Page 35 of Dark Seduction

She did not know when she would be going home, although she was determined that she would. Until that time came, she was going to take advantage of this amazing twist of fate. She was going to focus all of her interest on the secret society, the sacred books and the political wars engendered by them, and on avoiding Sibylla, too. And she was going to forget last night had ever happened. Malcolm seemed indifferent. She would be indifferent, too. It was better to be detached from him in every possible way. Her focus on Malcolm would be as a historical artifact of sorts, because he was a fifteenth-century laird and Master.

Malcolm was staring at her. She hoped he did not sense her thoughts. She smiled. “It’s a gorgeous morning.” As she spoke, an eagle soared overhead.

“Aye,” he said flatly, his tone noncommittal, his gaze sharp. “Aye.”

DUNROCH WAS AS GRAY as the towering cliffs it sat upon. Below were rock-strewn beaches and the vast enormity of the steel-gray Atlantic Ocean. Beyond, shrouded in mist, was the dark peak of Ben More. Claire inhaled as she rode her horse toward the Barbican.

Claire had only spent an hour at Dunroch two years ago, and she had not come by horse and then by galley, rowed through the sound and the ocean by six Highland men. She had arrived in a rental car, racing across unkempt roads heading south and west along the shore so she would make it to Dunroch before it closed. It had been a gray afternoon then, too—the island was often buffeted by the inclement ocean climate—but there had been cars parked just outside the castle’s curtain walls. There hadn’t been a barbican, just a few clumps of stone to indicate it had once been present.

Now the moat that surrounded three sides of the castle was full. The west side sat on sheer cliffs that dropped to the ocean. She and Malcolm remained astride their mounts, waiting as the drawbridge was slowly lowered over the moat by what Claire suspected was a pulley system.

She shivered, her mouth dry. It was so different; it was strikingly the same.

“Lass, the public rooms close in an hour. Ye can come back on Thursday an’ ye won’t throw yer money away,” a toothless, white-haired Scot had told her, trying to be helpful.

Claire had been dizzy and faint, probably from driving at a breakneck speed across the island on the wrong side of theroad. “I won’t be here on Thursday, I’m going home tomorrow.” She had bought her tickets, barely able to concentrate on the man selling them, wishing he didn’t move with such infuriating slowness. She had been trembling with tension, excitement. And as she had hurried over the drawbridge, she had thought, “This is it.”

Claire realized the bridge was down and Malcolm was waiting for her to join him. Dunroch’s gatehouse was far less elaborate than the one at Carrick, and it comprised one wide, circular tower. It only took a moment to pass beneath.

She had forgotten the intense feelings she’d had then, but she was having the same feelings now. She drew her mare to a halt, staring at the face of the castle. And the same words whispered through her mind. This is it.

Claire stiffened, glancing around at the inner bailey and at the outer bailey that was north of it, inside the curtain walls. She knew Malcolm was staring but she couldn’t look at him, because her mind was spinning.

Her entire vacation had been planned around this place, with the hope of meeting Dunroch’s laird. If she could accept that this was fate, then there was one monumental question: Why?

Surely, surely it could not be about Malcolm.

“Ye be entranced, lass,” Malcolm said. “Ye like me home?”

She tore her gaze from the goats and sheep in the lower bailey, wetting her lips. Her heart fluttered. “I was here before—two years ago. Why, Malcolm? Why do you think I am here now, in your time, not mine?”

“I ken ye dinna mean why did I bring ye back.” He spurred his horse forward and Claire followed. Several men had materialized from the hall in the bailey. One tall, gray-haired Scot hurried toward them.

Malcolm dismounted in front of the castle’s main entrance, a paneled and studded wood door set in another gated tower. He handed the horse off to one of the men. “I be askin’ the same questions, lass. The Ancients have strange, inexplicable ways.”

Did that mean he thought it fate, too? “What about Sibylla? Do you think she might make an attempt to find me here?” She had been trying hard not to freak out over the fact that the other woman was running around the Highlands with an apparent agenda against her.

His face darkened. “She’d be a fool to do so. We be ready fer her an’ her kind now.” He offered her another smile, about to reach up to help her dismount.

Before Claire could ask how they were ready for her and what, exactly, “her kind” meant, a shrill cry sounded. Claire turned and saw a small boy fly into Malcolm’s arms. It took her all of one second to realize this was his son, and her insides lurched with sickening force.

Malcolm swung the small, dark-haired boy around. Then they spoke swiftly, in French. “You obeyed Seamus, lad?”

“Yes, Father, I did. I also bagged a buck.” He smiled proudly. “There’ll be a fine supper tonight.”

Malcolm caressed the boy’s hair, smiling in approval.

The gray-haired man stepped forward. “There be a fine rack on the wall, Malcolm. A dozen points.”

Malcolm smiled and clasped his shoulder. “Seamus, Brogan, I’d like ye t’ meet our guest, Lady Camden. She be from the south,” he added. His eyes twinkled when his gaze met Claire’s.

Claire couldn’t smile. Malcolm was married.

She felt faint and incapable of movement. She remained mounted on her horse. Of course he was married. Marriage was an important tool in the ever-shifting balance of power among the great nobles and the king. Likely he had married for political, geographical or monetary gain.

But he hadn’t said a word. Not one damn word.

And she was an idiot, because she should have known.