CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IN HER HEART, Claire believed that if they could have a night like they’d had at Dunroch, without any spell, Malcolm would realize he could triumph over the darkness. But the moment the words were out, Claire wished she hadn’t spoken them. Because what she was really asking was for him to love her.
Malcolm’s expression turned from horror to fear. “Ye be mad,” he said thickly. “Ye think to play with yer life. I willna play, Claire.”
“You won’t touch my life,” she whispered. She was relieved. He hadn’t made the connection. He thought she was asking only for sex.
“Why? Why would ye make me such an offer? Do ye belong to Moray now? Is this his plan to lure me to the dark?” Suspicion filled his eyes. “Is he in yer mind now?” Malcolm asked softly, dangerously. “Has he enslaved ye an’ ye dinna ken?”
Claire cried out, shocked. “What are you saying?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said. “’Tis his greatest power—to enslave weak minds. ’Tis how he turns good men into his evil soldiers. He can creep into a human mind an’ do as he wills.”
“No,” Claire said in horror.
He shook his head, incapable of further speech, jammed his heels into the gray and galloped past her. Claire leaped out of his way. Dust and straw flew up in his wake.
Claire sat down on a bale of straw. Moray could control minds? Surely, surely, she was not being controlled that way. Her heart had led her to make such an offer and had he accepted it, she would have gambled her life on Malcolm’s will, strength and valor.
Claire couldn’t stop shaking. She was certain her offer had come from her heart, because it had been motivated by so much love. Claire wished she had never admitted her feelings, because damn it, now she wanted Malcolm to love her back.
Hadn’t she warned herself not to get entangled with this man?
Malcolm was not capable of love. He was capable of affection, passion, duty. But love?
He had promised her fidelity, but that didn’t have anything to do with love. And they both knew she was going home, sooner rather than later, so it hadn’t been a difficult promise to make or even keep.
Claire began to consider the fact that it might be some time, years even, before she went home. Everything had changed because they were both on Moray’s radar.
Now what? It was one thing to want to help Malcolm fight for his soul, and it was another to be yearning for him to love her back, when the future of their relationship was doomed, no matter what.
She needed to get a grip on her heart, but she didn’t think that was possible. She had always pitied women who fell hopelessly in love with men who did not return their feelings. Holy shit, she was one of those women now.
But she wasn’t weak. Claire stood, resolved. She loved Malcolm in spite of their differences, in spite of what the future held, so she had one choice now. Fight with him, fight for him, and be strong enough to go home when the time came—with no regrets and no sorrow, with all of her pride intact.
And as for Iona, well, being a woman stuck in the Middle Ages had vastly reduced her power.
If they insisted on it, she’d have to go, but she wasn’t going to stay there for years and years.
Royce had become hostile, but there was always MacNeil.
And if she couldn’t convince him to help her, there were all those hunky Masters coming and going.
Claire smiled. She liked having a plan. It was barely formulated, but it was better than nothing.
“Claire?”
She jerked, realizing that Ironheart had paused in the doorway, carrying a small, rolled-up plaid, which she knew contained his gear. Her eyes widened. “Are you leaving?”
He smiled briefly, walking past her and leading his big bay stallion from a stall. “Aye.”
She was dismayed. “How can you leave now? Malcolm needs you!” She thought, I need you.
He tied the horse and threw a blanket and saddle on him. “I’m going back to the Black Isle. I’ve been gone fer almost a month an’ I have clan affairs to attend.”
“The Black Isle?” she echoed.
“Aye. ’Tis my home in Lachlan.” He finished saddling his mount and faced her. “I see ye fear fer Malcolm.”
Claire hugged herself. “I am very worried about him.”
“Aye, I ken. Claire, he is strong an’ he is good. If he can stay alive, in time this war will pass. These wars always pass.”
The first statement was disturbing, the second hopeful. “How much time will it take Moray to decide to stalk someone else?”
He hesitated. “A hundred years, perhaps more, mayhap less.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Great.”
Ironheart paused before leading the bay from the stable. “Ye are welcome at Lachlan Castle any time.”
Claire was confused. What the hell was this? She knew it was not a come-on.
“The Black Isle will be safe fer ye an’ ye are welcome in my home fer as long as ye wish. If ye dinna want to go to Iona tomorrow, ye can come with me now.” His green gaze became searching.
Claire was stunned. Should she leave Awe—and Malcolm—now and go with Ironheart? “Where is the Black Island?”
“’Tis nay far, a bit to the south an’ west.”
And Claire realized she wanted to delay her separation from Malcolm for as long as possible. Besides, Iona was mere miles from Dunroch and Lachlan Castle was not. And she hadn’t been sent away yet. “Maybe, one day, I will accept your generous invitation. I’m not sure, though, why you made it.”
“Ye be Innocent, Claire. I took the same vows as Malcolm.” He swung up into the saddle.
Claire realized she no longer felt uneasy around him. He was an intense, motivated Master, without Aidan’s and Royce’s charm, but he felt like a very safe anchor. “Take care of yourself.”
He nodded at her. “Think afore ye act, Claire, an’ ye’ll be fine. But if ye need help, summon me. God keep ye.” He trotted past her.
Claire followed him from the barn, amazed by his words and his last directive. How on earth would she ever “summon” him? “God speed,” she said. She liked the farewell and she lifted her hand. “And God bless.”
He didn’t respond, breaking into a canter. The drawbridge remained down from when Malcolm had left the stronghold.
Claire watched him vanish into the first gatehouse.
That had been odd, but apparently she had an ally she could count on.
Considering that Royce was no longer supporting her, and Aidan was an enigma, she was fortunate.
But Ironheart had promised to teach her to fight. Obviously that would not happen now.
She needed another dagger, Claire thought, as last night she had broken the blade of the weapon Malcolm had given her. She still had her Taser, but in this world, that wasn’t enough and the charge wouldn’t last forever. Claire started toward the hall. Aidan surely had a stash of weapons at Awe.
The hall was silent when she slipped inside.
She was glad Royce had gone off somewhere, as there’d been enough tension that morning to last through the day.
Aidan hadn’t been outside, but maybe he was going over Awe accounts.
The castle was three times the size of Dunroch, and there was no point in trying to find him.
Besides, Isabel probably knew where he was.
The ladies’ solar should be on the next floor, directly over the hall.
Claire went upstairs.
It never occurred to her to knock, since the heavy wooden door was ajar. Claire walked in and felt her heart drop to her feet.
Aidan was making love to Isabel, stark naked, except for his boots. Isabel was gasping in pleasure and Claire saw everything she shouldn’t. He was a drop-dead gorgeous, powerful man.
He suddenly looked up, his gray eyes ablaze with lust.
Claire knew she turned red. “Sorry!” She turned and fled.
In the hall, she leaned against the wall, breathless, trying not to envision Aidan with all that rippling muscle moving over that other woman.
Isabel’s cries intensified and Claire fled back downstairs.
Her body had fired up and she couldn’t help wishing she were in Malcolm’s arms without the threat of evil hanging over them.
She remained acutely aware of the two lovers upstairs. Well, she didn’t blame them. It was a great way to pass the afternoon.
Claire went to the table and poured a big glass of red wine.
She drank some of it to relax and decided to look for Awe’s arsenal.
A weapons room would be below the hall, for all stores were kept on the ground-floor level.
Claire went down into the “basement.” It was stacked with barrels, chests and sacks.
But on the east side, there was a door. It was locked.
Claire became excited. She would bet anything she had just found the weapons room.
Of course it would be locked and she should wait for Aidan to finish his afternoon of delight and ask him for what she needed.
She looked at the chain and padlock and jiggled it, not that it was a test of any sort. Of course, the chain remained firm.
Last night she’d had shocking strength, but she knew she wouldn’t have that kind of strength now.
She had nothing to pick the lock with and breaking in would be rude, anyway, when Aidan had been the perfect host. She rattled the lock again, with some annoyance, thinking about the knives that had been on the dining-room table.
She could probably pick this lock if she really tried.
Then Claire realized she was not alone. She tensed, turned.
Aidan’s brows lifted. “Ye want something, Lady Claire?”
An image of him in far too much male glory flashed through her mind. “Ah,” she began.
He smiled as if he knew.
She swallowed, banishing the image from her mind and her memory. “I am sorry about intruding.” She felt annoyed. The door hadn’t even been closed.
He shrugged. “I dinna care. Ye wish fer a weapon?”