Page 60 of Dark Seduction

Her world had changed. She didn’t know if she was going to live for very long, and the values she’d clung to her entire life seemed frivolous now. Waiting for love in order to be with a man like Malcolm was absurd, given the probability that her life span was going to be really short, despite what MacNeil had said.

She’d had time to think about that. If he had seen her imminent demise, he would not tell her. That might only lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy. And Claire was pretty certain that, unless she was given superpowers, she wasn’t going to survive for very long as a Deamhan hunter. The Deamhanain were just too damn strong.

As for falling in love with Malcolm, she’d fight her heart’s ridiculous need for love before having sex. And if she failed, so what? A broken heart didn’t seem like the worst deal. It seemed pretty mundane, in fact.

The men vanished through the gatehouse. Malcolm waited for her by the drawbridge. As she came up to him, his gray eyes gleamed with anticipation. Claire walked past him. Acutely aware of him behind her, she went through the gatehouse and into the bailey. The men were veering off toward their hall, glad cries sounding from some children as they did so. Claire was relieved to be inside the curtain walls, more so when she turned to watch the drawbridge being raised, the portcullis slamming closed. Malcolm smiled with so much promise that her heart turned over in response, as if to say, “Tough luck.” Her world had changed but her heart didn’t seem to care.

She followed Ironheart into the hall. Malcolm paused to close the studded front door behind her, and his gaze was not directed upon her now. Claire was very surprised to see Royce sitting before the fire. As they all walked into the room, he rose, quads rippling, biceps bulging.

Malcolm strode forward, meeting Royce halfway across the hall, clearly surprised to see him. “What brings ye back?”

Royce said, his tone noncommittal, “I decided a visit to Aidan be in order. I will join ye tomorrow.”

Claire saw Malcolm’s expression become as blank as Royce’s. She wondered what the hell was going on.

She hesitated. Both Seamus and Irohheart had sat down on the benches at the long table, taking up mugs of wine. She could smell roasted game and knew a meal was about to be served, and in spite of her worries, she was starving.

But Ironheart continued to make her uneasy. She had felt his eyes on her repeatedly during the journey back to Mull and knew he did not like or trust her. Now, she smiled at him, helping herself to a mug of claret, as well. “May I?” Claire asked.

“Lady Claire, o’ course ye can sit. Ye be Malcolm’s guest.”

Claire sat down across from him, aware of Malcolm glancing at her. “Thank you.”

Ironheart stared. “Why do ye wish to go to Awe with Malcolm?”

Claire met his flat gaze. “Why not?”

“There may be battles ahead.”

“I can protect myself.” Claire grimaced. She needed a weapon. But Malcolm didn’t seem all that worried about facing off with Aidan, and that was comforting. On the other hand, nothing was comforting about the earl of Moray, whom Claire had learned was Defender of the Realm, the Highland equivalent to commander in chief. “Refresh my memory—who is king?”

Ironheart gave her an odd glance. “James be king an’ afore ye ask, his queen be Joan Beaufort.”

“Are they on our side or—theirs?”

“The king spent most o’ his life a hostage o’ King Henry V in England. He has but one side—his own.”

Claire translated Ironheart’s words to mean that King James was human. If he’d spent most of his life held at the English court, he was probably interested in his own power and his own throne. Most of Scotland’s kings had had huge problems bringing the Highlands under control. That would explain the summons.

On the other hand, a new source of power existed, and it was evil. She did not like where her mind wanted to go, but all James had to do was sell his soul and the kingdom would be his—with Moray at the forefront of his troops.

Moray was already there.

Her temples ached. Maybe James had sold his soul already. “I need a weapon,” she said seriously, looking up. Going to Awe unarmed was insane. “I need a dagger—and Malcolm must show me how to use it.”

“An’ that will help ye do what, lass?”

Another medieval chauvinist, she thought. She decided not to bother to fill him in on the state of modern women. “Well, I was actually thinking about staying alive, and defending myself when my protector isn’t about. There’s the little matter of the Deamhanain. They seem to appear out of nowhere—whoops, out of time—and I am not looking forward to facing Sibylla again.” That was a gross understatement. But if she couldn’t vanquish Sibylla, a human possessed by evil, how would she ever get the demon who’d murdered her mother?

“Lass, ye will never find the Deamhan who killed yer mother. Leave it to a Master.”

“Like hell,” Claire said softly. “I just need tools, weapons, knowledge. And it’s rude to read my mind!”

Ironheart stared. Then he spoke grimly. “If Malcolm will nay teach ye, I will.”

“You? Why would you do such a thing?” She was incredulous.

“I have spoken the same vows as Malcolm, Claire. ’Tis my duty t’ protect ye. If ye think to hunt a Deamhan, then ye need some skill. But,” he added darkly, “ye willna succeed alone. Ye had better sway Malcolm to yer cause.”