Page 83 of Dark Seduction

“I dinna ken. Maybe ’twas the magic of the stone, an’ maybe not. I felt the power in the stone on the ramparts. Ye must have felt it, too.”

“Aye, I felt the stone’s charm last night an’ I felt it the night we were attacked in Morvern. But that’s not what yer thinking.” Malcolm stared and Aidan stared back.

“Yer right,” he finally said. “I think she may be one o’ us.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CLAIRE AWOKE with a pounding migraine, the likes of which she had never before had. Pain consuming her, she staggered from the bed to a chamber pot, where she vomited helplessly.

She sat on the floor, trying to get her bearings and praying that she felt better. The terrible pain was gone, replaced by a less severe headache, but she felt nauseous now. In fact, she felt as if she’d drunk a whopping amount of wine last night.

But there hadn’t been any wine last night.

Last night, there had been Malcolm.

Aghast, Claire glanced toward the chamber’s two windows. Outside, it was a cloudy morning, the sun barely visible. She began to shake, becoming ill, not in her body but in her heart, her soul.

She was at Awe and last night Moray had dealt Malcolm a nearly fatal blow—for the second time. But he wasn’t dead. He was very much alive.

Oh, God. What had she done? What had he done?

Malcolm had been near death. He had been locked up like a wild beast and she had been out of her mind, she thought, slowly standing. Now she recalled the terrible desperation, the shocking need to find him, be with him. Last night, she had been certain he was calling her, willing her to him. It had felt as if their minds were communicating. She had not hesitated to obey. In fact, to the contrary, nothing and no one could have stopped her from going to him.

She had not been in control of either her body or her mind. Malcolm had been controlling her. But he hadn’t been sane, either.

His savage roars filled her mind. He had taken her life last night.

Claire stumbled to a chair and sat down, horrified. Pleasure in death. That was the understatement of the ages. Last night she had wanted to die for him. Last night she had wanted to die in the throes of an inhuman ecstasy.

How close had she come to death? She vaguely recalled MacNeil and Aidan hovering over her. Claire’s teeth began to chatter. Had Malcolm stopped…or had he been dragged from her like a rabid animal? She could not remember the details.

Claire could not believe she’d had no will of her own. That was terrifying.

But Malcolm had had no will, either. Being near death had turned him into something insatiable, determined to live no matter the cost.

Moray was about to own Malcolm’s soul. Or was it too late?

A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another and another. And Claire thought of his warm glances and affectionate smile as she lay in his arms after lovemaking, that one, single night, when he had stunned her by telling her he wished to make a commitment of fidelity to her.

Her heart shrieked in protest, demanding that she listen. Malcolm could not have turned evil last night. Malcolm hadn’t really hurt her, because she was very much alive today. He was good, and she knew it with her heart, her soul. It was Moray who was evil, Moray and all of his kind. It was Moray who had left Malcolm to die, hoping Malcolm would kill Claire to save himself, hoping to entrap Malcolm into becoming a full-fledged Deamhan as he had tried to before. But Malcolm had regained his sanity before it was too late.

Claire was not reassured. Moray had almost succeeded in engineering her death and Malcolm’s downfall. Her mind raced, pointing out that Malcolm had now violated his vows twice, even if she was alive. Was he on the brink of becoming evil?

What would she do if she went to Malcolm and found something else in his place?

Claire was ready to finally admit the truth. She was very much in love with a medieval man descended from a goddess. And last night, he had been insane with a barely comprehensible lust.

She went to the window and, realizing it pushed outward to open, managed to do so. As the fresh, damp air rolled in off the loch, she breathed deeply, her heart racing wildly. And she heard swords clashing.

Claire tensed. In the bailey below, Malcolm and Royce were dealing a series of blows against one another. For one moment she stared as the men locked swords, confused. They were so focused she would have sworn they meant to injure one another. Malcolm went after Royce with such an aggressive thrust that, for an instant, she thought Royce was doomed. But he blocked the blow and they braced there, savagely.

Claire ducked back inside, trembling anew.

Her heart was beating hard and fast. She might never forget what had happened last night, but she wasn’t afraid of Malcolm. She was afraid for him.

As Claire crossed the room to leave, she glimpsed her reflection in the small mirror standing on the room’s single bureau. Clad in her city clothes, she faltered. Her face was very pale, stained with two huge dark circles under her eyes. She looked ill, seriously so. And that was because she had almost died last night.

Claire turned away from the looking glass. She stepped into her cowboy boots and went downstairs. The hall was empty and outside, the Highland morning was wet and damp from last night’s rain. The scent of summer rain, fresh flowers and wet grass was heady and intense but not enough to shake the ill feeling deep inside her.