Page 78 of Dark Seduction

“Yer out o’ yer head…an’ so is he. Moray has trapped my brother another time. He willna become a Deamhan.” He wrapped his arm around her, the vise like steel.

Claire struggled and looked back. Malcolm remained prone, as still as a hunter in the forest, his glittering gaze on her, tracking her as Aidan forced her to leave.

I need ye, Claire…dinna go. Dinna listen to them…Come back to me…

His mouth never moved but she heard him as if he had spoken aloud.

The terrible urgency began all over again.

I’ll come, she promised. I will always come when you call…

Royce bounded up the stairs, past Claire and Aidan, holding a red-hot iron that gleamed like hell’s fires in the night.

And Claire fought Aidan wildly. “He doesn’t need that,” she screamed. “He needs me!”

Claire saw Royce hand Malcolm a dagger. She stopped struggling, panting in fear. Malcolm put the hilt in his mouth, biting down on the bone handle, his silver regard steady on her, unwavering there.

Claire held on to Aidan hard. Malcolm choked. The horrific smell of burning flesh rent the night.

Claire gagged, knees buckling. Aidan caught her, holding her tightly to his chest. “Oh, God,” she gasped, weeping. She had to go to him now. “Please, Aidan,” she cried, “Please!”

“He be unconscious. Ye canna help him now.”

“I can,” she sobbed. “I can.”

Aidan looked back at Royce. Royce nodded. “The tower above,” Aidan said. “There be but one way in an’ one way out. I’ll have locks put on the door.”

They were going to lock him up like an animal, Claire thought, horrified. “I swear I will stay away from him,” she lied. “Please, don’t lock him up.”

“I’m sorry, Claire. ’Tis best fer Malcolm,” Aidan said. “And this be best fer ye, as well.”

The blow on the back of her head took her by surprise. There was stunning pain and shocking comprehension. And then there was only darkness.

MALCOLM AWOKE.

He was burning in the fires of hell. He choked on the searing pain but could not move, the torment so terrible he couldn’t even open his eyes. It took him a moment to fight the pain of the fire consuming most of his body and only then could he find any thought. He was dizzy, ready to faint.

He was close to death. He finally gasped, unable to hold back the sound, choking from the pain. Tears burned his eyes and he swam in his world of torment.

Lust began—the lust to live.

There were vows. He was a Master. It could not end this way.

He had to hold the pain back—he had to think. He tried to become oriented. Where was he? He needed life now.

His body knew what to do.

Malcolm became still, trying to scent life.

He lay on the floor, a pallet soft beneath his back, the stone cold beneath his hand. He heard himself moan again, and then he heard the pounding rain.

He turned his head. He saw an arrow slit on the far side of the small round chamber and the wooden door. Had they locked him in? He stared at the door, and suddenly, shockingly, he could see through it. A padlock hung on the other side. It didn’t matter. Even if they’d left the door open, he didn’t think he could stand, or even crawl to the door, much less break it down.

He had only felt so much weakness a single time in his life, at Urquhart, when he was skewered to the wall by Moray’s sword, left there to die that way. But he hadn’t died, he had taken the maid instead. Her life had saved him….

He burned for life. It was all he could think of. He tried to scent life again. And this time, instantly, he did so. Claire was below him.

Now, he had no other coherent thought. She was asleep, but he needed her with him.