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?” Claire cried, backing up into the bed. The word evil went right through her mind.
“Ye be terrified,” he said softly.
“No!” Her heart shrieked at her. Malcolm was not evil. She would bet her life on it. He had not just said what she thought he had. “You said you wanted to protect me,” she breathed.
“Aye.”
Claire realized she was panting. “Please don’t tell me…!”
His face was hard. “She died in my arms, Claire. She died takin’ her pleasure from me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
CLAIRE REALLY NEEDED to sit down. Malcolm’s gaze was hard, even angry, and entirely unwavering. But he was not evil—there was nothing evil about him. He could not have committed a pleasure crime.
“What happened?” she somehow said, seeing him not as he stood there, but with some woman beneath him, in the throes of her passion.
“I told ye!” He was sharp.
Claire finally sat down on the edge of the bed. “People do die during sex, I mean, normal sex. Even if it’s not a pleasure crime, sometimes a man’s heart stops. Or a woman’s. It’s from the excitement. If the woman’s heart was weak, if she’d been ill, if she was older, feeble—”
He cut her off. “She wasna old. She was younger than ye. Her heart was strong.”
This could not be happening. She did not want Malcolm to be an evil madman, but the parallels were glaring. Strangers seducing the young and the innocent. Malcolm was a stranger—and he was mesmerizing.
Had she been mesmerized in the woods?
“How well did you know her?” she asked carefully, fear uncoiling inside her.
“I dinna ken the lass.” His gray gaze glittered.
“You were strangers.”
“Aye.”
She couldn’t breathe. A challenge seemed to be in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure she could meet it. Sweat ran down her body in streams and she couldn’t help but be afraid—and sickened. But somewhere deep inside herself, she refused to believe what he was telling her. “You killed her for fun?”
His eyes went wide. He said with great care, “I dinna amuse meself with death, Claire. I dinna ken me powers. I needed the maid, badly. I dinna wish to hurt her or see her dead.”
In that instant, she saw the pain blazing in his eyes. He was in the throes of guilt. She slumped in relief, and sympathy swelled. “Malcolm, it was probably her heart.”
He turned and lifted his mug of wine, draining it. “I didna stop when it was time to stop. I couldna think.” He turned his heated silver eyes to her. “Like in the forest. Fer a moment, I couldna think o’ anything but the pleasure I was takin’ from ye.”
She trembled, swept abruptly back to a vivid recollection of that stunning orgasm. She had stopped thinking in the woods, too. It had been impossible to be rational while in the throes of such desire. But now, she was uncertain. Clearly he regretted what had happened, deeply. As clearly, he was haunted by guilt. But he spoke as if he had killed the woman out of brute strength. And that sounded like rape.
His gaze was direct. “I didna rape her, or any woman. She wanted me.”
Claire believed him. What woman wouldn’t want the medieval stud facing her? And that only made it harder for her to understand what had happened. It had to have been the woman’s heart, she thought. It could not be anything else. A madman did not feel guilt.
“Now ye ken why I willna bed ye,” he said firmly.
She shivered. They were having a terrible conversation about a ghastly sexual death and she was having grave reservations about this man, but she still couldn’t escape his sexuality. It seethed in the room and his words conjured up the image of her in his embrace, passionately entwined. “That’s fine,” she said through dry lips. “I don’t want to share your bed. Not now, not ever.”
He gave her a disbelieving look.
Claire flushed. Her body no longer obeyed her will, but she did have a will. “When I sleep with a man, it is because he has my heart,” she said slowly, and she felt her color increase.
His eyes widened. “Surely, ye be in jest.”
Claire was mute. She wished she hadn’t revealed herself that way.
He choked, but she realized he wanted to laugh. His face straight, he said, “An’ ye have loved men, lass, aye?”
She became affronted and sought refuge there. “If you want to know how many men I have made love to, I am not telling you!”
“I begin t’ ken, aye, I do.” He smiled endearingly. “It be fine, lass, really. ’Tis a shame, though, to have only had a dozen or so men in yer life.”
“There were two!” she cried.
He smiled at her.
Claire could not believe this medieval hunk had the wit to trap her into the truth. She stared, outraged and even insulted. At least he would never know the details of her love life. Her college lover had been gorgeous and smart, even if he had cheated on her. Her second lover, James, had been great to brainstorm with and debate, but rather lacking in the performance department. This man, of course, did not even know the definition of the word faithful, but he wouldn’t have any performance problems, either. And she would never, ever reveal that it had been three years since she’d last had sex.
He was smiling as he turned away to refill his mug. Claire didn’t like his knowing smile, either, except that it made him shockingly handsome.