CHAPTER TWELVE #4
Claire stumbled forward. He managed to stand. She caught him, wrapping her arms around him, and instantly he pushed between her thighs, his mouth tearing at hers, and he felt her tears falling, filled with gratitude.
“Lass,” he gasped, holding her in a viselike grasp. He flung his head back and began urgently taking her life, as hard and fast as he could.
So much power came. He swelled with it. And the wave broke. He howled his pleasure, pulling her down, thrusting deep into hot, wet flesh. She sobbed with her pleasure and so did he, the rapture escalating a hundredfold. It was blinding.
“Ye taste good.”
She rode his thrusting length and she came again and again, weeping, but so did he.
He had wanted to taste her life for so long and he had been right.
Nothing could be as potent, as good. He wanted her riding his manhood this way forever—tonight was forever—and he drained her and came, time and again, while she whirled away, lost in her own pleasure and his.
Aware that she kept wanting even more, as desperately as he did, he gave her orgasm after orgasm, allowing no respite.
More.
Aye.
Ecstasy crushed them both.
And Malcolm felt invincible. Total comprehension began. He had more power now than ever before and there was no more to take. This woman had given him everything—this beautiful foreign woman whom he loved. He came, roaring savagely a final time.
He thrust himself away from her.
Shaking from so much passion and power, Malcolm knelt over her prone body and instantly felt her slipping away. Sanity was returning, and horror began.
Claire had nothing left to give.
He’d taken it all.
They rushed into the chamber. Royce seized him, flinging him away from Claire. He was far stronger than Royce now but he let him push him aside. He straightened by the window, breathing hard, sick with fear. Aidan flung a cover over Claire as MacNeil bent over her.
What had he done? And to Claire? He could not lose her now! “Is she alive?” he demanded thickly.
“What the fuck have ye done?” Royce roared at him.
“Is she alive?” Malcolm cried.
MacNeil did not look at him. “Aye, she is, but barely.” He had his hands on her, sending her life.
And Malcolm felt her return to this world. Her eyes fluttered and she murmured his name. “Malcolm?”
He was overcome with relief. She was alive. Their gazes held and she smiled at him before her lashes fluttered closed.
He had almost killed her.
The beast had raged freely, his intent murderous and evil. The soulless beast…
Royce slammed his hand onto Malcolm’s shoulder, forcing their gazes to clash. “Which brother be Moray’s spawn?” he said cruelly.
Malcolm flinched, but Royce had every right to wonder now.
She had opened her eyes again. She looked weak, disoriented and confused, but she sent him another beautiful smile. Did she not know what he had done? How could he have done this?
She should be afraid of him!
He was afraid of himself.
“Dinna move,” MacNeil told her. “Ye have yer life but yer weak.”
His horror and self-loathing must have shown because Claire said softly, “Malcolm, it’s all right. I am not dead.”
He could not respond. Malcolm turned and strode from the room.
MALCOLM SHRUGGED a leine on as he went downstairs. The image of Claire as she lay half-naked on the floor, as still and as white as a corpse, was engraved on his mind. He wanted it there. He had come close to killing her. He had taken her life.
He felt violently ill deep inside of himself, in his heart, in his soul.
He strode into the hall, aware of Royce on his heels.
He was determined to ignore him. He went to the sideboard and drank from one of the decanters, but no amount of wine could change what had happened—or erase the taste of Claire’s life in his body and the unbelievable ecstasy of experiencing it.
Malcolm felt Royce’s stare burning into his back. He slowly turned, grinding down his jaw. There was no one he hated in that moment as he hated himself.
“I see ye lickin’ yer lips.”
Malcolm tensed.
“Dinna deny it. Ye loved tastin’ her near death.”
He wanted to deny it but no words came forth.
“Ye’ll fight it now,” Royce warned, his eyes blazing silver. “Ye took vows t’ protect the Innocent, not to destroy them.”
Malcolm turned away. He had forsaken his vows, he had violated the Code. He had taken forbidden pleasure and enjoyed every damn moment of doing so.
Royce seized his shoulder and whipped him around. “If ye stray t’ evil, I will kill ye.”
Malcolm stared and Black Royce stared back. His uncle meant his every word. “If I turn to evil, I’ll be expectin’ ye to destroy me.” He meant it, too.
“Ye’ll fight it an’ ye’ll fight Moray,” Royce snapped. He released Malcolm and stalked past him, looking as if he was ready to start throwing objects around the hall.
“I nay be evil,” Malcolm said slowly, but he was uncertain. “I be sick with shame.”
“Good. Ye should be ashamed.” Royce walked away and began pouring wine into a crystal wineglass. His hand was shaking. Malcolm had never seen Royce tremble, not once in the entire lifetime he had known him.
“Ye canna ken,” Malcolm said. “I was a beast, nay a man.”
Royce slowly turned. “Why do ye think I wished to see ye locked up like a crazed animal?”
Malcolm stared. He was never going to forget what had just happened. “I almost murdered the woman I am sworn t’ protect, Ruari.”
“The woman ye are sworn to protect or the woman ye have come to love?” Royce was unsmiling and grim, and the question was an accusation.
Malcolm flinched. Royce was wrong. “I love no one,” he finally said. He refused to recall the feelings he’d had in the heat of rapture.
“Ye love the American woman. It’s written all over yer face an’ I can hear it in yer heart.”
“Damn it,” Malcolm roared. Royce knew better than to invade his mind. “I be fond o’ her, ’tis all. Fond, Royce, fond, like I am fond o’ ye.”
“Ye dinna think about fuckin’ me night an’ day.” Royce walked away.
Malcolm felt like breaking something. “Yer nay pretty enough.”
Royce faced him. “Malcolm, come t’ yer senses. Ye have put her in mortal danger now. Ye controlled the takin’ this time. What will happen next time?”
“There will be no next time,” he cried, breaking into a sweat. He trusted himself even less now, but it was his duty to protect Claire. He would die doing so, willingly.
“I am hopin’ so. But yer young, and yer blood is too damn hot. And Moray willna cease. Ye heard him, just as I did. He will take her, use her and send her back with child. Or, he’ll trap ye again an’ again, luring’ ye t’ evil, using the woman ye love to do so until ye do take her life.”
Malcolm closed his eyes, trembling. He already knew this.
Royce softened. He went to him and clasped his shoulder. “I dinna think Claire should be near ye. Even if ye married her to one o’ yer men in a pretense, he’d read her like a book—and ye, as well. No matter what ye think to do, Moray has marked her as a weapon against ye. The lass needs to go.”
He knew this, too, instinctively, when he did not want to know it. “Nay. There must be some way to keep her safe.”
“There is no way to keep her safe with ye!” Royce cried.
“I’ll find a way,” Malcolm gritted.
“There be no way,” Royce said fiercely. “An’ now I see I am right. Ye be a fool in love. Yer love will only kill her. An’ her love will kill ye!”
It was almost as if he couldn’t breathe.
He had come to depend on Claire. He had come to expect her to be at his side, in his home and, after the other night, in his bed.
He had come to look forward to their conversations and he anticipated her smiles, which pleased him so well that he tried to be the cause of them.
Her arrogance could be annoying, but she was far too clever for a woman.
He could dismiss her insults, because he knew she was in love with him.
She didn’t mean it when she called him a macho jerk.
The only thing that really annoyed him was her disobedience, because he knew he was the smarter, stronger one.
But he’d withstand every single flaunted command if he could undo what was happening now.
He needed her. It was astounding. He was aching at the thought of sending her far away. He would probably miss her when she was gone. “I will think on it,” he said tersely. “Dinna push me now.”
“There be nothin’ to think on!” Royce was furious. “Ye either wish to find her dead one day or ye wish fer her to live. Make yer choice.”
Malcolm stared, sickened. There was no choice to make. Because of the dark beast that lurked inside him, and because of Moray, who knew how to unchain that beast, Claire could not stay with him. She had become his Mairead. And like Mairead, there was only one safe place for her to go—the cloister.
“No Deamhan ever knowingly enters a holy place. I will take her to Iona.” Malcolm said, and then he gave in, his anger erupting, and flung his arm out, knocking a beautiful chair onto its side, the arms breaking. His heart did not want her gone.
“She’ll be safe there,” Royce agreed. “But I will take her. It’s late now, I’ll take her t’morrow. We’ll leave at dawn.”
Malcolm turned, his heart thundering. “Ye dinna give the commands here, Royce,” he warned. “I be yer liege an’ lord.”
“Aye, when yer not blinded by lust an’ love.” Royce stalked out of the hall.
More anger exploded. He leaned over another chair, breathing hard.
The cloister would be safe for Claire. His mother was safe there and willingly wished to remain there until she died.
Even Moray would not dare enter the sacred site.
But Claire would not want to stay in the abbey for very long.
In fact, he felt certain she wasn’t going to wish to go there at all.
She was going to be furious, he thought. But he was lord and he was not going to give her a choice. He straightened and kicked a red-and-ivory damask chair halfway across the room.
Aidan strode into the hall. “If ye wish to break something, go into the woods, but leave my fine home alone!”
Malcolm looked at him. Unfortunately, this man was his half brother. Last night, he had tried to heal him. “How is Claire?”
“She be fast asleep. I wonder why.”
Malcolm tensed.
Aidan’s expression was closed, showing no emotion at all. “I didna heal ye. Moray put some spell on ye an’ I was blocked.” His eyes became hard. “Claire staunched the bleedin’ with her hands. Claire breathed into ye an’ gave ye back yer breath. She prayed to the Ancients fer yer life.”
Malcolm knew what was coming next.
“An’ then ye tried to take her life,” Aidan said, his temples throbbing. “An’ ye hate me fer being the devil’s own?”
Malcolm flinched. “I hate meself more.”
“Ye should.” Aidan paused. “Claire can stay here.”
Fury began. “I dinna share, Aidan. She goes to Iona.”
“I have no wish to bed her,” Aidan said firmly. “She deserves the chance to live.”
“I take her to Iona at dawn,” Malcolm said softly, enraged. He knew his brother would never be able to resist Claire’s allure. “Ye touch her an’ ye die.”
“Yer a dolt,” Aidan said, striding past him. He picked up the broken chair. “Ye owe me a fine chair from France. Louis XIV, it’s called.”
Malcolm turned away. He couldn’t find calm and he had to face why.
His heart actually hurt, aching inside of his chest. Tomorrow he would take Claire to Iona.
And then what? Moray could not be destroyed.
Claire would have to spend years there, until she was forgotten.
She would be furious at first, and then she would be miserable. He already felt miserable.
Aidan said quietly, “She’s no Mairead.”
Malcolm whirled. “Ye spy on me thoughts?”
“I dinna have to spy. Yer broken heart is screaming loud an’ clear.”
“My heart nay be broken.” He smiled for emphasis.
But Aidan was deadly serious. “Malcolm, leave yer hatred o’me fer one moment. MacNeil didna heal Claire in the tower.”
Malcolm stared. “What does that mean?”
“He told me that when he began to heal her, she was already healing herself.”
Malcolm remained calm. “The stone?”
“I dinna ken. Maybe ’twas the magic of the stone, an’ maybe not. I felt the power in the stone on the ramparts. Ye must have felt it, too.”
“Aye, I felt the stone’s charm last night an’ I felt it the night we were attacked in Morvern. But that’s not what yer thinking.” Malcolm stared and Aidan stared back.
“Yer right,” he finally said. “I think she may be one o’ us.”