roughly carved wood chair there, along with a pitcher, a flask and two mugs. He poured liquid from the flask into a mug and handed it to her. Claire smelled the red wine and was immediately diverted. She was, she realized, thirsty and ravenous.
“’Tis a fine claret, from France,” he said softly.
Claire saw the glitter in his gaze, and felt her own pulse escalate. She took a drink, wondering if he hoped to loosen her up, and then another. “It is good. Thank you.”
He smiled, clearly having no intention of leaving the room. “Why do ye care if I bed the wench?”
His tone was casual but Claire almost leaped out of her skin. “I do not!”
“I dinna want the wench, lass,” he murmured.
His meaning was beyond clear. He had the ability to speak in such a suggestive tone that all she could do was think of sex. She had to do something before he put his hands on her.
He turned away, stunning her. She saw him pour another mug, his hand rock steady. When he faced her, he leaned one hip against the table.
“We ha’ matters to discuss,” he said bluntly, clearly aware of her discomfiture.
Claire inhaled. This was safer territory, indeed. But before she could ask a single question, his expression hardened. “I dinna ken the way o’ yer world, Claire, but in my world, no one—not man, not woman, not child, not wild beast or dog, no one—disobeys me.”
She stood at attention now. “I am sorry.”
“Ye nay be sorry. Ye plot yer own causes!” he exclaimed.
She had been caught. “Sometimes I feel you can read my mind!” she said furiously.
“I can sense yer strongest thoughts as if ye speak them aloud,” he shot back, standing. He set the mug down hard, hard enough that the table jumped. “In battle, I will protect ye. But that means ye hide if I say hide and run if I say run and ye dinna think, ever.” His eyes flashed.
Claire knew she should not allow herself to debate him. She fought her temper and lost. “My lord,” she said, meaning to speak demurely and failing. Instead, her tone was undeniably sarcastic. “In my world, women are leaders, warriors, queens without kings!”
“Ye argue now?” He was incredulous.
She flushed. Appease him! she thought frantically. “I am sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t hide. I am an utter coward. And I didn’t intend to disobey you. It just happened.”
His expression eased slightly. “Ye be nay coward, lass. Ye be strong an’ brave.” His gaze slid over the brat as if he could see through it. “I never seen such a body in me entire life.”
He stared at her, his gray eyes fiercely intent.
This was the time to set some boundaries, Claire thought, if she could. Her body raging just as it had in the woods, she took a long, deep breath. “In my world,” she said carefully, “a man does not touch a woman without her permission.”
His expression did not change.
“Do not pretend not to understand!” she cried desperately.
His tone was dangerous. “Oh, I ken, lass. I ken.”
“What does that mean?”
Very softly, he said, “I took what ye offered an’ I gave what ye wanted.”
She gasped, outraged. But she also recalled wanting him desperately and having the best damn orgasm ever. She felt her cheeks burn. “I am not a.. .a.. .lightskirt! I have never…ever.. .jumped into bed with a stranger! Did you hypnotize me?”
“I dinna ken.” His lashes lowered, fanning out on his high, beautiful cheekbones.
She swallowed, her mouth unbearably dry, while an ache raged between her thighs. Why couldn’t she control her attraction? This wasn’t helping matters—it was complicating them! “I don’t throw myself at strange men. You need to keep your distance.”
His gaze slid over her in a very suggestive manner. “I think,” he said softly, “ye dinna throw yerself at any man, except me.”
He was right. She was speechless.
He looked satisfied now.
“Did you hypnotize me in the woods?” she cried hoarsely. “Because the only other explanation for my behavior is that I have lost my mind—or it’s been altered by what has happened!”
“Explain the word hypnotize,” he said.
She tried to speak more calmly. “It means mesmerize, entrance, enchant! When you look at me sometimes, it is very hard to think!”
“’Tis a small gift,” he said smugly. “And a useful one.”
“What, from Merlin the Magician?”
“Ye be so distressed an’ angry, lass, an’ why? Ye wanted it an’ ye were pleased. ’Tis nay important now. Or be ye mad because I ha’ decided not t’ give over to such temptation again?”
It took her a long moment to decipher his words. “ What?“
“I want ye, Claire. Dinna doubt me. But I be sworn to protect ye.”
“Are you telling me you are not going to—” She stopped. She had been about to say make love, but if she did, he would laugh at her, she was certain.
His lashes lowered again. “Fuck ye?”
She inhaled. If a modern-day man spoke that way, it would probably be offensive. Coming from Malcolm, it only conjured up graphic and heated images of his driving his very extraordinary length into her repeatedly, with shocking power and stunning effect. If he did so now, right now, she would explode.
She swallowed. She had been certain she was going to have to hold him off. Now he was telling her he was not interested—except he was, because even now she felt him throbbing in the room. His lust was as tangible as the wine she could smell in her mug. Was he clever enough to be manipulating her? She was confused, and damn it, she was even dismayed.
“What would make you decide to be a gentleman?” she managed to say.
He looked up with a brief, self-derisive laugh. “I be nay gentle, lass, an’ we both ken.” His humor vanished. His gray eyes turned black. “I dinna wish to see ye lyin’ dead beneath me.”
Claire would have backed up if there was somewhere to go. “I don’t understand.” But the fear that had vanished during their conversation returned.
His gaze slowly moved over her, deliberately, and then it lifted to her face. “I want ye badly, very badly, but I dinna trust meself.”
“What does that mean?” she gasped.
He was blunt. “I killed a maid. I willna do so again.”
“You killed a woman?”
