Page 97 of Dark Seduction

Claire pushed through the layers of fog. She was dazed, groggy. She saw a man’s powerful forearm across her waist and felt his broad chest against her back, and realized Malcolm lay on his side behind her, and she was spooned against him. He felt incredibly right—strong, warm, safe. The room continued to slowly spin. She wasn’t in the city or the present. She began to recall the terrible battle outside of Awe and Sibylla’s vicious attack. Sibylla had thrust her sword into Claire’s shoulder and she had enjoyed doing it. She had enjoyed taking some of Claire’s life force even more.

Claire realized she was on some kind of medieval drug and it was hellishly strong. The bed seemed to be on a merry-go-round and it was hard to think clearly. She should be out of her mind with pain. But maybe there was another reason she wasn’t in agony.

Afraid, Claire tensed and looked at her left arm, but it was attached to her shoulder. She sank against Malcolm in sheer relief. How long had she been unconscious? Days? Weeks? Thank God someone had saved her arm!

She somehow shifted, so she was on her back and could look up at him. She had assumed him to be asleep, but he was wide-awake and watching her closely. When she met his gaze, he smiled.

It was a beautiful, unreserved, heartbreaking, heartwarming smile. “Good afternoon, lass,” he said softly.

Claire shifted to face him, pain stabbing through her, but not badly. Malcolm seemed to bob, too, but not in tandem with the walls and window. She laid her left hand on his hard chest and shivered with pleasure. “These are wild drugs,” she whispered. “Why are you in my bed?” She smiled up at him.

His hand clasped her waist. “I was tired. I thought to sleep.”

Claire looked up into his stunningly gentle and uncomplicated gray eyes. Affection shimmered there. “You have your own bed,” she murmured. Was she seeing what she wanted to see, as she was so heavily under the influence of whatever potion she had been given?

He hesitated. “Do ye remember what happened, lass?”

Claire nodded. “How did they save my arm?”

Malcolm met her searching gaze. “Aidan worked to heal ye. But ye have yer own powers, Claire. There’s no more denyin’ it.”

She knew that was absurd. “The stone has power,” she whispered, reaching for it with her left hand. She froze—it was gone. Sibylla had taken it.

“I’ll get it back fer you,” Malcolm said, sliding his other hand into her hair, the gesture entirely comforting.

But Claire wasn’t comforted. In that instant, in spite of the weaving room, Claire knew that stone had belonged to her father. She recalled the way Ironheart had inspected it. But it would be an impossible coincidence if her father had been his brother. “It was my father’s. I am certain of it now.” Panic began. She would be lost without the stone! It was her only connection to her parents.

“Dinna worry about the stone.”

But Claire was ill over the theft. “Why would she take it?”

“The stone may be givin’ ye yer powers. Ye said ye wore it since yer mother died. That’s a long time to wear magic, lass. I think that is why Sibylla took it from ye.”

Claire thought that made a lot more sense than having powers of her own, which she knew she did not. But she was recalling something else, something she really didn’t want to think too closely about. “Malcolm, I think Sibylla said she was not allowed to kill me.”

He looked away from her now. “Ye be confused. Father Paul has given ye strong herbs an’ flowers.”

Maybe he was right, especially as the bed continued to slowly move around and round like a carousel. She used her left hand to touch his chest, beneath the veed neckline of the leine. His skin was warm, the hair there crisp. His eyes flickered and she knew he wanted her to continue touching him. Claire felt a stirring between her legs, a dryness in her mouth, and was surprised that she felt desire now. “You feel so good,” Claire whispered. “Whatever he gave me, I like it. How long have I been unconscious?”

“Two days.” His tone had changed.

Claire would have never believed it possible to feel this way after two short days. But she didn’t care to analyze that, because Malcolm was having a very definite reaction to their proximity and her caress, and so was she. She met his gaze, watched it smolder, watched it go to her lips. She slid her hand up to his neck, shifting so she could arch sensually toward him. A very firm erection leaped against her hip.

“I’ll go,” he said, but he did not move, watching her closely.

“I miss you,” she breathed in return. Damn, she might as well have been drunk. “I miss you so much.”

Malcolm’s breathing had deepened. He hesitated. “Ye scared me, lass.”

“Why?” Claire asked, drifting her hand lower to his ribs, over the linen. He was such a beautiful man. “How could I possibly scare you?” She couldn’t help it. The moment almost felt like a dream. She leaned toward him and pressed her mouth against his chest, in the gaping vee of the leine, near the heavy cross he wore.

He closed his eyes, not making a sound.

“This is so perfect.” She vaguely recalled the terrible events of the night he had been locked in the tower, but it felt like a lifetime ago and she knew it could not affect them now. She moved her mouth to his neck. She opened her mouth there, long and slow.

His body tensed. “Ye scared me ’cause ye almost died,” he whispered roughly.

She stared into his eyes. He stared back and she smiled, because she was very much alive and there was moisture gathering to prove it. She stroked lower, to his navel, and met a thrusting head through the leine. She slowly looked up.