Page 24 of Dark Seduction

Claire flushed. Her body no longer obeyed her will, but she did have a will. “When I sleep with a man, it is because he has my heart,” she said slowly, and she felt her color increase.

His eyes widened. “Surely, ye be in jest.”

Claire was mute. She wished she hadn’t revealed herself that way.

He choked, but she realized he wanted to laugh. His face straight, he said, “An’ ye have loved men, lass, aye?”

She became affronted and sought refuge there. “If you want to know how many men I have made love to, I am not telling you!”

“I begin t’ ken, aye, I do.” He smiled endearingly. “It be fine, lass, really. ’Tis a shame, though, to have only had a dozen or so men in yer life.”

“There were two!” she cried.

He smiled at her.

Claire could not believe this medieval hunk had the wit to trap her into the truth. She stared, outraged and even insulted. At least he would never know the details of her love life. Her college lover had been gorgeous and smart, even if he had cheated on her. Her second lover, James, had been great to brainstorm with and debate, but rather lacking in the performance department. This man, of course, did not even know the definition of the word faithful, but he wouldn’t have any performance problems, either. And she would never, ever reveal that it had been three years since she’d last had sex.

He was smiling as he turned away to refill his mug. Claire didn’t like his knowing smile, either, except that it made him shockingly handsome. Maybe the real battle wasn’t with him, but herself.

And Claire thought about the terrible battle in the forest. “We need to talk, but not about sharing a bed.”

He set the mug down, facing her. His expression was stunningly serious. “Aye. Ye defended me fer a terrible crime an’ ye defended me in the wood. We be strangers, Claire, not kin. Why?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know why.”

Silence fell. His gaze slipped to her throat and she realized he was staring at the pendant she wore. “My father had a stone like that, lass. He wore it till the day he died.”

Claire was immediately interested. Of course his father was dead, otherwise Malcolm would not be laird. She wanted all the information she could get now. She wanted to know everything about the man standing before her. She told herself it would help her survive this ordeal. “How did he die?”

“He died at the Red Harlaw, lass, a huge and bloody battle.”

Claire went still. “Your father was Brogan Mor.”

His gaze narrowed. “I didna tell ye his name.”

Her heart was thundering in her chest. What kind of coincidence was this? “Do you want to hear something ironic?” She wet her lips, not waiting for his response. She didn’t have to, for his regard was intensely riveted to her now. “I was on my way to Scotland when you came to my store. I was leaving the following night. And while I was arriving in Edinburgh, my plan was to drive directly to Mull and stay at Malcolm’s Point, so I could visit Dunroch.”

His temples throbbed. He did not say a word, but from his expression, he did not seem terribly surprised.

“Your father is in the history books. I read he died in 1411 at the Red Harlaw, but of course, I had no idea I’d be meeting his son shortly thereafter.” She sat back down, shaken. Maybe, given the dates, she should have realized that Malcolm was Brogan Mor’s son. “There’s nothing on your line, Malcolm, after the death of your father.”

He came forward. “He was a great man, lass, a great warrior, a great laird. Did yer books say so?”

“I’m sorry. They only mentioned the date of his death and that he led the Macleans in the battle.”

“Not all of them,” Malcolm said. “The Maclean of north Mull, Tiree and Morvern sits at Duart.”

“Black Royce is not laird of his clan?”

“Nay. His lands were granted by a royal charter long ago. He be earl of Morvern, but vassal to me. He be a southern Maclean, lass.”

Claire couldn’t imagine Royce being subservient to Malcolm. He hadn’t acted so, she thought. “Who became laird of your clan when Brogan died, Malcolm? You were obviously too young to do so.”

“I was nine years old when Brogan died an’ I became laird. Royce helped me, spending much of his time at Dunroch, until I turned fifteen. That day I needed no one beside me to rule.”

Before Claire could assimilate that he had become a clan chief at nine years old, and the actual leader at fifteen, his gaze moved back to the stone she wore. “Tell me about the stone.”

He kept going back to the pendant. “It was my mother’s. Why?”