by Brenda Joyce
“I’m sworn to protect Innocence. I’m sworn to protect ye.” He grasped her hips and held her still.
She seized his wrists. “I like your idea of protection.”
“I thought ye might,” he said, holding her so she could not move. Very slowly, he began to penetrate upward.
So much pleasure crested, hollowing her. “It’s my turn,” she gasped, “to be the tyrant.”
He laughed and flipped her onto her stomach, pushing even deeper as he did so. “I dinna think so,” he said.
Allie couldn’t protest. There was too much rapture trying to explode. “Let me come!”
“Aye,” he gasped.
WHEN ALLIE AWOKE the second time that day, his side of the bed was empty and she was alone. The sun was high beyond her window. She grinned and wiggled her toes. She was a very feminine and sensual woman, but she had never felt so sexy and so desirable.
And she had never felt so happy, so light. But why not? She had the hunk of all ages, literally, as a lover—and he was also an überhero. In fact, they could go cruising together tonight. He’d fight the demons while she healed their victims. It was going to be perfect.
And her silly heart was grinning, too, swollen with happiness.
It felt suspiciously like love.
She slid from the bed, realizing this delirious high was just that. She was falling in love with her golden, not-so-medieval hero. She had thought herself immune to love, and had even wondered if her heart was somehow defective. She had rationalized that love was not a part of her very definite Fate, but apparently she had been wrong.
She laughed and as she showered and dressed, she hummed her favorite country songs, off-key and uncaring of how awful she sounded. She’d had the best sex of her life. Royce was to die for, and she couldn’t wait to see him, exchange smiles and ask him to cruise with her that night. She couldn’t wait to be in his arms and tell him how she felt—and that this was so new for her.
A tray had been set outside the bedroom door with coffee and scones and several newspapers. As it was half past four in the afternoon, the coffee was ice cold. She retrieved the papers, then headed downstairs for hot coffee and a gargantuan breakfast. She was famished.
She did not know the house, and she wandered from the great room past several salons before stumbling across the dining room. Royce was seated at a long wood table, reading a newspaper, apparently waiting for her. Her heart tried to burst from her chest and she felt happy enough to float to the ceiling. He looked up and smiled at her, then shot to his feet.
She walked up to him, thinking about his body, his kisses and how damned great he looked in a dark polo shirt and Italian trousers; he took her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. “Hi,” she breathed.
“Hallo,” he murmured back, his gaze terribly warm.
Absurdly it made her think about lots of great sex—not that she’d ever really stopped thinking about last night. “Wanna cruise with me tonight?”
He didn’t seem to understand.
“I need to heal—you can fight the demons,” she said softly.
“I can think o’ better things to do tonight,” he murmured.
She flushed. “I’ll bet you can.”
He guided her toward a chair. “Come have lunch with me. Then we’ll plan our day. If ye like, I’ll take ye on a tour of the country.”
Our day. Allie sat, realizing eating would be impossible, because all she wanted to do was stare at him, drown in his masculine beauty and pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. He grinned, as if he guessed her thoughts. “Mrs. Farlane? Miss Monroe has come down to dine,” he called. Then he poured her coffee.
IT WAS LATE when they returned to Carrick, having spent the entire day touring the Highlands in his silver Lamborghini. He drove well but fast and they hadn’t talked very much—there was no need. Allie had been so happy just to be with him. They had stopped for lunch at the magnificent Dunain Park Hotel in Inverness, where the proprietors had fawned over them both—she had been recognized. And they had wandered about the ruins of Urquhart, where they’d also made love behind a ruined stone wall. Now, as Royce parked the car in one of his garages, Allie wandered back into the castle. Supper would be a late affair, but she didn’t care.
She was about to go upstairs to freshen up and call home when she caught a flash of brilliant color from the corner of her eye. Posed to go upstairs, her heart leapt and she turned around to face the aura that had caught her attention. A strange man stood in the great room. He emanated the same warrior power as Royce: holy strength vibrated from him in red and gold waves of light. Testosterone charged his aura, too. But he also radiated a white, healing light, even if faintly. Most importantly, the blue and purple in his aura told her that his Karma was huge—but far from mastered. In fact, he would pay a high price for it.
Allie knew she was meeting another Master, and excitement began. He stared at her, as well, smiling. She came forward curiously. Taller than Royce, he had fair skin, dark hair and he was Hollywood-leading-man handsome. He was wearing a slick black leather jacket with distressed jeans and he was young—maybe her own age.
He grinned more widely at her, revealing two dimples, while his gaze slid over the ivory corset top she wore with a print circle skirt. “Hallo.”
Her interest peaked. He appeared modern, but she had a sudden sense that he was not from the present, in spite of his clothes. “Hi. You’re a Master, too.”
His eyes widened. “Royce has talked very freely in yer bed.”
“I can see your aura and it reeks of a few pretty specific traits. I’m Allie.” She came forward and held out her hand.
He took it and, instead of shaking it, lifted it to his lips. “I’m the lord of Awe, the earl of Lismore. But ye may address me as Aidan.” A grin followed his rather arrogant tone.
Allie wasn’t all that surprised by the gallant, Old World kiss. Definitely for Tabby, she thought. “How old are you?”
He dropped her hand, amused. “I’m old enough for ye, lass.”
“I’m with Royce.”
“T’is evident. I’m pleased for him. But I willna mind much if ye decide Royce is too old for ye.” His smile flashed. “I’m only thirty an’ two years of age.”
This man was wearing modern clothes, but he was not a modern man. “What year did you come from?”
He stared, his smile fading. “That’s an odd question.” Then, “I followed Royce from 1430.”
Before she could decipher that bit of startling information, Royce strode into the great room. And it was her Royce, the modern, insatiable, supersexed lover she had spent the past twenty-four hours with. Even though they’d spent the night and day together, her heart raced madly as he approached.
But Royce was grim and unsmiling. “What are ye doing here, Aidan?” he asked.
The dark Highlander came forward, unperturbed by the cool greeting. “Have ye lost yer mind? Ye canna recall that I followed ye to help ye if ye needed me?”
Royce looked him up and down, disapproval on his face. “That was six centuries ago. I see that you’ve broken the rules again.”
“Ye ken I hate rules. They cage my poor soul.”
“Ye followed me five centuries ago when I was a younger man—but ye dinna help me fight Moffat in South Hampton. My memory hardly fails me.” Royce was sharp and cold.
“Ye dinna need my help. Ye battled Moffat alone easily enough. I decided to go to Rome.” He shrugged. “I thought to come to Carrick and see what ye decided to do with the Healer.” He grinned. “Finally ye come to yer senses, eh, Royce?”
Royce seemed annoyed.
Allie said, “What does that mean?”
Aidan looked at her. “It only took him hundreds o’ years to find some pleasure outside o’ bed with a woman.”
Royce’s stern expression did not ease. He turned away, walking over to the sideboard as Allie deciphered the conversation. In South Hampton, Royce had appeared from 1430 to help her fight the demons. Ai
dan had followed him from that time, but had not helped them in the battle. Instead he had gone to Rome. Then he had stopped by Carrick to check on her, which did not make sense. But Royce was clearly not amused. “Ye need to go back to yer time as the Code requires—without the jacket an’ jeans.”
“I spent hours shopping in Rome!” Aidan exclaimed. “But I see ye have barely changed—ye remain far too grim. I’ll go.” Aidan turned to her. “At least ye make him smile. T’is a vast improvement.”
Allie wondered at that and said, “FYI, there’s better shopping in Milan.”
“Dinna encourage him,” Royce told her. “The Code is clear. He travels for his own pleasure…t’is strictly forbidden.”
“But he looks so cute in black leather,” Allie said, smiling at Aidan.
He winked at her. Then he turned to Royce. “Ye have done well, Royce.” Aidan’s smile was male and knowing. “I never thought I’d see the day when ye’d take a mistress.”
“Keep yer eyes in yer head,” Royce warned softly.
“A man must look, if he lives an’ breathes.”
“You’ll never change,” Royce retorted, and then he clasped Aidan’s shoulder hard, with great affection. He turned to Allie, who was highly interested in the somewhat avuncular exchange. “He’s the rogue of all rogues, Ailios…dinna fall for his pretty smile an’ prettier words.”
“Don’t worry,” Allie said. “I’ve already fallen—for the first time in my life.”
Royce started, and he wasn’t smiling.
Allie was surprised she’d said such a thing so openly, but she meant it. She never led guys on, but this was different. She was falling in love, even if it wasn’t a part of her game plan. And she was certain he reciprocated her feelings, and not because every guy she’d ever dated became serious with her sooner or later. She thought she could feel Royce’s emotions.
Then he touched her hair. “I like ye, too.”
Allie was briefly dismayed, but his eyes were so warm that the confusion vanished. Lots of men could not say the L word.
Aidan cleared his throat. “Mayhap a glass of wine before I leave? To celebrate matters o’the bed—an’ the heart?” He was amused.
Allie didn’t quite get it, but Royce seemed a bit annoyed again. However, he started to turn back to the massive sideboard where a wine rack was placed in one of the glass cabinets. He faltered.
Aidan’s shoulders stiffened.
Darkness descended at lightning speed—and so did an arctic cold.
Aidan rushed to the wall display of swords, lifting one from its sheath. He took one look at the dull blade and flung it aside. As he lifted another, Royce opened a chest and withdrew a semiautomatic. “Aidan.” He tossed an unsheathed sword at him.
And Aidan caught it easily by the hilt. Allie ran to Royce as the demons formed in their midst.
“Stay back,” he said.
She was about to argue when the blow came, taking her by surprise, before she could even try to shield herself. She cried out, hurled across the entire great room, slamming into the stone of the fireplace.
Royce roared in fury, firing.
Allie got to her hands and knees, watching Aidan beheading a half a dozen demons with so much skill and speed it might have been the final cut from a Hollywood movie. Royce was firing at the same demon that had attacked them in South Hampton, but the demon had put up his energy and the bullets were deflected, scattering everywhere.
She took up a poker but remained where she was. Aidan was doing a good job with the remaining demons, and Royce and the blonde from South Hampton seemed to be intent only on each other. This time, though, if he came close, she’d get more than his eyeball; she was going for his unfeeling heart.
Royce now threw the useless semi aside. He blasted his energy at the demon, who blocked it and grinned, revealing white, gleaming teeth.
Allie tensed in alarm, thinking, No, Royce!
A dagger had appeared in his hand, but as if he’d heard her cry out silently, as if he knew she was desperate to go to his side and help him, Royce turned to look at her. “Ye stay back.”
The demon threw a knife at Royce. Allie saw it; he did not. She screamed in warning.
Royce whirled back but the blade impaled him in his chest as he moved.
Allie froze in horror.
For one moment, Royce stood upright, unmoving—and he threw the dagger. He threw it with unbelievable accuracy and Allie realized he would nail the sonuvabitch. But the blond demon vanished the instant the blade seemed to pierce his chest, and it fell to the floor. The two remaining demons also disappeared, leaving behind the dozen dead on the great room floor—and Royce.
He reeled and fell over onto his back.
The hilt of the knife protruded from his heart.
Allie rushed to his side and fell onto her knees, pouring her white light over him. He was not going to die, no matter how bad it looked! He couldn’t die—he was a hero, a Master, the savior of mankind and the love of her life!
She hadn’t raised the dead girl, but surely she could save Royce!
Panic began.
Royce took her hand. He was deathly white. But he smiled. “Nay, lass. Let me go.”
He was dying. She felt his life spinning away. But she could heal him—she would heal him. In panic, she poured all the white light she could muster on him, trying to hold her terror at bay.
“Ailios!” Royce’s grasp tightened, his gaze on hers. “Let me die.”
Allie looked at him in horror. “Don’t talk. You don’t mean it. I won’t let you die! I love you!”
“Please,” Royce said softly. And his grasp loosened.
And she felt his life soaring away from him. She saw a white-gold light lifting from him. “No!” Frantic, she poured white power over him, through him, but everything was happening too fast now.
Royce looked up at Aidan. Let me go. T’is time.
And strong hands seized Allie from behind.
But she had heard Royce, and she screamed, furious at Aidan, terrified, struggling, but Aidan wouldn’t release her. Panicking, she flung white light at Royce, but Aidan was interfering with her powers—and Royce was leaving rapidly now.
Aidan, take her away, protect her.
“No!”
Royce smiled at her—and the white-gold light swirled upward, into the ceiling—his gray eyes becoming sightless.
Allie screamed. “Nooo!” And she fought to go to him, the white-gold light hovering above them, but Aidan pulled her away.
ALLIE WEPT AND WEPT.
The paramedics had Royce’s body on the stretcher, covered with a cloth, and were wheeling him from the room. Two local police cars were parked inside the courtyard, the officers in the hall with Aidan and Mrs. Farlane. The housekeeper, who was crying, clearly knew about her employer’s secrets. The dead demons, of course, were gone. Their bodies had started disintegrating immediately, and unless there was a crime scene investigation, no traces of them would be found. But from the murmur of voices, and the snippets of conversation she’d heard, Allie knew the police knew the truth. One officer was already talking about the Highland gangs run amok these past few years, a favorite cover-up for these kinds of battles. The other had already called Scotland Yard. The British government probably had their version of CDA, too.
How could he be gone?
Allie doubled over from the sheer pain of her grief. Too late, she understood Tabby’s reading. Then she heard footsteps.
She looked up. Aidan stood there, his face ravaged, a single tear tracking down his cheek. She didn’t hesitate. She jumped up and ran at him, fists balled. He caught her arm as she swung; she lifted her knee, wanting to emasculate him, but he twisted and easily avoided that assault, then caught her in a viselike embrace.
She fought him, wanting to rip his handsome face apart. She wanted blood. He had prevented her from healing Royce—she could have saved him. “I hate you!” she screamed. “Let me go! I will never forgive you—you bastard!
”
He released her and she pounded his chest, hurting her fists because he was a wall of muscle. He caught her wrists. “Lass, cease. I love him, too.” His voice broke.
Allie collapsed against the solid wall of his body, weeping again. This could not be happening. Royce was a great man, a great hero, a Master. He deserved to live! Aidan held her loosely now and she needed the comfort he could offer, when there was no real comfort to be had.
Let me go.
Why had he wanted to die?
How old are you?
It doesna matter, Ailios.
So much grief and pain, such a beautiful man…
I have waited a long time for this night.
Allie trembled, but stopped crying. He had waited five hundred and seventy-seven years for her.
Aidan released her and walked away.
Allie wiped her eyes, her heart slamming, turning to gaze after him. He was pouring two huge glasses of whiskey. He drained most of his, then started toward her with the other tall glass. “You’re a Master, too.”
He faltered before offering her the glass.
Allie shook her head. “You can travel through time, don’t even try to deny it. You said you followed Royce here from 1430.”
His eyes were wary now. “Does it matter?”
“Oh, yes, it does.”
He stared, then murmured, “MacNeil asked me to follow Royce. When he left ye here, I should have gone home to Awe, to the time where I belong, but I went to Rome. I need to go back to my time.”
She stared, her mind scrambling.
Sympathy had filled his blue eyes. “Lass, I will take ye home. I just need to think a moment because ye need a Master to aid ye now, here, in yer time.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about. “Take me back in time!” she cried, trembling wildly. “I am not going home! I need to go back in time, to earlier today or even to last night. I’ll tell him what will happen—we’ll stop it this time! I’ll go back in time to stop his murder!” This was the answer; of course it was. To go back in time—and prevent his death.
