CHAPTER TWENTY #2
“I ken yer leavin’ in the morn,” MacNeil said. “Ye have the Ancients with ye, lass. Make certain ye dinna forsake them. Ye’ll be fine.”
Before Claire could thank him, he smiled, released her and vanished.
She heard the bench scraping the floor and she stiffened, turning.
Ironheart approached.
With a nod from Malcolm, they went into his privy chamber, closing the door.
Claire walked to the other side of the small room, then faced him.
Now she recognized the red glints in his hair.
She was a natural redhead, but her hair was a dark and deep auburn, and so were the streaks in his hair.
And she recognized his eyes. They were a vivid spring green, like hers.
He seemed uneasy and it was startling. “Ye have questions. I heard ye an’ I came.”
“You lurked?” She was instantly displeased.
“Nay, Claire. Ye’ve been summonin’ me even if ye didna ken.”
“When did you realize I’m your daughter? And why didn’t you tell me? Surely you haven’t known my entire life!”
He jerked. “I had no idea! Do ye think I’d abandon the mother o’ my daughter that way? I have no other children, Claire.”
Claire stared. “How is it possible? You’ve lived for hundreds of years.”
“I stand alone, Claire, an’ I’ll die alone. I made vows.”
That was tragic and heroic. His life was the Brotherhood. “I was a mistake.”
He hesitated. “Aye.”
Claire already felt rejected. She shook her head, incapable of speech, even though she wanted to know more about him and her mother. But what more was there to know? Mom had said it was a single night of passion.
His hand settled on her shoulder. “Yer a miracle, Claire,” he said harshly. “I never dreamed to have a child, an’ here I have a grown daughter, fearless, clever and beautiful.”
She whirled, stunned.
Moisture had gathered in his eyes. “Ye look like yer mother,” he said, turning away.
Claire knew he had lost his composure and she thought he had probably not done so in hundreds of years, if ever. “You cared about her?”
He tensed. “Aye. I was in yer time, huntin’.
I had followed a Deamhan there. Yer mother was on the street, struggling to carry a heavy box upstairs to her apartment.
She was ‘moving in,’ as she called it. Men were passing by, looking at her because she was so pleasing t’ the eye, but no one was helping her.
Not only was she beautiful, she was wearing the shortest skirt I’d ever seen.
I didna think twice. I took the box from her, and she was offerin’ me coffee.
” He smiled. “Suddenly, I was moving a hundred boxes—and yer mother was makin’ me smile. Did ye ken she had a clever wit?”
“Mom liked to joke,” Claire whispered. The story was beautiful.
“I had a Deamhan to chase. Instead, I helped yer mother open boxes an’ then I was tryin’ to fix her lights.” He looked as if he might laugh. “I ken nothin’ about electricity, Claire. Yer mother thought me a fool.”
Claire actually smiled. “I doubt it.”
His smile faded. “I wanted her. She wanted me. One night wasn’t enough.”
Claire stared. “How many nights were there?”
“Seven.”
Her mother had lied. “Did you love her?”
He flushed. “I didna ken. I have one mistress, Claire. My vows.” He sobered.
“I told her after the first night that I had taken sacred vows, vows she wouldna ken, vows that required me to leave her. I didna lie. I made no promises, an’ the leaving was sad.
” He paced across the room restlessly. “She didna weep. I gave her my stone, to keep her safe.” He met her gaze.
“When I saw ye wearin’ the stone, for one moment, I thought ye were Jan.
’Twas a trick o’ my mind. And then I felt the truth. ”
Claire wondered how much her mother had really known about her lover. “She loved you,” Claire said thickly. “She never said so. She didn’t have to. And she never took the stone off.”
“Can ye forgive me, Claire, fer not protectin’ ye both?”
“Of course I can,” Claire said. “You didn’t know.”
A moment passed. “What will ye do now? Ye love Malcolm, but he’s a Master. He be displeased t’ night an’ saddened deeply.”
Claire’s heart ached. “I have family at home—my cousin, her two kids. Who will protect them if I don’t?” She added hoarsely, “And I make Malcolm weak.”
“’Tis yer duty to defend yer kin. But Claire? Ye made Malcolm strong t’ day.” He smiled at her. “If ye need me, ye summon me. I’ll hear.”
CLAIRE RETURNED to the hall and found it empty.
Her father had gone outside for some air.
Claire knew he was traveling down memory lane and that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
She hesitated, desperately wanting to be with Malcolm now.
She hated the look she’d put in his eyes and on his face.
She hated hurting him, but there wasn’t any other choice.
She hurried up the stairs. The door to the chamber was open and Malcolm sat before the hearth, staring into the flames. The moment she came to the door, he looked up, smiling sadly. He stood. “Did ye have a pleasin’conversation with yer father?”
Claire nodded. “I can’t stand seeing you so sad,” she whispered.
“Then dinna leave.”
Claire wanted to cry. If ye love him, if ye truly do, ye’ll leave when it’s time. “I have a duty, Malcolm, just like you.”
“Then stay a year—I’ll teach ye t’ fight. Ye need skills, Claire,” he said urgently.
If she stayed a year, she’d never leave. “When I was on Iona, speaking privately to MacNeil, I asked about the future. He said I’d succeed.”
Malcolm inhaled. Their gazes held, locked. She heard his heart beating, slow but strong.
“I want to make love to ye, Claire.”
Claire cried out. He was telling her that he loved her, damn it. “That’s not fair.”
He walked over to her, his gray eyes reflecting anguish. “Ye’ve wanted me to say it fer some time now. I want to make love. I want to show ye how I feel with me body, in bed.”
Claire couldn’t speak. Malcolm loved her.
He was wrapping her in his arms and she grasped his shoulders, laying her cheek on his strong chest. His mouth moved over her hair, her ear, slowly, softly, sweetly.
She shuddered, the sorrow easing, her hurting heart racing with far different feelings instead.
He cupped her face and tilted it up. That tenderness shimmered in his eyes.
Claire realized she was starting to cry. He lowered his face and brushed his mouth against hers.
Love vibrated in the caress of lips. His tongue finally touched the seam. “Open,” he whispered. “Let me fill ye, lass, all o’ ye.”
Claire wanted nothing more and she opened her mouth for him, releasing the muscles of her thighs, too. His tongue swept in, slow and soft. He bent his knees and his engorged penis swept up against the length of her sex.
He unpinned the brooch and tossed her brat aside.
Her leine quickly followed. Claire was wearing only the fifteenth-century drawers.
Briefly, he cupped her through the slit, gazing into her eyes.
The light of his grief was still there, but she saw silver heat rising.
As he slid them down, she stepped awkwardly out of her boots, looking from his strong, scarred hand up to his strained, scarred face.
Desire, affection, even love were mirrored there, in every taut tendon, every angle, and in his beautiful gray eyes.
He sank to his knees and spread her throbbing lips, gently easing his tongue against her. Claire gasped, all of her anguish vanishing. There was no room now in her mind for thought. There was only need and the promise of so much pleasure. There was only love.
She wasn’t sure if it was hers—or his.
HE HAD NEVER known such intense feeling—joy, despair, affection, loyalty, love—and he knew he never would again. He lifted Claire and carried her to the bed, overcome with far more than desire. He could not find the beast he’d left chained in his chest. It felt as if it was gone forever.
But hadn’t he heard someone say, once, that love healed all wounds?
“Hurry,” Claire breathed. Her eyes were hot and bright.
Malcolm stripped off his belt and leine. “Ye said ye want me slow. I want to take ye slow, Claire, too.” It was the truth. Although he was so engorged he was close to coming, he wanted to worship her body for an eternity, if she would only stay.
“I lied,” she managed to say, restlessly shifting for him in an ageless invitation. “I want you hot and hard, and I want you now.”
A savage sense of elation began. He straddled her and clasped her hair behind her nape. “Yer so strong an’ so beautiful…an’ ye belong to me, Claire,” he said flatly. “An’ dinna think to argue now!”
Her response stunned him. “I’ll always belong to you,” Claire said thickly. Tears filled her eyes. He lurked easily and was pleased, because she meant it. “I’m glad you’re a chauvinist,” she whispered.
“Yer glad I’m a powerful man,” he returned, and the bargain done, he slowly filled her, inch by orgasmic inch, refusing to thrust quickly or deeply.
And Claire was coming before he was done.
He held her in his arms, murmuring in her ear, stroking long and slow and deep.
As they made love, his excitement escalated, and as he started to reach for her, just to stroke her soul, he began to realize the black beast was truly gone.
Deep inside, he touched her power, her essence, her life.
There was so much beauty. All thought vanished, except for one. I love ye, lass.
I love you, Claire tried to gasp. She wept in pleasure and joy, instead.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Malcolm moved onto his back, apart from her. Claire lay beside him, completely sated, smiling at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. She was so deeply in love she was floating.
And then she felt his sorrow returning, a huge and heavy cloud.
A dozen cracks radiated through her heart. After so much love, there was so much pain.
Are ye really leavin’me?
Coherent thought returned, along with her awareness of what they had just done.
They had made love. No demonic desire had arisen, either.
Claire moved to her side and laid her cheek on his chest, her hand on his abdomen, not far from where his beautiful manhood lay resting.
Malcolm had just made love to her. She did not have any doubts.
His every touch, every kiss, every stroke, had been filled with feeling and emotion.
But there had been even more. She had felt as if they had been joined on a plane that was not physical.
She pressed her lips to his skin in a kiss, her heart finally breaking in two.
He sat up abruptly.
Claire sat up, too, her chest aching.
He glanced at her, stricken, and slid from the bed. In that moment, she felt him closing to her. Claire panicked as he walked over to the hearth. He leaned heavily on the mantel.
She listened for him and heard silence.
Claire got up. “I can stay a few days. Maybe a week!”
He didn’t look at her. “I’ll never forsake ye fer another. But yer right. A Master stands alone. ’Tis best.”
She choked on a sob. “Who will hold you in the dark of the night?”
He half turned. “I need no one.”
Claire thought, You need me.
“Nay, lass. Ye have a duty to yer kin. If ye willna protect them, provide fer them, who will?”
Claire swallowed, her ability to breathe failing. Heartbreak consumed her. “I think I fell in love with you my very first night in your time, that night at Carrick. I love you, Malcolm, and I always will. There will never be anyone else.”
He straightened and slowly turned.
Claire winced, because her words had brought tears to his eyes which he would never shed. Could she really do this? How could she leave this man?
How could she stay?
“I ken. Ye be an independent woman, an’ in yer time women fight their own battles an’ they be lairds. Ye be laird o’ yer clan, Claire.” His gaze found hers.
Claire nodded, crying. “There’s no one else.”
His nostrils flared. His nose was red. He stared, his eyes shining now. “I willna take ye back. Ironheart will do so.” He struggled to speak. “If ye need me, summon me.” He breathed hard. She had never seen him more stricken. “I’ll come.”
He released the mantel and took a brat from the pegs on the wall. He walked out, wrapping it around his waist as he did so.
Claire realized that he had just said goodbye to her. She panicked and ran after him. “Malcolm, wait!” It could not end like this. She needed to hold him one last time!
But he was striding up the stairs to the ramparts, his posture stiff and set against her.
And she knew he wasn’t going to halt or turn back. He had said his farewell.
It was over.