’ locked me up. When I come into yer body, ye will save me. Claire.
He felt her listening now. She was hearing him and that was good. He strained his senses and felt her desperation and then he felt her heat. He smiled. She was getting ready for him. His loins stiffened in anticipation and his heart began a new, stronger beat.
The memory tickled his mind now.
He didn’t want memories; he only wanted her body, her life.
Find me, lass. I be waitin’.
She did not answer but he knew she had heard. He reached down and touched himself so he would be ready when she came.
Where are you?
Malcolm smiled, savagely pleased. Claire. Upstairs. Above you.
And he could see her now, two stories below, wrenching at the locked door of her chamber.
She was only wearing that tiny chemise and the rag and her boots.
Lust consumed him, as did impatience. He throbbed greedily now.
He could literally taste her power, as he’d wanted to for so long.
And his heart beat swiftly, too swiftly.
I dinna mind if ye love me, lass.
You are so arrogant!
Malcolm moaned. If he allowed himself this luxury, he would fight his need—and he would die. He closed his eyes, sweating, tasting what would soon be his, salivating, until his heart ceased all protest. His loins raged.
Le Puissance. There would be so much life and power, and rapture, unbelievable rapture.
Hurry, lass.
She was coming up the stairs. She was close now, just outside the locked door, and his heart shrieked at him. He cared for her.
Images danced in his mind. Claire arguing with him, a woman who did not need her king. Claire clad only in the tiny beaded string. Claire posed to throw a rock at a Deamhan.
He moaned again. The memories should have dulled his lust, but instead, the urge to taste her power consumed him. She was a woman like no other. The distance between them was a hurdle but he somehow grasped on to her life, barely, and pulled power from her.
His veins swelled with hot force and a wave of terrible pleasure began to build. Breathing hard, so swollen it hurt, he turned his head and focused on her as she worked to break the lock.
She was frantic for their union. He felt her lust dripping on her thighs. She wanted to come. He pulled on her life again. Power. Strength. Manhood. Triumph began. He needed to come inside her and take even more from her…
The door burst open.
He pulled at her power, engorging even more fully as the rush of life came into his veins, growing. The wave of pleasure threatened to crest, break. He stared, slowly sitting up. Aye, he cared for her, but it was too late.
For she stood there, shaking and panting, swollen and wet.
“Come, Claire.”