Page 37 of Dark Seduction

He gave her an amused look. “I didna say ye’d come to the island with me, lass.”

“I’m coming, come hell or high water,” she snapped. “We agreed yesterday!”

He drained a mug and sighed. “I already spoke too boldly about affairs that are privy.”

“You know you can trust me.” It occurred to Claire that he trusted her because he could read her mind. “That is why you trust me, isn’t it? You snoop about in my thoughts!”

He flushed. “Ye interest me.”

She was thrilled, but now was not the time. “Malcolm, this is so important to me!”

“Yer not allowed on the island,” he snapped.

Claire stiffened. “I don’t believe it. A monastery always opens its doors to travelers.”

He folded his arms across his chest and his biceps bulged. He seemed very annoyed, but there was no way he was winning this one. “If you return from Iona and I am dead—murdered by Sibylla in an unspeakable way—you will never be able to forgive yourself. First the maid, at your hands, and then me, your Innocent, at Sibylla’s.”

His eyes widened.

In that moment, Claire knew she had just won this particular war, and she regretted it. She hadn’t meant to be cruel or ruthless. She hadn’t meant to use his guilt against him and inflict even more pain.

He inclined his head, his mouth twisted in a way she now recognized, a sign of his inner torment. “We leave at sunrise,” he said without inflection.

She bit her lip, wanting to say she was sorry. But a woman’s glad cry rang out. Claire did not like this turn of events.

With dread, she turned.

The woman rushed to Malcolm, beaming. “You are back! And safely, thank God!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE WOMAN WAS DARK BLOND, of medium height and pretty enough. Worse, her figure was lush and outstanding. She spoke French as if she had been raised in France, but she was dressed in the English style, her gown and robes a dark red. She wore gold earrings, a gold necklace and rings with stones Claire thought semiprecious. In short, she was a noblewoman of some means, and clearly she was involved with Malcolm.

Malcolm’s dark expression did not soften. “Glenna, ye need welcome Lady Camden to Dunroch. Claire, this be me cousin, Lady Glenna NicPharlain o’ Castle Cean.”

Claire was rigid. He wasn’t married, but he had a mistress. She had not a single doubt. Her smile felt brittle. She hated this woman.

“Speak in English fer our guest.” Malcolm told his lover, who was staring at Claire with surprise. Then he glanced at Claire. “Glenna will show ye t’ yer chamber. I hope it pleases ye.”

She had no clue if he remained angry with her for her tactics. She somehow managed a brief, strained smile. “Thank you.”

“Please come with me, Lady Camden.”

Claire looked at her as Malcolm turned away. She almost wished she hadn’t even come to Dunroch, but that was childish.

“Malcolm wishes you to go up.” Glenna gestured toward the corridor beyond the hall.

Claire turned her attention on the blond woman as they went upstairs. She hated being petty and mean, but she didn’t really get what Malcolm saw in Glenna. The woman was no spring chicken by medieval standards. She was probably Claire’s age, but with her fair skin, and without the modern benefits of moisturizer, peels and dermabrasions, she had crow’s-feet at her eyes and soft wrinkles in her brow. While pretty in the girl-next-door way, she looked faded and tired. Claire saw Malcolm with a raging beauty—someone like Catherine Zeta-Jones or Angelina Jolie. But of course, that ruled her out, too.

“So,” Claire said when they were on the uppermost floor, “how long have you known Malcolm?”

Glenna looked at her as she pushed open a door. “Most of my life.”

Great, Claire thought. Glenna and Malcolm had known one another forever; she’d known him for three days. They were probably best friends, as well as lovers; he probably loved her deeply; it was frigging classic. But it was better she found out now, sooner rather than later.

“And you are from the Lowlands?” Glenna asked. She sounded curious, and not all that bright.

“I have been abroad for most of my life,” Claire said firmly, ducking the question.