Page 39 of Dark Seduction

“My decision stands,” Malcolm said calmly.

“I hate you!” Glenna cried.

“If ye calm, ye be more than welcome to dine with us. But I willna have these tears at me table.” A dangerous note had entered his tone.

Claire was in disbelief. What had Malcolm done? It almost sounded as if he had broken up with Glenna—and she was certain she knew why. Instantly outraged, she stepped closer to the doorway but did not go inside. Now she could see Glenna weeping pathetically, almost theatrically, Malcolm apparently unmoved, although he looked very annoyed.

“Good gods!” Malcolm finally snapped. “You act like a wife who is being sent to a French convent! The marriage is arranged, Glenna. Cease yer tears. ’Tis time fer ye to go home an’ marry Rob Macleod.”

Glenna shook her head, crying too hard to speak. Then she lifted her skirts and ran out of the hall.

This was unbelievable! Was this how he would treat her if they’d had an affair? He would cast her aside like a medieval tyrant? Use her and toss her out, handing her over to another man? Poor Glenna! What a macho jerk!

Malcolm started to smile at her, then he became wary. “Why do ye look at me with such accusation?”

“You are marrying her off to someone else?” Claire choked.

He stiffened. “Aye, an’ it be a fine union fer Glenna.”

Claire strode forward. “But she is your betrothed. Just like that, you give her the boot and send her to another man?”

His eyes widened with surprise and then became hard and dark.

Claire tensed. Why was she attacking him? This was the medieval way of things and it was not her affair. She didn’t even like Glenna.

“Not that I must explain to ye, but I spent three months negotiating the match fer Glenna. I gave much consideration to the woman’s future,” he said tightly. “And she canna do better.”

“She said she was marrying you,” Claire told him. But if Malcolm had been negotiating a union for Glenna for three entire months, Glenna had lied to her.

“I never intended t’ marry Glenna.” He was angry with her now. “I dinna like bein’ judged, Claire.”

She had just made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry.”

“Ye should be. She thought a few nights in her bed would change me mind. I will never marry. I told her so. ’Twill never change, not fer anyone.” His face was cold.

Claire felt dread. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

He turned away, gesturing at her to come to the table, which was set with steaming platters of food.

Claire didn’t move. Malcolm had no intention of marrying? What could that be about? All noblemen married.

Malcolm slowly faced her. “Dinna think to change my mind, either, lass.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Even ye willna entice me to the altar,” he said. “No matter how much I enjoy yer bed.”

She gasped. “You are so arrogant!” Jerk, she almost cried.

His gaze narrowed and he returned to stand directly in front of her. “Ye dinna wish t’ marry me?” he asked very softly.

Claire knew she should lie and placate him. In the fifteenth-century Highlands, he was a catch. His eyes glittered. “No, I do not. I plan to marry someone from my time, someone brilliant and successful—someone with an open, intellectual mind!”

He stared, and a long moment ensued in which Claire knew he was considering her response. “Do ye call me weak an’ foolish, Claire?”

Claire inhaled at his tone. Why had she lost her temper? “No, of course not,” she cried, determined to undo whatever damage she had done to his pride. “You’re strong and smart and rich, anyone can see that.”

“Ye lie,” he said.