CHAPTER FIFTEEN #3
But Claire wasn’t comforted. In that instant, in spite of the weaving room, Claire knew that stone had belonged to her father.
She recalled the way Ironheart had inspected it.
But it would be an impossible coincidence if her father had been his brother.
“It was my father’s. I am certain of it now.
” Panic began. She would be lost without the stone!
It was her only connection to her parents.
“Dinna worry about the stone.”
But Claire was ill over the theft. “Why would she take it?”
“The stone may be givin’ ye yer powers. Ye said ye wore it since yer mother died. That’s a long time to wear magic, lass. I think that is why Sibylla took it from ye.”
Claire thought that made a lot more sense than having powers of her own, which she knew she did not. But she was recalling something else, something she really didn’t want to think too closely about. “Malcolm, I think Sibylla said she was not allowed to kill me.”
He looked away from her now. “Ye be confused. Father Paul has given ye strong herbs an’ flowers.”
Maybe he was right, especially as the bed continued to slowly move around and round like a carousel.
She used her left hand to touch his chest, beneath the veed neckline of the leine.
His skin was warm, the hair there crisp.
His eyes flickered and she knew he wanted her to continue touching him.
Claire felt a stirring between her legs, a dryness in her mouth, and was surprised that she felt desire now.
“You feel so good,” Claire whispered. “Whatever he gave me, I like it. How long have I been unconscious?”
“Two days.” His tone had changed.
Claire would have never believed it possible to feel this way after two short days.
But she didn’t care to analyze that, because Malcolm was having a very definite reaction to their proximity and her caress, and so was she.
She met his gaze, watched it smolder, watched it go to her lips.
She slid her hand up to his neck, shifting so she could arch sensually toward him.
A very firm erection leaped against her hip.
“I’ll go,” he said, but he did not move, watching her closely.
“I miss you,” she breathed in return. Damn, she might as well have been drunk. “I miss you so much.”
Malcolm’s breathing had deepened. He hesitated. “Ye scared me, lass.”
“Why?” Claire asked, drifting her hand lower to his ribs, over the linen.
He was such a beautiful man. “How could I possibly scare you?” She couldn’t help it.
The moment almost felt like a dream. She leaned toward him and pressed her mouth against his chest, in the gaping vee of the leine, near the heavy cross he wore.
He closed his eyes, not making a sound.
“This is so perfect.” She vaguely recalled the terrible events of the night he had been locked in the tower, but it felt like a lifetime ago and she knew it could not affect them now. She moved her mouth to his neck. She opened her mouth there, long and slow.
His body tensed. “Ye scared me ’cause ye almost died,” he whispered roughly.
She stared into his eyes. He stared back and she smiled, because she was very much alive and there was moisture gathering to prove it. She stroked lower, to his navel, and met a thrusting head through the leine. She slowly looked up.
His gaze was bright silver. Claire slowly lifted the leine out of the way. She was expecting him to seize her hand to forestall her and jump from the bed. Instead, his hand tightened on her waist.
Claire gave in to swelling desire. She sighed and lay back against the pillows, leaving her hand on his bare hip, careful not to touch him now. Malcolm moaned.
“Do you like being teased?” she murmured, scrapping her nails gently over his belly.
“Nay very much,” he warned.
She smiled and ran a nail around his burning hot head.
Malcolm turned toward her, his face as crimson as his member. Claire leaned low and used her tongue.
He fell onto his back. “Thank ye, lass.”
Claire wanted to enjoy every possible inch of him, unhurried and unrushed. And when she came up for air, he was breathing hard, and their gazes met.
She inhaled when she saw the look in his eyes. “Come here,” he said softly.
She slid her thigh over his in an unmistakable invitation, the chemise she wore riding high. She thought, this is so perfect, slow and hot and soft.
“I dinna mind slow, lass, but soft?” His smile came and went as he slid against her, probing there.
Claire gasped with pleasure as he slowly slid deep. “I meant gentle,” she managed to say as he filled her. Tears came. Pleasure rose, a growing wave.
“Ye meant this,” he said roughly, pulling her closer and moving with excruciating care and deliberation, so slowly. “Ye did mean this?” A teasing note had entered his thick tone.
“Yes,” she tried, and gave up. She closed her eyes and allowed a sweet, soft sensual release to begin. She cried out and pleasure rained down on them.
He gasped and she felt him smile. He began to move more swiftly, accelerating the pace. And suddenly an entirely new urgency began.
Claire tensed, holding on to one shoulder, instantly sensing the change in him. Every single muscle in his hard body had turned to steel, his heart rate exploding against her breast. A new, terrible ambition had arisen, and she felt his mind going to a dark, dangerous place. Malcolm went still.
“Come back,” Claire whispered, holding on tightly, afraid in spite of her daze. “Don’t go there. Come back to me.”
Malcolm struggled with himself, the muscles in his arms bulging, his penis throbbing. “I want all o’ ye,” he ground out. He lifted his head and she met blazing eyes, eyes she instantly recognized, mirroring unholy, uncontrollable lust.
He knelt over her, pushing her onto her back. And as he loomed there, she saw his body thicken with more power, more muscle, while black shadows formed behind him and red fire burned there. Still buried inside, he threw his head back and panted and Claire felt him touch her life.
She gasped as the room whirled, a sudden vortex of pleasure sucking her in.
Malcolm cried out savagely, and then he jumped from the bed.
No shattering ecstasy came. The spinning eased. Claire somehow sat up. The room tilted wildly. She met fierce, glittering silver eyes. She blinked and saw Malcolm leaving the chamber.
Claire collapsed against the pillows, fighting for air. The spinning room slowed but did not stop. Malcolm, don’t go, she begged.
If he heard her silent cries, he did not answer.
She somehow sat up again. She cursed the herbs and flowers, but that did not clear her mind. They had been making love and he had turned into that raging beast. She had felt him touch her deeply, she had felt him touch her soul. She stumbled from the bed.
Claire reeled but made it to the door. She pushed it open. “Malcolm.”
There was no response.
She felt him leaving, not just her but Awe. Alarmed, Claire rushed to the stairs. She tripped, falling against the wall. Strong hands seized her.
“Let him go,” Aidan said firmly, a command. “Ye need to rest an’ he needs to go. He’s huntin’ Sibylla now.”
Claire shook her head. “I am…going with him!”
“Dinna make me cuff ye in the head a second time,” Aidan warned.
Claire couldn’t answer. The stairs were lurching toward her. For one moment, she really believed it was an earthquake. Then Aidan caught her and the stairs leveled and settled where they belonged.
Exhausted, despairing, Claire started to weep.
THREE DAYS LATER, Claire stared at her shoulder in the looking glass in her chamber.
The potion had finally worn off and she felt as healthy as ever.
Her shoulder had a vivid and unattractive pink scar, but miraculously, otherwise, there was no sign of the recent wound.
Yesterday when it had rained, her shoulder had ached.
Today it felt fine, but when she reached overhead she was aware of a slight strain.
Ye have yer own powers, Claire. There’s no denyin’ it.
The stone, which Sibylla had stolen, had somehow imprinted her with its power to heal. Claire pulled her sleeve down and glanced at the vase of wildflowers that Isabel had brought to her room. Several days old, they were dying.
She stared at the flowers, thinking about seeing them rehydrate, grow, even blossom. She should have felt foolish. She did not. Nothing happened.
Claire picked a small pink blossom up and held it in her hand. She tried to focus. Instead of returning to its brilliant state of days before, a petal fell to the floor.
She sighed, putting the flower down. Whatever power she might have had, it was gone. Besides, Aidan had helped to heal her, and there was no question that he had some abilities, even if he wasn’t adept at using them all of the time.
Claire became grim. Malcolm was hunting Sibylla. Maybe she was paranoid, but she was afraid it was another trap.
She’d had three days to think about him—about them.
It was dangerous feeling about him as she did.
It was probably hopeless for her to want him to return her love.
Claire knew she couldn’t control her own feelings or her yearning.
They were in a relationship, as difficult and strained as it was.
It wasn’t going to last forever. At some point, she was going home.
But while she stayed in medieval times, she wanted it to work.
Every couple had differences. Arguing because of those differences wasn’t going to bring them closer together. So far, arguing hadn’t accomplished anything positive at all.
Like any couple, modern or not, they were going to have to figure out how to understand each other and compromise.
However, she wasn’t going to blindly obey his orders.