Page 47 of Dark Seduction

“’Tis nay amusing t’ jest in such a manner.” He was harsh.

Claire reminded herself that, in this time, heresy was the most serious offense in Christendom, more so even than witchcraft. Any Catholic clergyman who had witnessed what she had would believe Malcolm was both a heretic and a sorcerer. He’d be prosecuted ruthlessly. If fortunate, his punishment would be excommunication and exile. “I am trying,” she said, low, “to keep it together. And maybe I can remain sane, if you just tell me what I need to know.”

He sat down beside her on the bench. His voice as low, he said grimly, “The Deamhanain be nay the only ones descended from the goddess Faola. Every Master can claim her blood.”

She made a sound, almost a laugh. He was also descended from ancient gods. Of course he was. How could she have thought otherwise? She clasped her cheeks, which were hot. A nervous breakdown wasn’t going to help her now!

Staring at the bow, he said grimly, “Evil was born with Adam and Eve, as ye ken. Long ago, the Ancients saw the need fer a race o’ warriors t’ fight the evil, Claire. Faola was sent to many kings.”

Claire choked on shock and fear. Her determination to dismiss his beliefs had become frighteningly fragile.

She stared at him, trying to think clearly. Malcolm had powers that were becoming harder and harder to rationalize. And he was good. “So you’re half god and half human.”

“Nay. There be three generations between me an’ Faola, lass. I be her great-grandson.”

He might believe he was the great-grandson of a goddess, Claire told herself, but that didn’t make it true. Maybe there was a rational explanation out there, somewhere. “Did you suck the life out of that thing the way the Deamhanain do?”

He stood. “Canna a god take life an’ give it? A Master can take life, lass. And some, a very few, can give it, too.”

“Great! You can give life, too?” she cried, shaken all over again.

“Nay. I canna heal. But all Masters have the power t’ take life. Otherwise, we are nay chosen.”

Unfortunately, he had finally made sense. The power of life and death was the greatest power of all, a power belonging to God or the gods. This race of warriors, if given by the gods to fight evil, would obviously have such a power, too.

An odd calm began. Wasn’t it better that the Masters had the same immortal blood in their veins as the demons?

She breathed hard and bit her lip. “That…thing was a demon. You broke its neck.”

“Aye. The Deamhanain dinna feel pain the way we do.”

Claire searched his gaze. “You don’t feel pain the way we do, either, do you?”

“I be strong.” His gaze held hers, a question there.

Claire knew what he was asking. He wanted to know how she felt about him now. She didn’t have that answer. “Why did you let the other two demons live? Why are they on this galley?” They were up front in the bow, tied up.

“They be humans, Claire, that be possessed. The monks have spells an’ mayhap they can be freed.”

She started. “You mean the monks will try to exorcize them?”

He nodded. Then, hesitantly, he smiled at her. “I need t’ help the men.”

Claire saw that they were pushing up to a pair of wooden piers. She couldn’t quite smile back.

As Malcolm leaped from the galley to the first pier, two other Highlanders leaped out, as well. Ropes were tossed at the pilings, the other four men remaining at the oars. Claire finally turned her attention to Iona. She’d come by ferry last time, so her vantage point was the same. Otherwise, nothing was the same at all.

Two walled enclosures were visible, and she knew they were the older, fortified monastery and the medieval abbey. Both had been ruins in the present, and a newer cathedral existed in their place. The famous Celtic Cross that stood before the present-day cathedral was gone. The abbey was not far from the pier, clearly built recently. The monastery was farther up the road and built in paler stone.

The galley dipped as Malcolm climbed back inside. He returned to Claire and held out his hand. “Lass.”

Claire met his penetrating gaze, wishing she could keep his world at bay. “I think I believe you,” she said harshly. “I don’t want to, but I think I do.”

“’Tis better if ye do.”

Claire stared at him and he regarded her steadily. And she wondered where that left them.

CLAIRE BECAME INTERESTED in her surroundings as they waited for the monastery’s paneled wood door to be unlocked. She was about to enter an intact, working, fifteenth-century monastery. Here, there might be answers from an abbot named MacNeil. Her guidebooks had claimed that the monastery had been built centuries earlier than the abbey, although the original buildings, made of wood, would have been built by St. Columba in the sixth century. No wood buildings remained now, she saw, glancing over the monastery’s walls. The walls were too low for comfort. They could be so easily scaled.