Page 123 of Dark Seduction

She bet he did. She just hoped not to ever encounter that particular guise again. Claire turned her thoughts away from the master of all that was dark, ugly, demonic and evil. Malcolm was a great hero. He had finally avenged Mairead and Brogan and she was thrilled for him. But it had been written.

The goddess had said so. When she had told Malcolm about the brunette goddess, who Claire assumed had been Faola, he hadn’t seemed surprised. But then, the gods worked in mysterious ways. Claire smiled.

It had been fated that they’d deliver the bastard together. Well, that’s what they’d done, and she had a bit of a telepathic warrior power herself. Her smile faded.

She was Ironheart’s daughter.

Her heart raced. Had he intended to ever tell her? What should she do? She had to speak with him at length before she went home. Did he care about her? And how had she been born? Masters apparently were adept at birth control. What about her mother? Had he loved her at all?

When she went home.

Claire opened her eyes and saw the roaring fire. Through one window, the moon was high and full and bright in the Highland universe, alight with so many stars. She looked at the pleasant, if sparsely furnished, stone chamber, and then at the four-poster bed. Her body tensed, swelling with anticipation. Very soon, Malcolm was going to take her to bed. She could not wait to be in his arms, using her body to tell him just how much she loved him. And afterward they could cuddle, argue, chat.

She didn’t want to leave.

Claire sat up, stunned. The chamber was absolutely silent except for the soft sound of her breathing, the flames licking wood, and from outside, an owl’s deep hooting. She didn’t miss anything about the twenty-first century or New York City. She didn’t miss Ben & Jerry’s, Favio’s thin-crust pizza, electric lights and running water, smog and rush hour, shopping in Soho or Colin Farrell movies. She didn’t even miss her books.

But she missed Amy and the kids.

She loved them with all of her heart, even John, and she sure as hell missed them.

But she really, truly loved Malcolm of Dunroch, a medieval warrior who belonged to the Brotherhood. A Master of Time.

Claire became afraid. There were a million reasons why she shouldn’t stay with him. She loved him, but so what? He didn’t love her back, although he clearly cared. They’d exchanged vows of fidelity, but how long would those vows last? Supersexed as he was, how long before someone younger, prettier and new caught his eye? As arrogant and autocratic as he was, he could be surprisingly open-minded, but he was still a product of his times. If she stayed, she was going to be so badly brokenhearted, she’d want to die.

Of course, if they married, it would be different. Claire knew he’d be faithful until he died. Malcolm was a man of his word.

She wished she hadn’t stupidly thought about marriage and Malcolm in the same breath. It was impossible. Secretly, like a pitiful, unliberated female, she’d love to swear to love him until death, but he had said he would never wed. And she knew why. A wife would be his downfall. He cared about her and they had just gone through hell, because his relationship with her made him vulnerable to his enemies.

So marriage was out. Staying behind in the past was out. She would never forget Royce’s words on the way to Awe. If ye truly love him, when it’s time, ye’ll go.

She loved him as much as was humanly possible.

And could she ever sleep at night, worrying about Amy and the kids? They needed her. She understood the world of good versus evil. They deserved long, healthy lives, demon free. She had a major familial duty to them.

She was going to have to leave, soon…really soon. There was no reason to linger. Moray was gone and the page from the Cladich had been found. As for the Cladich itself, well, it had been missing for hundreds of years. It might never be found.

The door opened and Malcolm stepped inside, smiling. “We have guests,” he said, and as their eyes met, his smile vanished.

There was only one reason to linger, she thought, her heart beginning to break apart. Claire knew her thoughts were written all over her face, her grief reflected in her eyes. She managed a bright, fake smile.

His expression became utterly impassive. She hated it when he hid his thoughts. “It’s the black of night,” she remarked. “Who would arrive at this hour?”

“’Tis a half day by sea from Lachlan.”

Claire sat up, stunned. “Ironheart is here?”

“He said he’ll see ye when yer ready.” His tone had become as wooden as his face. Malcolm picked up a thick wool plaid and stepped over to the tub.

Claire stood and he settled the towel around her from behind, his strong arms going around her, as well. She turned in the circle of his arms so they stood face-to-face. He released her. His gaze was searching and grim.

“Yer leaving me,” he said.

She inhaled. “How can I stay?”

He stiffened. She could not read his feelings, and she strained to lurk in his mind. It was blank. “Don’t block me,” she said softly.

“I’ll be in the hall with yer father.” He turned and walked out.