Dark Seduction. Brenda Joyce

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      WHEN HE FELT SATISFIED that she could control the charger somewhat, Malcolm left Claire with two of Royce’s men and rode to the side of the column so he could be alone. The forest was thick and dark around them, but he could smell the sea as they approached Loch Linnhe. There was no scent in the world like that of the woods mingling with Highland sea, he thought, except, of course, for the scent of her.

      But now he could not touch her. He must not touch her. With her, he had no control.

      Royce rode over to him. “What’s botherin’ ye, Calum?” he asked softly, speaking in Gaelic.

      Malcolm hesitated, aware of his cheeks heating. Fortunately, Masters respected one another and did not lurk upon each other. He spoke in their native tongue, grim. “Sibylla has the power to leap time, Ruari. Moray has given it to her when she was but a lowly Deamhan all these years.”

      Royce’s eyes widened; he was clearly dismayed.

      As he should be, Malcolm thought. The powerful, demonic earl of Moray was the overlord of evil in Alba. It was said that, long ago, in the beginning, Moray had been a Master, until evil had corrupted him, stealing his soul. There was no doubt his line came from the Ancients, for his power was so great that no Master had been able to vanquish him, not in a thousand years. His quest was power and control, his means, destruction, anarchy and death. He had a great title, great lands, huge armies of both Deamhanain and humans. Those he sent easily into death’s jaws. And he was so charming, so handsome, so clever that he was favored by the royals—especially the current queen, Joan.

      Many of the Deamhanain were simply humans possessed—like the knights that had just attacked them, giants among men, their powers enhanced by the demonic possession. Sybilla was human, but Moray had made her his lover, taken her soul, given her his children. And now, he had given her one of the most coveted powers of all, the power to leap the ages.

      Royce glanced at him. “I dinna think ye be broodin’ about a Deamhan, even if she be Sibylla, whose time has come.”

      “Aye, she must die. If she can leap like a Master, she has too much power now.” The most powerful Deamhanain were always to be hunted and vanquished. It was too dangerous to allow them their lives. “But she may ha’ the page. I followed her to the city of New York,” he said grimly. “I followed her to Lady Claire’s bookshop. She was there first. The shop was ransacked. Lady Claire doesna ken what be stolen, and what nay.”

      “If there be a page from the Cladich, it must be returned to the Brotherhood,” Royce said firmly. “Moray has enough powers, an’ he canna have the power to heal his own spawn.”

      Malcolm could not imagine a world where the Deamhanain could heal each other. The first Deamhanain, those who’d been seduced by the devil and stolen from the Brotherhood, were hard enough to vanquish without such powers.

      “If Sibylla left Lady Claire alive, she has a use fer her,” Royce added. “If Sibylla doesna have the page, she may think yer lady has it.”

      Unfortunately, Malcolm had just had that exact thought. His heart lurched with dread. The wife of John Frasier, a treacherous and powerful Lowland earl, Sibylla was even more dangerous than her husband, for he was simply an ambitious nobleman, while she was possessed and allied with Moray. She was almost as evil and cold-blooded as her overlord. Her reputation was vast. She loved to slowly torture her victims, both male and female, and then take pleasure in their deaths. He almost hoped that Sibylla had the page. Otherwise, Sibylla might believe that Claire knew where the page was, and she would hunt Claire. He was sickened, as he knew what Sibylla would do to Claire if she ever caught her.

      “I think ye need make certain Sibylla kens Lady Claire be ignorant o’ our affairs.”

      “She be ignorant.” But she was not as ignorant as she had been, Malcolm thought grimly. He had brought Claire back to protect her from Sibylla and Aidan. Now he wasn’t certain he had done what was in her best interests.

      “’Tis nay safe to send her back, alone,” Royce said suddenly. “Not yet.”

      Malcolm looked at him. “Do ye lurk?”

      “I dinna have to lurk in yer head to ken yer fears fer her.”

      He hesitated, wondering what Royce had left unsaid. He hoped his lust was not obvious. “Aidan was also there.” His blood boiled at that thought.

      Royce’s tawny brows lifted. “So he hunts the page, as well.”

      “He hunts whatever pleases him,” Malcolm exclaimed, filled with fury. “He follows no command! The bastard was in her bed. I sensed him there.”

      “Aidan is a rogue,” Royce said calmly, “but he is nay evil. Surely the Brotherhood sent him to the future, as they did ye. And Lady Claire is beautiful. If he had her first, ye may hate him, but ye canna change the past. ’Tis nay allowed,” he warned.

      The Code was not simple. There were many rules, some subject to debate, as well as interpretation, but never going back in time to change the past was one of the most important ones. No Master was allowed to change history. But if Aidan had even touched her, he’d be tempted to go back in time and do the forbidden. “He didna bed her. I’d have sensed him in her. But if he touched her—aye, a single touch—I will kill him.”

      Royce stared. “Ye be very possessive, lad.”

      Malcolm looked straight ahead between the stallion’s pricked ears. “Dinna start.”

      “Ye dinna ken the lass.”

      “Aye, I dinna. Soon, when ’tis safe, when I ken that Sibylla doesna hunt her, then she will go back.” And that way she would be safe from him, he thought grimly. He tried to imagine her at Dunroch, while not in his bed. It was impossible.

      He could send her to Carrick with his uncle. Instantly, he dismissed the thought. His uncle was the least romantic man he knew, but like all the Masters, he could entrance a woman to his will and he always had a beautiful woman in his bed. He’d seen the way Royce had looked at her—the way he’d almost preened upon being introduced.

      And by the gods, he became aware of a burning jealousy, because Claire had given his uncle a good lookover, in return. No, she was going to Dunroch, and he’d deal with his dilemma with an iron will when the time came.

      As for Aidan, he had better keep his distance, too. Aidan was a rogue warrior, doing as he pleased, when he pleased. The world knew he was a hedonist. He’d had legions of lovers already. Beauty was his weakness. Did Aidan burn with lust for her, too? Malcolm did not trust him. Did he think to pleasure her and take her life while he did so? Malcolm felt certain Aidan had committed pleasure crimes because Aidan had but half a soul—and that half was black.

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