CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
She recoiled, realizing that last night had changed everything. His control was very fragile, and she had spoken far too freely and in too much detail. She hesitated, uncertain of what to say.
“Aye. I can still taste ye, Claire. But ye want to ‘talk’ about it. Fine. We’ll talk. I am close to bein’a Deamhan. Maybe I am already becoming one. Do ye still want to talk?” He strode away, toward the hall.
She had hoped, foolishly, that in the light of day the old Malcolm would be back. His anger told her that he cared about his fate. As long as he did, they could beat this terrible thing. But he was afraid now. She had never guessed that he might be afraid of anything, and he was afraid of himself.
Hearing her, he turned, eyes wide. “I be very angry, Claire. Aye, an’ I be afraid. Ye need to stay far from me. And there be no ‘we.’ I fight Moray alone.”
Claire knew she could not abandon him in this hour of crisis. She wasn’t hiding in any more closets.
“Then yer a fool!” he cried, reading her thoughts. “Ye think to believe in me now, after what I did to ye?”
“I will always believe in you. You are the son of Brogan Mor,” she whispered.
“Fer how much longer?” he demanded, their gazes colliding.
“Forever,” she returned.
“Yer the most headstrong, foolish woman I have ever met,” he said, disbelieving. “Ye think to trust me? Royce be right. Yer a temptation I dinna need, and yer nay safe with me. He’ll take ye to Iona tomorrow.”
Claire’s eyes widened. They had planned to go to Iona together, to bring the page to the Brotherhood. However, those plans had been made before the events of last night. “What are you saying?”
“No Deamhan ever knowingly enters God’s place. Ye’ll be safe from Moray an’ his Deamhanain there.” His tone was cold, cruel. “If I turn Deamhan, ye’ll be safe from me.”
CLAIRE DIDN’T FOLLOW Malcolm inside. She turned, went over to the steps leading up to the ramparts and sat down hard. It was difficult to think, much less be rational now.
Malcolm was fighting terrible, dark urges.
She wanted to fight them with him. But if evil was tempting him now—if she was tempting him—then maybe it was better that they put some distance between them for a while.
Apparently, the abbey would be a very safe place for her to go.
But this was a temporary solution at best. She couldn’t stay at the abbey forever.
She glanced toward the castle. How could she let Malcolm fight evil alone?
Last night, Moray had gained ground, but Malcolm had been the victor in that single battle. He had to triumph over the dark urges consuming him now. How could she hide at Iona and let him do so alone? His future was at stake, and so was his soul.
She thought of her vivid recall of that night in Brooklyn. The memory had been so graphic, it could have been happening then and there. But while she knew she had seen a demon’s face, she had not been able to imagine him.
He had said he would come back for her.
Fear slithered over her. Twenty years had passed, but to a demon who had lived for hundreds or thousands of years, that was like a second.
What had the demon wanted with her? And was it the same demon who’d murdered her mother?
Someone stepped out of the front door of the castle onto the landing above the stairs. “Claire?”
Claire jumped to her feet, facing Ironheart.
“Ye’ll miss the feast. Ye need t’ eat,” he said without inflection.
He was right. She crossed the bailey, entering the hall behind him. Then she hesitated. Everyone was at the dining table, the great room hushed. A woman was seated beside Aidan, taking Claire by surprise.
Ironheart gestured at a vacant chair as he sat.
She smiled gratefully at the older Master, aware that the other three men were actually ignoring her.
Claire took the empty chair next to Royce, across from the blond woman.
A quick glance showed her the next Swedish supermodel, if the woman ever wished to time travel.
She was beautiful and very young. Claire doubted she was even twenty.
Since Aidan’s wife was deceased, she assumed this woman was his lover.
Claire couldn’t help stealing a glance at Malcolm to see if he was checking out the woman, but he was not. She was relieved.
Aidan looked up. “Isabel, this is Lady Claire,” Aidan said in French. “She is my guest. Cherie, Lady Claire is from abroad.”
The blonde smiled warmly at her. “I am so pleased to meet you, Lady Claire. It has been lonely here with no other ladies present.”
Claire managed a slight smile back, thinking that her nights were likely not lonely.
The young woman seemed besotted. Her French was stilted, and she had made a grammatical error.
Although she wore a stunning gold necklace that looked as if it was set with sapphires, her leine was average in quality and a plain brooch pinned her brat.
Claire decided she was from the lower ranks of the nobility.
“Enchantée,” Claire returned. She glanced at Malcolm.
He continued to ignore her but his plate was almost empty.
We need to finish our conversation, she told him silently.
His shoulder stiffened but he kept on eating.
Claire knew he’d heard her. She decided that the mind-reading thing was not such a bad deal after all. I mean it, she added for emphasis. Then she gave in to her heart. I want to help! I know I can. I am not going to Iona.
Malcolm threw his utensils on his plate, giving her an angry but incredulous stare. Claire thought he was going to storm from the table but he did not.
“Will you be at Awe for long?” Isabel asked pleasantly from across the table, preventing Claire from making a response.
Claire somehow focused on her. “I don’t think so,” Claire replied. She glanced at Malcolm, who had pushed his plate away. His face was hard, his gaze dangerously dark.
“Will you return to Dunroch?” Isabel smiled, making her beauty even more dazzling.
“That is the plan,” Claire said pleasantly, aware of Royce now staring at her. Maybe a frontal attack wasn’t the best idea. She heaped her plate and started to quickly eat.
“Actually,” Royce said darkly, “Lady Claire misunderstands. I will escort her to Iona in the morning.”
Like hell, Claire thought furiously. Was this Malcolm’s new plan?
“Iona is a beautiful island,” Isabel said. “Will you join me in the solar after we eat? I am almost finished with my needlepoint. I have a tapestry I wished to start, but you can begin it if you want.”
Claire looked at her blankly. She was not going to Iona with Royce; she was going to Dunroch with Malcolm. “Actually, I don’t sew.”
Isabel looked at her as if she had the plague. “You cannot sew?”
“I’m afraid not,” Claire said. She returned to her food, eating as fast as she could. Chairs were pushed back. Royce was pouring himself wine, but Malcolm was stalking from the hall. She took one more bite, preparing to run after him.
Royce seized her wrist. “Ye’ll be his death,” he warned in English.
“I thought we were friends,” Claire cried.
“I like ye well enough. But ye ha’ the power to turn him to evil, Claire, an’ I willna allow it.” His gray eyes blazed.
In that moment, Claire felt his authority. This man was a Master who could leap time, taking life if he so chose, and had other powers she had yet to comprehend. She had crossed the line and he was not her ally now. But at least he intended to protect Malcolm from the dark.
Still, Claire did not like his attitude. “Take your hand off me,” she warned. “And I mean it.”
His eyes widened.
Claire thought about taking her Taser and giving him a damn good shock.
Royce’s expression tightened and he released her. “Ye be ready to leave at dawn. Ye go to Iona, whether ye wish it or nay.”
Claire knew a threat when she heard one.
“I guess you’ll have to knock me out the way Aidan did last night.
I also suggest you tie me up. I do not follow your orders.
” She stood, furious now, while Royce looked even angrier and taken aback.
If he was expecting a meek and docile medieval wench, he had another think coming.
Claire strode across the hall in the direction Malcolm had gone. Her anger actually felt good. Anger, she realized, was empowering; fear and doubt were not. She was going to cling to it.
Malcolm was heading for the stables. For one moment she watched his back, all anger vanishing. She was afraid he was leaving, then and there. He disappeared into the stables. Claire lifted the calf-length brat and broke into a run.
He was saddling up his gray stallion as she burst into the stone-and-timber barn. “You cannot be leaving.”
He faltered, his strong hands on the animal’s leather girth. His back rigid with tension, he did not look over his shoulder at her. “I dinna want ye here. There is nothing more t’ say.”
“There’s plenty more to say!” Claire cried, and she almost shouted, I love you.
She breathed hard, hoping he hadn’t heard her.
He slowly faced her, looking just as taken aback as she felt. Hoarsely, he said, “Why canna ye ken? Ye’ll be safe at the abbey.”
He had heard her. “I understand that you are trying to protect me. But who will protect you?” she asked roughly.
He was aghast. “Ye canna protect me!”
Claire dared to reach out and touch his face. He jerked away. “Iona is a temporary solution—but it’s no solution at all. You are important to me. I can’t let you face Moray alone, Malcolm. I have to help. Your soul is at stake.”
He shook his head. “Ye’ll be my downfall, Eve to my Adam. Ye willna help, ye can only hurt. An’ if I dinna hurt ye, Moray will.”