LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      “Aidan invited ye to Awe once,” Royce finally said, as if sensing his thoughts.

      Malcolm jerked. “Aye—three years ago.” Aidan had sent an invitation by messenger shortly after Malcolm’s induction into the Brotherhood. He had ripped the missive to shreds.

      Royce ignored that. “Ye should go to Awe and speak with him. Make a truce, Calum.”

      Malcolm stared, and said softly, “If I go t’ Awe, I go fer one cause an’ one cause alone. I go t’ kill the bastard.”

      Royce’s expression became hard. “Ye better cease such talk. A Master canna kill another Master an’ ye ken.”

      Malcolm smiled coldly. “Really? That be one rule I dinna care for.”

      “I want to see peace between ye an’ Aidan afore I die,” Royce said sharply.

      Malcolm stiffened. “What kind o’ talk is that?” In truth, he didn’t even know how old his uncle was.

      “We’re nay immortal.” Royce said, his smile suddenly tired. “I been huntin’ evil fer hundreds of years, Calum. My time will come.”

      Malcolm was aghast. “Do ye have a death wish? Yer a great Master. The Brotherhood needs ye, Ruari. The Innocent need ye.” I need you, he added silently, but his uncle had to know that. Brogan had died when Malcolm was nine years old, and Royce had been more of a father than an uncle ever since, as well as a loyal friend.

      Royce smiled then. “Ye be so young, Malcolm. I envy ye yer innocence—an’ I pray ye’ll never be without hope.”

      Malcolm became concerned. “Ye never speak this way. Is there something yer not telling me? Is something amiss?”

      “After two hundred years, we have word of a page from the Cladich bein’ near. The Deamhanain want it, and we must once again guard such a power for ourselves and Alba. I remember the first time the book was stolen, and the hunt to find it an’ bring it back to the shrine. I remember when the Cladich was stolen the second time—an’ we ha’ not seen it since. I remember when Moray stole the Duaisean. The cycle of life never changes, like the sun rising an’ setting, day after day an’ year after year. It is a cycle of good an’ evil, an’ it will never end. Nothing changes—it is all the same. If a Master finally vanquishes Moray, there’ll be another, greater Deamhan t’ take his place.”

      Malcolm was very alarmed. “One day, Moray will be vanquished. No one will take his place.”

      “Ye stay far from Moray! I have tried to kill him a hundred times. Ye tried once, too, an’ look at what it got ye.”

      Malcolm tensed. It had gotten him to Urquhart, where he had come close to losing his soul.

      And then Royce smiled, revealing two dimples. It was the smile Malcolm had seen women fight amongst themselves to receive. “Dinna listen to the ramblings of an old Master like me. Ye protect the woman. She’s yer Innocent now. Ye’ll stay safely at Carrick t’night. T’morrow I’ll be holding Moray’s men back if they attack another time when ye go t’ Dunroch. The MacNeil will want a report,” he added.

      “And he’ll have one,” Malcolm responded, relieved that Royce’s odd, bleak humor was gone. “I go to Iona immediately. ”

      Royce became grim. “Calum, Sibylla obeys Moray. If she let Lady Claire live, there be one more possibility. Ye will not care fer it.”

      Malcolm tensed.

      “Mayhap the dark lord wishes Lady Claire to live.” Malcolm whirled his mount. “Dinna begin t’ think that Moray has any idea the lass exists!”

      “If Sibylla has the page, why else would she let her live?”

      EVEN IN A CAVALCADE of armed men, Claire was afraid. She did not like the black forest they were riding through. She didn’t need an imagination to know that all kinds of danger lurked in its impenetrable depths. And she wasn’t thinking about wolves and mountain lions. What if there was an ambush? What if the men who had escaped returned to finish them off? They had meant to kill Malcolm—and they had meant to kill her. And to think she had been afraid of crime in the city!

      She

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