Page 122 of Dark Seduction

Moray grunted, meeting another vicious thrust of Malcolm’s blade. He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide.

Claire tried to stab him telepathically again.

He dealt Malcolm a terrible blow, one that cut into his shoulder, spewing blood. Before Claire could gasp, Moray glanced at her and snarled, “You’ll pay.”

“A Mhairead,” Malcolm said, and with his shortsword in his left hand, he cut across Moray’s chest.

Blood gushed.

Enraged, Moray cried out and Malcolm staggered backward from an energy blow. Then he quickly straightened, viciously parrying Moray’s pointed thrust.

Claire felt someone behind her. She looked up in alarm…and went still.

Only a ghostlike outline of a transparent figure was there, hovering a few feet from her, but this time, the figure was distinctly female.

And the woman materialized, becoming a dark beauty in white, flowing, almost Grecian robes. She spoke in Gaelic. Claire understood her every word.

“The son shall avenge the father, the daughter, the mother, for the two are blessed. It has been written.”

The light shifted.

The goddess vanished.

The circle of stones blazed with blinding light.

Malcolm and Moray were braced liked horned stags, both of them bleeding heavily. As one, both men looked at the sky, startled.

The sun was gone and the sky remained dull and gray, except in the circle, which was filled with golden, shimmering light.

Moray’s expression changed to surprise and then fear.

“A Chlaire,” Malcolm said, and with his left hand he seized his shortsword and thrust across Moray’s neck.

Claire cried out.

Moray’s head fell, severed, to the ground.

For one more moment, the halo of light intensifying, the headless body remained engaged against Malcolm, long-swords braced. Malcolm plunged the shortsword daggerlike into Moray’s heart. He twisted it viciously there.

Claire covered her mouth with her hands. Malcolm pulled the blade from Moray’s chest and the bloody body collapsed. Stunned, Claire glanced at Moray’s head.

Moray smiled tightly at her the moment before his head vanished.

His body disappeared an instant later. Her mother’s necklace lay in the damp, bloody grass.

Malcolm sheathed both swords and strode to her. She seized his arms. “What was that? What happened?” Even as she spoke, the light dulled rapidly, until only the inclement day remained.

His face hard, he put his arm around her. “I think ye have caught the ear o’ the Ancients, Claire.” He slowly looked around, as if expecting Moray to appear from thin air. Then he bent to retrieve the necklace.

“Malcolm, is he dead?”

“If he’s nay dead, he’ll never die.” He sighed and pulled her close. “Let’s go home, lass.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

CLAIRE LAY in a very hot bath, the water up to her chin and ears, eyes closed. They had just returned to Dunroch and she was in Malcolm’s chamber. There had been no question of where she would go and where she would sleep, not now. Moray was probably dead—vanquished at Malcolm’s hands, with her help and some very holy help, too. In spite of the heat, Claire shivered.

I have many guises.