CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
“Ye shouldn’t have come,” he said, tilting up her face. He could not wait to kiss her, and every inch of him pulsed with explosive force. God, he had to take this woman and he had to do so now….
He claimed her mouth, trying to be gentle because he now knew she liked to start slowly. Still, he was a man and he pushed her against the wall, spreading her thighs with his, urgency racking his body. He could not wait. He pushed her down onto the pallet.
He pinned her there. Her clothing had vanished, and so had his. He deepened the kiss and in spite of the urgency consuming him, he slowly slid into her, shaking and gasping as he did so, fighting for self-control. He loved her hot, wet, tight flesh.
Claire gasped with pleasure; so did he.
He was throbbing so greatly he was ready to come, and so was she. He lifted his head to smile at her, breaking the kiss. I love ye, lass.
Her eyes widened and then she flung her face to his neck, crying out in her pleasure. His joy began. And then the door slammed against the stone wall.
Malcolm woke up, instantly realizing he had been dreaming. But it had seemed real, and he was as aroused as if he and Claire were really in his bed together. He lay facedown on the pallet, and because Royce shared the high tower room, he breathed hard, fighting for composure.
“Get up.”
Malcolm realized the command was not addressed to him. He had been using his brat as a blanket, and he threw it aside, sitting up. Royce was being singled out by the two guards. Alarm began.
His uncle stood in the tower’s center, his wrists being bound in front of him.
Malcolm stood slowly, warily. Four slits were spaced evenly on the round tower walls, and Malcolm saw a night sky filled with stars and a high moon.
It could not be much past midnight. Prisoners were executed in the broad light of day with an audience, so no one could misinterpret the extent of royal prerogative and power.
So this was not an execution. Malcolm’s alarm eased, but not greatly.
For while his uncle’s face was so expressionless it might have been cast from stone, he felt a thrumming tension in him. Briefly, Malcolm was confused. The heat felt sexual.
“Yer t’ come with us,” a guard said to Royce.
“Where do ye take him?” Malcolm demanded in the tone of a laird of a great clan who expected to be answered at once.
One of the guards glanced at him. “’Tis nay yer affair.”
Malcolm lurked easily enough and was stunned to discover that Queen Joan had ordered Royce brought to her privy chambers. Incredulous, he looked at his uncle again.
He was not a fool. Everyone except the king knew of his wife’s extreme carnal appetites and her numerous affairs. There could be only one reason for the queen to summon Royce at such an hour. But in the name of all gods, when had Royce even attracted her interest?
He lurked again and saw Royce and the queen passionately entwined in the royal bed. Worse, he felt his uncle’s amusement, his indifference, and he sensed his lust.
This was not the first time.
Royce’s head could wind up on the block. Was he mad?
Royce looked him in the eye and murmured, “No man can refuse his liege.”
Malcolm was horrified. Royce was correct, but if ever discovered, he would pay for such adultery with his life.
“I dinna care, Malcolm,” Royce said. And suddenly he seemed every one of his 850 or so years. “I dinna fear my death.”
Royce opened his mind completely. And Malcolm saw the vast chasm of his uncle’s exhaustion and loneliness, and realized he was tired of his life.
Royce did not look back as he was led from the tower.
CLAIRE COULD FEEL Malcolm’s presence.
But the palace was a maze of dark corridors lit by burning sconces. Outside every window she passed, the moon was fuller and brighter than it had been last night. Malcolm, where are you? she cried desperately.
But there was no answer.
She had to find him; she had to make certain he was all right.
Claire paused, breathing hard, her back against a wall in an upper floor gallery, absolutely alone. It was very late and any lingering revelers were in the hall downstairs, where there had been a huge supper feast. Malcolm, help me find you!
He did not answer. Claire trembled with despair. She hurried on, the corridor endless, the shadows lengthening, darkening. And then she felt his presence. He was nearby!
A door appeared and she seized it, filled with anticipation, certain Malcolm would be on the other side. She flung it open.
Moray smiled at her, white teeth gleaming, eyes red.
Claire screamed, slamming the door closed in his face and running down the hall. She thought he was following her and she turned a corner, entering another endless, black corridor. But Malcolm felt closer now. She saw a door ahead and jerked it open.
Moray laughed at her.
Claire whirled and ran back the way she had come, crying now in fear and desperation, but her legs refused to move. She was running, but she wasn’t going anywhere and he was about to seize her.
She wanted to wake up. She ran into another black door. It barred her way.
A hand touched her from behind…Moray.
Claire seized the door’s handle, afraid Moray was there. She told herself not to open it but she had to find Malcolm, and she flung it open.
Malcolm faced her, his eyes burning silver.
Claire cried out in relief, throwing her arms around him and holding him for her life. He enclosed her in his warm embrace, his body hard and powerful and safe.
She tried to tell him Moray was behind her, following her, and that their lives were at stake.
“Ye shouldn’t have come,” he said, tilting up her face.
And Claire felt his manhood stiffen. This was insane, she thought as desire overcame her. But his grasp tightened and his mouth covered hers and she did not have the chance to tell him that Moray was there, waiting to trap them both.
He pushed her down, not onto the stone floor, but into the soft bed she had fallen asleep in.
It was so real.
His hard body pinned hers and his strong thighs spread her for him.
Her clothing had vanished and so had his.
Claire ran his hands over his rippling back, loving the feel of his hot, slick skin.
If she was dreaming, she didn’t want it to end.
He deepened the kiss and slowly slid his huge length into her.
Claire gasped with pleasure; so did he.
I cannot be dreaming, she somehow thought.
It was too vivid and real to be a dream and the wave of pleasure was beginning, growing stronger and stronger as he moved inside her.
Her body was stretched tight, convulsing around him, and he was engorging more fully, the way he so often did, and she felt him throbbing inside her. She felt him smiling at her, too.
He raised his head, breaking the kiss, throbbing with the need to come, and she saw love shimmering in his eyes. He smiled as he moved inside her again. I love ye, lass.
Claire could barely believe what she had heard. She shattered, the wave of delirium breaking over her, and he gasped. She held on tight, his words echoing, and joy began. She opened her eyes to tell him that she loved him, too, more than he would ever know—and dark shadows greeted her.
She was very much alone in her bed.
Claire sat up, gasping and breathing hard. She was covered with perspiration and the pallet was wet.
She had been dreaming, the most vivid, tactile dream she’d ever had. It had felt as if he had really been making love to her.
Panting, she leaned back against the pillows.
She had been allowed to use the chamber intended for Malcolm.
Her eyes began to adjust to the dark as her arousal diminished.
Her fear for Malcolm returned. She still didn’t know where he’d been taken or what his fate was.
Aidan had sworn he’d find out. A small fire burned in the hearth. She glanced toward it—and cried out.
A man sat there in the shadows.
For one moment Claire was paralyzed, afraid it was Moray. She grabbed the fur and brought it to her chin.
“’Tis I,” Aidan said tersely.
Disbelief began. What was he doing there in her chamber? He was sitting a few feet from her bed, while she was having a very sexual and orgasmic dream. She hoped she hadn’t been gasping aloud. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He stood, stepping into the light. As he stood, the pale leine swirled, revealing a very evident arousal. “I was watching over ye,” he said thickly.
She could barely speak. “You bastard!”
He tensed. “Ye were screaming in pleasure. I was outside in the hall. I thought ye were with a Deamhan, maybe Moray!”
Claire could not find calm. Her cheeks were now on fire. “I was having a dream,” she said harshly. “About Malcolm.”
“Aye.” He gave her his back.
She didn’t like the sound of that single word, and a terrible inkling began. Claire jumped from the bed, taking the cover with her. “Please tell me you did not lurk in my mind.”
He didn’t answer, going to the door.
“Can you lurk in a dream, Aidan?” she demanded rigidly.
“I’ll be seeing you in the morn,” he said, reaching for the door.
Claire grabbed the water pitcher and threw it as hard as she could at him. It hit him square on the back. He turned.
“How dare you spy on me and Malcolm!”
“I came here to protect ye,” he said harshly. But the fire’s light played on one side of his face and he was flushing.
“You were lurking in my dream! You might as well have been watching us make love in reality!” She was aghast. “What did you see?”
His face tightened. “’Twas only a dream, Claire. ’Twas not real.”
“You saw everything!” she cried. “You watched me make love to Malcolm!”
She saw his flush intensify. Finally, softly, he said, “I couldna help myself. Didna ye watch me with Isabel?”
Claire stared at him, and so much anger began. “I walked in on you accidentally and I left a second later.”
“I’m a man. Yer a woman. No man could walk away from such a dream.”
“Get out!” she screamed.
“Ye should be pleased I care fer ye. I didna go into yer dream an’ change places with my brother, although that is what I wanted to do.” He strode out.
Shocked, Claire let the fur drop. Naked, she stood there shaking, incredulous and enraged. His being medieval and oversexed was not an acceptable excuse! Then she grabbed the fur, covered herself with it and ran to the door. She jerked it open. “You have no morals!” she screamed.
But Aidan was gone.
Claire slammed the door.