Page 62 of Dark Seduction

Malcolm paled.

And Claire knew she had said something terribly wrong, because the three other men at the table stilled. Abruptly everyone turned their attention to their plates except for Malcolm. She looked at him and saw that he was stricken.

“Malcolm,” she said carefully. “I’m sorry. Whatever I just said, it was a mistake.” But she didn’t have a clue as to what she had done to upset him so.

Malcolm shoved his empty trencher aside. For one moment he stared at it, clearly grappling with his emotions, and then he stood. He walked out into the night.

Claire looked at the men. “What just happened?”

Royce said softly, “His mother be a sore spot, lass.”

Claire remained utterly clueless. Then she leaped up and ran after him.

Outside, the night had settled, a Highland darkness filled with a billion bright stars. She saw Malcolm walking up the stairs to the ramparts. He wanted to be alone, she was certain. Claire went after him anyway.

“Nay now, lass,” he said, not turning, his gaze directed across the ocean, an expanse of shimmering ebony.

Claire paused behind him. “Can you tell me what I said to distress you so?”

“Ye be right. Vengeance be proper. Yer a warrior in yer heart, and ye burn to avenge yer mother.”

Claire wet her lips. “Glenna told me your mother is English, but that’s all. Is this about your mother—or about your father?”

A silence fell. “Aye. ’Tis about them both.”

And Claire knew something terrible had happened. She took his hand and held it.

He shrugged free. “Moray raped my mother,” he said suddenly, quietly. “When she was a bride.”

Claire made sure not to gasp, but she was horrified. And then she became afraid. “Moray isn’t your biological father, is he?”

His jaw tensed. “I was born three years later, Claire. Nay. I be the son o’ Brogan Mor.”

Claire bit her lip, beyond relief. “Was it a pleasure crime?”

He shook his head. “It be rape. Brutal, sadistic, hurtful rape. It be torture, Claire. Moray raped Lady Mairead when my father went to battle, many times. He could have murdered her, but he wanted to spare her, to worsen the torment. My mother tried to hang herself, but her maid found her in time.” He added, nostrils flared, “She’s cloistered now.”

Claire felt tears well. “I am sorry! That’s a terrible story!”

He faced her, eyes blazing. “I didna ken the truth until I’d made my vows.” His laughter was harsh, angry. “The night afterward, my uncle told me exactly why Moray be my mortal enemy. An’ he begged me to leave the man who raped my mother alone,” he said sarcastically.

Claire began to realize what had happened. “Oh, God. That’s when you went after Moray. And he toyed with you, didn’t he? That’s when you fought, when you almost died, when he entrapped you with the woman.”

He faced her, his expression harsh, ruthless. “My father spent his life seeking revenge an’he failed. I sought revenge. I failed. I dinna want t’ see ye raped, Claire, or worse! I dinna want t’ see ye die.”

Claire wiped an errant tear, heartbroken for him, his mother and father, but dread was blooming. Moray hadn’t killed Mairead—he wanted her to spend a lifetime suffering. And he’d used her as bait in the trap he’d set for Malcolm.

He said roughly, “Do ye ken? I must protect ye. I canna fail ye.”

Claire swallowed hard. “Yes. I get it.” Was Moray done with the Macleans—or not? Was he done with Malcolm?

His gaze held hers. “Yer world may be different. I dinna ken. But in my world, I protect women. In my world, I protect ye. Or I die in the tryin’.” He softened. “Will ye nay allow me t’ protect ye, lass?”

Claire nodded, overwhelmed. But she could not change her mind about what she had to do. She wasn’t Mairead, or anything like her. No matter how strong Malcolm was, she couldn’t rely on him as if she were a fifteenth-century woman. She didn’t even have a choice, not anymore. Maybe Malcolm was right about one thing. Maybe in her heart, she was a warrior, because she had to have vengeance.

But she wasn’t going to argue. He would never change his mind, that was now clear. He was filled with guilt, and his failure to avenge his mother was something he’d live with forever. Except the man standing in the dark before her was burning with determination. “You were young and rash,” she said through stiff lips. “But it’s different now, isn’t it?”

His eyes flickered; he looked away.