Page 73 of Dark Seduction

Claire was riveted. He’d healed a woman, and in doing so lost some of his strength?

“Mayhap the power will grow an’ be easier to use, in time.” Royce clasped his shoulder. “I be glad ye saved a life.”

Claire stood. “Malcolm.” She walked over to him and smiled earnestly. “It doesn’t matter whether this page has healing power or not. What matters is that it might be from the Cladich. This page is incredibly valuable if it is genuine. It needs to be enshrined or go back to my time with the rest of the recovered manuscript, so it can be preserved.”

Malcolm shook his head. “It matters if it doesna have powers, Claire. It matters greatly. If it be genuine, it will heal.”

He didn’t get it, Claire thought. Twenty-first century scholars would beg to have the opportunity to study this page.

And she didn’t get its value to him, either. “You can take life to heal. Why is the Cladich so important?”

Malcolm made a sound. “Because we dinna need take life if we have the powers in the Cladich, Claire. The book can heal on its own.”

Claire breathed hard. “So the book can heal the dying?” A Master would never have to take life if he was dying in order to survive. She got it now, all right. The book was beyond priceless.

And no wonder Moray wanted it. He could heal his demonic hordes with it. Holy shit.

“Aye. If ye read the right pages. Each page has its own cause.”

And Claire suddenly shivered, because an icy chill had settled over the hall. Someone must have left the front door open.

But as the temperature dropped, just the way it had in the glade when they had first arrived in the fifteenth century, Claire began to realize what was happening.

Malcolm stepped beside her, filled with so much alarm and urgency Claire felt it. With dread, Claire followed his intense gaze to the open door. A black shadow filled it.

Death, Claire thought, unable to breathe.

But the black shadow parted to reveal a golden man in crimson robes. And the earl of Moray smiled at her. “Hello, Claire.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

CLAIRE FELT HER KNEES SHAKE. She did not have to be introduced to know she was looking at Moray. “How do you know my name?” She was vaguely aware that everyone in the room had closed ranks, standing beside her and Malcolm.

“I know everything,” he said, his white teeth flashing. No human being could be more beautiful. He had the face of a Greek god—no, a Celtic god, but then, that was what he was, or nearly so. Claire knew he was physical perfection, beauty in its most reverent form—just as she knew he had no soul and that death followed in his wake while he relished it.

And as she stood there, paralyzed by fear, the last clouds in her mind lifted.

The front door opened. But it wasn’t Mom. A dark shadow drifted in.

In terror, Claire ran into the closet, slamming the door, but not before looking over her shoulder. A man stood in the center of the living room, staring at her.

Claire sobbed in fear.

The door opened.

Claire hid her eyes behind her hands, cowering beneath the sweaters and jackets hanging there. And he reached out, taking her hand. Claire was pulled into the light. She looked up—into his black, bottomless eyes.

I will come for you soon.

Claire choked on the horrific recollection.

“Ye have no affair with Claire.” Malcolm’s harsh tone cut into her thoughts. He was standing directly in front of her now. “Yer affair be with me. Only with me.”

“Actually, you are wrong,” Moray said softly with a beautiful smile. “Claire’s destiny is in my hands. Like father, like son,” he added.

Claire froze.

Malcolm unsheathed his sword and Royce seized his arm.