Page 34 of Dark Seduction

CLAIRE WAS SUMMONED the following dawn. Her eyes barely open, she met the gaze of a small boy who poked her, grinned and mimed dressing and eating. He gestured rapidly at the door and grinned and left. Claire sat up, clutching a fur to her body, feeling as if she were terribly hungover.

But she wasn’t hungover, not in the normal sense of the word. And her pulse quickened as she recalled that she was in medieval Scotland—and that last night, Malcolm had made love to her.

Claire felt the fist of desire slamming into her chest and belly. She stared at her chamber, at the small fire in the hearth, the rickety table where a jug of water sat, and the narrow window. The shutter had been thrust open and the sky outside was bloodred.

Although she hadn’t believed she would be able to sleep a wink yesterday, exhaustion had swiftly claimed her after Malcolm had left. She had slept like a log until the knock on her chamber door.

The boy clearly wished for her to hurry, and she knew why. She was wide-awake now. They were going to Dunroch. Genuine excitement began.

But there was also apprehension. It was the light of a new day. She was about to see Malcolm, and yesterday—well, she had behaved like a woman she did not know. And damn it, she wasn’t ever going to forget how he had pleasured her without asking her for anything in return.

Claire washed using frigid water, hoping he would be gentleman enough not to remark on what had happened between them. And what about Sibylla? Just how safe would their trek be? She threw Malcolm’s plaid over her shoulders, her trepidation rising, and went downstairs. Only the serving maids were in the great hall and Claire was disappointed, even if she didn’t want to be. Starving now—Claire wasn’t sure when she had last eaten—she sat down to a huge tray of bread, cheese and several various types of smoked fish, as well as a bowl of oatmeal. She ate swiftly, using a two-pronged fork and a crude knife and spoon, eager to leave the hall. As she ate, she kept glancing at the great door, but it did not open.

She pushed the tray away. She had to face Malcolm sooner or later, and she didn’t know what to say, how to act or what to do. But she had to face the fact that she did not have regrets. It would be hypocritical to pretend to have them. She had needed a night like that one.

She felt her cheeks heat. Malcolm was a generous lover. She was going to throw all stereotypes out. She would never think of him as some macho medieval jerk again. He was definitely complicated, intriguing and very, very sexy. She wouldn’t mind really sharing his bed.

The mere thought made her feel weak and faint.

Do not go there, she warned herself, heading for the doors. She knew herself. If she ever really slept with him, she’d fall in love. And that was a very bad idea. She must not become fond of him. Only a fool or a madwoman would care for Malcolm, considering the circumstances. She warned herself to keep her interest in him purely academic.

She opened the doors and was met by a blast of chilling Highland wind, never mind that it was summer. She paused on the top of the steps. A dozen men were mounting their chargers by the other hall. Just below her, Malcolm stood beside two saddled horses, speaking with Royce. As one, both men turned to look at her.

Her gaze met Malcolm’s and she blushed. This was, she thought, beyond awkward. They were virtually strangers. She started down the stairs, avoiding his eyes.

He probably thought her really fast and loose, although that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Malcolm strode forward. “Did ye sleep well?” he asked. His gaze was direct and searching.

If he was referring to the fact that she had been so physically sated she had passed out, she could not tell. “Yes. And you?” She meant to be polite but the moment she spoke, she wished she hadn’t. He’d probably tossed and turned all night.

His stare intensified. Then he shrugged, his gaze veering to her throat. He began unpinning the brooch with which she’d awkwardly pinned her cloak. “Ye need garments,” he said. “I’ll see ye clothed at Dunroch.” He swept the long, oddly shaped cloak from her shoulders, shook it out, folded it not quite evenly and draped it over her, pinning it to one shoulder. It now fell to her knees, securely covering her thighs and skirt.

She swallowed. “Thank you.” The merest brushing of his hands caused a frisson of pleasure. How was she going to keep her focus on the books, the shrine, the secret society—everything but the man himself?

His gaze locked with hers. “I nay be the only man with eyes,” he said with a slight smile. He nodded toward Royce, whose expression was wry.

Claire didn’t care if his uncle had been openly regarding her legs or anything else. It was hard to think clearly with Malcolm hovering about, being possessive. She wished she could tell what he was thinking about last night. He probably had a different woman in his arms every night, which meant their little interlude wasn’t a big deal for him. And that was for the best. Because it was far too big a deal to her, and she needed to keep a good perspective, no matter how hard it might be.

He helped Claire mount and turned to leap on his own destrier. Claire realized she had been given an older, quiet horse, for which she was grateful. She moved it over to Royce. “Thank you for the room, the bed and breakfast,” she said.

“’Twas my pleasure, Lady Claire. Bon voyage.”

His smile was utterly masculine and just a bit knowing. Claire hoped she hadn’t been so loud that he had heard her crying out last night. “Adieu.” She flushed and moved her horse past him.

Malcolm signaled to the cavalcade and the troops fell into line behind him and Claire. He turned to Royce. “I’ll speak with ye after I return from Loch Awe.”

Royce nodded but seized Malcolm’s bridle. “Do nothing rash.”

Malcolm smiled tightly. Then he lifted his hand and glanced at Claire, and they moved toward the passageway beneath the gatehouse. After passing through the dark, stonewalled tunnel, riding side by side over the trapdoor through the dark shadows, the sunlight outside was almost blinding.

For Claire, as they left the dank passage behind, a new tension began.

It was another medieval morning, her second day in the past. So much had happened since the leap that she felt as if she had been in the fifteenth century for weeks. While she did not know if the journey from Carrick to Dunroch was a safe one, she was too excited now to care. Dunroch had been her goal from the start and by that evening, they would be there. Soon she would be at Iona’s holy shrine, because she was going with Malcolm, no matter what he said or what he wanted. She was not being left behind.

Because it was a holy shrine, it was guarded by the Masters. Malcolm had indirectly said so. She was about to discover a secret society that no historian had ever revealed.

She was living Highland history now. This was an incredible opportunity. Her fear had long since diminished. She had survived time travel, a brutal battle, a violent assault and Malcolm’s lust—all in the span of twenty-four and some hours.