CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
He had a sly tone and an impudent smile.
Claire smiled tightly back. If he thought for one second that she wished to share his bed, he was wrong.
She thought about Malcolm and her heart ached.
“Yes. I broke my dagger last night in your lock. You have been a gracious and generous host, and I have tremendous audacity asking you for another favor. But I have no real means to defend myself.” And the one man who had promised to teach her to fight was gone.
Aidan’s near leer vanished. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Ye need a weapon,” he agreed.
Claire gasped. The small round chamber was filled with swords, shields, daggers and—holy shit—guns. She turned her shocked gaze to his. “You have weapons from the future.”
“Aye, I do. I like the future an’ I couldna help myself.”
Claire had identified mid-to late-eighteenth century pistols. She also saw a revolver that she was pretty certain belonged in the nineteenth century. There were no modern revolvers, rifles or machine guns, which was too damn bad. “Isn’t this forbidden?”
His grin flashed. “I dinna like rules, Claire, except when I be breakin’ them.” He walked to rows of neatly hanging daggers and chose a knife that was about twelve inches long with an exquisite ivory handle.
Claire bit her lip. “You have no guns from my time.”
“I was in yer time fer that single day, an’ I was lookin’ fer the page.”
“Aidan, in my time, there are guns that fire rapidly, a hundred times before a man can blink his eyes even once. Would a gun like that kill a demon?”
“It would depend on the Deamhan, Claire. Great evil, like Moray, becomes even greater if he has taken power from another afore a battle. And even if he dinna enhance his power first, if life was near, Moray would take it an’ survive even if a hundred pellets struck him.
But the lesser Deamhanain would quickly die,” he added.
Claire thought about trapping Moray in such a way that he could not tap into anyone’s life. But how would that be possible?
“It’s nay possible, Claire. If ye be attackin’ him with one o’ yer weapons, he’ll take ye. He might take ye afore ye can even attack the first time.” He held out the dagger. “How does this feel?”
Claire wanted a nineteenth-century revolver, but she grasped the dagger. The hilt was comfortable in her hand.
Aidan took the dagger from her and replaced it with another. The second hilt was smaller and felt perfect in her grip. He smiled. “’Twill do.”
“Is there any way Moray can be lured onto holy ground?”
Aidan laughed. “He can sense God the way we can sense evil. Nay.”
Claire slowly lifted her gaze to Aidan’s. “He’s the devil, isn’t he? Not the devil’s own, but the devil. He is one of the faces of Satan.”
Aidan hesitated.
Claire turned away. “Oh, God,” she whispered, and it was a supplication. But the devil would not choose this land as his stomping ground, would he? “Why Scotland?”
“Why not? There be great Deamhanain everywhere, in every time—in yer time, too,” Aidan said.
Aidan laid his hand on her shoulder. Claire tensed. “Ye ken, lass, ’tis an ancient belief that the devil chose Alba thousands o’ years ago, for he be Lug’s first an’ eldest son. He wanted the power over all the gods that belonged to his father and that quest led him to evil.”
“The fallen angel,” Claire murmured, shifting so he no longer clasped her shoulder.
“They say in the land called Greece that the devil be the son o’ their greatest god, too.”
“Great,” Claire whispered. “There are gods everywhere—and more than one devil.”
He smiled somberly. “Aye. I’ll teach ye how to defend yerself wi’ the blade,” he said quietly. “An’ ye can have the gun ye covet.”
She almost embraced him. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“CUT ME WITH THE BLADE.”
The sun was blazing down on them as they stood in the center of the bailey. A few of Aidan’s men had paused as they passed to watch them train. Claire blinked. “You want me to cut you,” she said.
His smile was arrogant. “I wish to see if ye have any skill, any speed,” he said. “Ye canna cut me, Claire.”
Claire wasn’t sure he was right. She was unusually strong for a woman and far stronger than the average woman.
Kickboxing had made her light and quick on her feet; her balance was excellent.
Of course, Aidan was superhuman. He would be a zillion times stronger and faster than she was.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t nick him if she tried.
He was impatient. “Cut me, Claire.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to cut you,” she said truthfully.
He smiled. “Ye willna succeed. But try.”
This was a problem and she knew it. She wasn’t into violence and in a way, he was a friend.
“Maybe ye dinna wish to cut me ’cause ye be thinkin’ about me in Isabel’s bed?” he said softly.
She was aware that he wished to anger her, but she was more annoyed than angry. “I am sorry I saw that, believe me!” she said. “Aidan, in my time, we frown on violence.”
“Frown away, an’ be dead,” he said. Then he shrugged. “But ye’ll die screamin’ in pleasure an’ likin’ it, won’t ye? No matter who the Deamhan be.”
Claire grimaced.
He added, “I ken why ye dinna wish to cut me, lass. I dinna mind. Malcolm doesna wish to share, but I often do.”
Claire gasped. “What?”
“Ye liked what ye saw an’ ye like me too much now. Yer thinkin’ o’ me in yer bed now, nay Malcolm.”
“You are a jerk,” she cried, and she thrust the blade at his chest.
He seized her wrist, incapacitating her knife hand before she could blink. “An’ ye are dead,” he said. “Can ye move at all? Or are ye too tall an’ awkwardly built?”
Claire jerked free, set up and side-kicked him hard. She was aiming for the chin but he jerked aside and a useless blow glanced on his shoulder. But he smiled, eyes wider. “I said cut me,” he said. “Ye won’t kill a Deamhan with yer feet.” He reached for her.
But Claire was expecting it and she danced out of his reach. She was pleased when she saw respect flicker in his eyes. Now she would cut him, oh, yeah.
“Cut me with the blade, Claire,” he taunted.
Claire feinted. She half turned and back-kicked him, but he dodged this time. Now that he knew she could kickbox, he was ready for her. She panted, determined to outthink him.
“Aye,” he said, “yer first kick had better be the one that takes the Deamhan down.”
“You’re worse than your brother!” she said angrily. “Damn it, you have no right to read my mind.”
“But any Deamhan who ken do so will do so,” he said, backing out of the distance she could reach with her long legs. “Ye still haven’t cut me, Claire.”
He jerked his head toward the hall. “Ye liked watchin’ me with Isabel, didn’t ye, Claire? I saw the look in yer eyes. Ye got hot and excited, didn’t ye?”
Claire was furious. The worst part was, there was some truth in his words.
He smiled knowingly at her. “I made ye hot.”
“Fuck off!” She went to front-kick him in the ribs, but missed when he dodged. Without a pause, she shifted and followed up with a sidekick to his jaw. Claire was surprised when she connected solidly, but he only flinched. Triumphant, she dived at him with the knife.
He caught her wrist before she could sink it into his heart. Claire panted, struggled and gave up. He met her gaze, his eyes warm, and he nodded with a smile. “Ye have some hope,” he said, releasing her.
Claire stepped back, breathing hard. “I want an apology.”
He was rueful. “Aye, I be sorry.” He hesitated. “Yer a great beauty an’ I have eyes. But I ken ye love my brother an’ that ye’ll never come to me.”
Aidan started, glancing past her.
In dread, Claire turned.
Malcolm’s expression was thunderous.
Claire steeled herself for a battle. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? But her heart ran wild at the sight of him. “I fought at your side in the woods and I killed one demon,” she said tersely, in self-defense.
He strode over. “Ye had God’s will on yer side—that one time.” He turned a dark glare on Aidan. “I be her lord, not ye. I command her, not ye.”
Aidan said quietly, “If she’ll be alone, without ye, she’d better be able to fight.”
“Aye, an’ I’ll be the one teachin’ her,” Malcolm said flatly.
Aidan nodded. “As ye should.” He turned and walked off.
Claire slowly met Malcolm’s eyes. “You’ve changed your mind!”
Malcolm smiled, but coldly. “I am not as pigheaded as ye keep sayin’.”
If Malcolm was capable of changing his mind, there was hope for them, Claire thought. But he was still distant and upset. “What made you decide differently?”
“I dinna trust ye,” he said bluntly.
Claire flinched. “What does that mean?”
“It means ye have no respect fer my orders, fer me.”
“I respect no one as much as you!”
“I’m leavin’ ye at the abbey, but I dinna trust ye to stay put. I won’t be with ye to guard ye. Ye have the need to be able to defend yerself now—and t’ kill evil, if ye can.”
This was what Claire had wanted, but not this way, with him so angry.
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Maybe one day, you will understand that I am exactly the kind of free-thinking and independent woman I should be,” she said seriously.
“Malcolm, just as you must do what you think best and right, so must I.”
His face tightened impossibly. “And is being with Aidan best fer ye?”
“How long were you watching us?”
His mouth hardened. “Long enough.”
Shit and double shit, she thought, panicking.
“Long enough to ken that ye like my bastard brother.”
“That’s not true! Not the way you mean. He’s a friend.”
“But ye bed yer friends, do ye not, Claire?” he asked. “Did he nay make ye hot?”
“How can you be jealous of Aidan!” she exclaimed.
“I’m nay jealous o’ any man.”
“I walked in on him and Isabel and it was a mistake. I didn’t stay, damn it. You make me hot!”
He shook his head, a terrible look in his eyes, and started walking away.
Claire chased him, seizing his arm. “Don’t do this,” she cried. “You know how I feel—you eavesdrop on my thoughts all the time.”
He halted and she crashed into the wall of his chest. “Aye, an’ yer in guilt now.”
“No! I saw them—and wanted you.”
A terrible silence fell.
And Claire waited, because that was the truth. Aidan was handsome and he had his moments of charm, but he was not Malcolm and he never would be.
She saw the anger leave his eyes.
He said harshly, “I made ye a promise. Last night changes many things, but I always keep my word.”
Claire realized he was referring to his vow of fidelity. “I made you the same promise, Malcolm.” It was hard to breathe. “I am a woman of my word.”
Their gazes finally locked.
Claire saw him breathing hard, too. No more than an inch separated them. His masculinity became overpowering. Claire wished she could go into his arms for a warm, hard embrace.
He slowly shook his head. “’Tis nay a good idea.”
“What happens now?” she asked quietly. “We’ve made vows, but you won’t come to my bed. If I respect your need to sleep alone—”
“Nay. I will keep ye safe.”
He would still send her to Iona. They had just weathered another storm and she felt closer to him than ever. “You’re calmer.” Her whisper sounded urgent.
His gaze was unwavering. “Aye, I’m calmer. But ye willna be safe here. Yer nay safe from Moray. From me.” His gaze moved to her mouth then lifted to her eyes. “We’ll make our farewells in the morn.” He nodded and turned to go.
She rushed to stride alongside him. “Where are you going now? What are you doing?”
“The sun sets in two hours. I’m going to the tower now.”
She was incredulous. “You’re locking yourself up?”
“Aye.” He paused before the stairs leading to the front door of the castle. “Maybe in a few years,” he said thickly, “there’ll be a safe time an’ a safe place fer us.”
Claire cried out in protest. “A few hundred years?”
He gave her a long look and walked up those stairs.