by Brenda Joyce
His smile faded. “Lass, ye watched yer man die. I dinna need an apology.”
“You are so reasonable!” she exclaimed. She wished Royce had an ounce of Aidan’s compassion. Then she smiled at Aidan again. “You do know that you’re my Knight of Swords?”
Aidan looked mildly at her, amused. “I dinna think Royce would care to hear ye say so.”
She took his hand. “I have a huge favor to ask of you.”
He looked at their clasped hands. Allie felt his male interest escalate and she released his palm. “Could you please bring me some clothes from my time? I am not giving up on Royce and I need a few secret weapons.” She thought about Brian. He had really liked her. All of her boyfriends had adored her—and wanted her. Why should a medieval warrior be any different? Maybe a few sexy things would tame the beast.
Aidan’s mouth curved. “He’s a Master, lass. He doesna care what garments ye wear.”
She smiled grimly. “Actually you’re wrong. All men respond to the right red flags—just like bulls.”
Aidan laughed. “I’ll do as ye wish. I dinna mind seeing Royce acting like a bull.”
Allie sobered. “Why is he so angry? Why is he so set against me? Why is he with another woman, when I know he still wants me?”
“I dinna comprehend Royce at all. If I were him, I’d be in that bath with ye, now. But, lass, he has made it clear he willna allow another man near ye. And he dinna have to speak so boldly. I’d lose more than my head if I did share yer bath.”
Allie didn’t hesitate; she touched his cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for being so generous of nature, so kind and for helping me through this really hard time. I can’t thank you enough.”
Aidan’s eyes gleamed. But he stepped away from her. Softly he murmured, “If ye decide to give up on Royce…”
“I will never give up on Royce.”
Their gazes locked. “Ah, well, a man must try.” He saluted her. “I’ll find yer clothes.”
Allie watched him walk out.
ROYCE LAY IN BED, on his back, naked, hands beneath his head. He was more irate and frustrated than earlier, and the maid creeping out of his room did not help matters.
He sighed. “Peigi. I’m sorry…another time I’ll be more pleasing.”
She blushed, facing him, and curtsied. “Ye be pleasin’ all the time.” That was a lie and she fled.
He hadn’t been pleasing—he had been selfish and crude. He had spent ten minutes with her, no more, unable to stop thinking about Ailios. And he had the terrible suspicion that if he hadn’t been thinking of the Healer, he might not have become aroused enough to climax.
That was unbelievable. It was all unbelievable. Bedsport was meant to last for hours—or an entire night. And he was always aroused. What the hell was this failure?
He was immune to witchcraft, otherwise, he’d think Ailios had put a spell on him.
He wasn’t even sated; how could he be? He felt even hotter than before.
But now, he had to make amends to the wench, who was a good maid. She worked hard and never complained. She was lusty in bed. He’d find her a husband with a small farm. She had to be eighteen, maybe twenty. She was ready for bairns.
As he sat up, the door opened. Only one man would enter without knocking. He considered Aidan the son he’d never had, as he did Malcolm, so he merely frowned.
Aidan glanced at him and grinned. “I wanted to thank ye for yer hospitality,” he said, clearly about to depart Carrick.
Royce stood, stalking to a huge chair and shrugging his leine on. His heavy leather belt followed. He never went unarmed, so his shortsword and a dagger were added to the ensemble. “Since when do ye ever bother to say goodbye—or to thank me for anything, much less my hospitality?” He was annoyed and suspicious as he sat and yanked on his boots. And he did not like the amused look on his friend’s face. It was as if Aidan knew he’d just had the one and only single failure of his life in bed with a woman.
“Yer guest asked me for a few things, so I’ll be back in a few hours,” Aidan said innocently.
Royce stiffened and looked into Aidan’s eyes, then lurked.
Ailios lounged naked in a steaming bath tub, speaking to Aidan, smiling at him, as he stood admiring her face and figure.
“Ye watched her bathe?” he cried, aghast.
“Nay, I spent a moment with her before her bath, but Royce, for the gods, o’course I am thinkin’ about her in her bath.” He grinned and vanished.
Royce just stood there, hot and hard, steaming. Did Aidan want him to go to the tower and seduce the Healer? Did he desire such a union? If so, why?
Or had the sultry little Healer somehow seduced him to her will? Was she in her bath now? Did she think he’d fall for such a ploy? Did she think to seduce him against his will? Did she not trust that he had a damned good reason for staying far from her bed?
He grunted and hit his fist against the wall. His stiff body cried out for release, but he was not going to Ailios now.
He knew a conspiracy when one was formed.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Allie hesitated on the threshold of the Great Hall. After a huge meal with a ton of meat—which she rarely ate at home—two glasses of wine and that steaming bath, she’d crawled into bed and passed out, the sun still in the sky. Not only had she slept deeply, but her sleep had been dreamless, which had to be a good thing.
Royce sat with Aidan at the table, having breakfast. He was already staring at the threshold when she paused there, clearly having sensed her coming downstairs.
Her resolve had strengthened from the afternoon before. She could survive the beast, and maybe even tame him. She would change the future, no matter what. She was well rested and she felt good, although she’d finger-combed her hair and wished she’d had clean clothes, a good brush and a mirror. She had known he was still in the castle. She’d felt his power below. What she hadn’t expected was his eyes to turn bright silver when he saw her.
Her heart sped wildly with excitement and anticipation, as if he was her lover, not some nameless, faceless woman’s. And damn it, medieval version or not, he looked so good—and his heat and power pulled at her. But he was not her Royce, and she damn well knew it. So she stared and her heart eventually got it and began to slow.
As if he knew of her initial excitement, a satisfied look settled on his face.
She smiled grimly, to herself. He had been impossibly rude last night, but she wasn’t holding a grudge. They were going to have to get along, somehow, for the moment.
His gaze turned wary.
“Good morning,” she said, a bit too brightly. She crossed to the table, Aidan standing, as did Royce. That he would get to his feet in this persona surprised her.
Aidan smiled. “Ye look rested.”
“I slept like a log,” she told him, but she kept one eye on Royce, who merely nodded at her. However, he was acutely tuned to their every gesture and word. “Did you know my mother was from Kintyre, my father’s parents from Aberdeen and Glasgow? This feels like home. The air is amazing. The views are amazing.” She turned her megawatt smile on Royce. She refused to let it falter, but now, she saw that he looked tired.
Of course he was tired—he’d been up all night with a housemaid. She increased the wattage. “How are you? Did you sleep well?” she asked in a sugary tone.
He gave her an odd look. “I spent the night thinking about the deamhan,” he said, and abruptly sat down.
She sobered. What did that mean? She glanced at Aidan, who gave her a heavy-lidded, enigmatic look. Was he telling her that Royce hadn’t been amusing himself with a lover? Was he encouraging her? She walked around the table and sat down on the bench next to Aidan. Royce stiffened, seated alone across from them.
She ignored him and smiled at Aidan. “Did you sleep well?”
He grinned. “I had dreams,” he said. “Very pleasant ones.”
Allie got it and laughed.
Royce shoved his plate at them both. “Ye seduce h
er at the breakfast in my home?”
“If I wished to seduce her, I’d have done so last night.”
“Are you always so suspicious?” Allie was actually amused. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Royce was jealous. “We’re just having a friendly conversation.” She kept glancing at his strong, bare forearms. He wore a huge gold cuff on his right bicep. It was damned sexy. She knew what that arm felt like, too. He might be a helluva lot younger than her Royce, but she was pretty certain his body hadn’t changed at all. “I am a friendly person.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ye weren’t so cheery yesterday.”
“Yesterday I was dealing with a boor. I’m cheery now.”
Royce shook his head, his eyes filled with annoyance. “Ye called me an ass yesterday, an’ now, ye call me a boor?”
If the shoe fits, she thought. A perplexed expression crossed his face. “You are my gracious host. You do know what that means?”
Aidan laughed.
Royce flushed. “Do I appear the village idiot? I ken yer English words, even with yer strange accent.”
Allie hesitated. “I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry.” She finally smiled, meaning it. “I didn’t travel back in time to fight with you.” She thought about her previous expectations that she would find him alive in 1430 and leap into his arms and his bed. “I was hoping we could start over, you know, have a truce.”
He started. “A truce? There’s no war.”
“Good.” Allie smiled again—and this time, their gazes met and held.
Her heart turned over hard. He continued to stare, not searchingly, just boldly and simply. He didn’t smile. Allie felt his pulse rising in his loins. She would never understand his decision last night to forsake her for someone else. Of course, it was for the best.
“Did something happen last night?” she asked. He tore his gaze away from her eyes. “I always sense evil. I can’t imagine sleeping through a crisis.”
“No deamhanain attacked—the deamhanain will never attack Carrick.” He lifted a jug, filled a mug and handed it to her.
Allie was surprised by the gesture. She smelled beer. “No, thanks.” His gaze lifted and their eyes held again. “Then why were you brooding last night?” She almost added, if you were brooding.
“Ye have enemies.” He reached for a trencher laden with bread, smoked fish and cheese. “Will ye break the fast?”
Having eaten the equivalent to about three meals the night before, Allie wasn’t hungry. “I beg your pardon. I don’t have enemies—not human ones. I’m a Healer. I have friends—tons of them, in fact.” She added, “Because I’m a nice person, in case you haven’t noticed.”
His gray gaze had drifted to the edge of her corset top. She hadn’t been able to help herself and she had pulled it down as low as possible when getting dressed earlier. Another half inch would be immodest even for her. Tearing his eyes away, he said, “Moffat, a great deamhan, hunts ye or thinks to use ye against me.”
Allie looked at him, ready to laugh. Then she sobered, because Royce was dead serious.
Allie became alarmed. Moffat had killed Royce in the future. He was shrewd and dangerous. He’d seen one moment of opportunity—a moment she had inadvertently created—and he had taken it. “Moffat can’t possibly have any interest in me.”
Royce’s brows lifted. “Yer a great Healer. He may have powerful pages from the Book o’ Healing, which belongs to the Brotherhood.”
“It was stolen centuries ago,” Aidan told her, “from its shrine on Iona.”
Allie tried to put the puzzle together. “I’m a Healer, but I don’t know anything about the Book of Healing. I am certain Moffat isn’t after me.”
Neither man appeared convinced. Worse, they exchanged looks she did not comprehend. “Moffat needs to die,” Royce said flatly, brooding now.
“I don’t think you should hunt Moffat, Royce!” Allie was so alarmed at the notion that she seized his hand. Touching his skin was electric. Instantly she released him. “Please.” She tried to smile but was so worried, she failed.
He stared. “Ye dinna think me strong enough to vanquish him?”
She knew when to soothe ruffled male feathers. “Of course I do!”
He made a harsh sound. “I’m nay afraid to die, even now, an’ I’ll do what I must do.” He stood.
Allie looked helplessly at Aidan.
As if reading her mind, Aidan said, “He kens Moffat murdered him in the future. I willna let him hunt the deamhanain alone.”
“Thank you,” Allie whispered. Surely, surely, Moffat would not murder Royce now, in 1430? And in the moment, her fear knew no bounds.
But Royce had turned and he stared coldly at them both.
Allie realized she was holding Aidan’s hand. She let go and said, “Royce’s murder was not Fate. It was a mistake.”
Aidan returned, “Then why are ye so afraid? Why do ye believe Royce canna kill Moffat—that Moffat will live to kill him?”
Allie wrung her hands. “How can I not be afraid when I watched Royce die? Are you reading my mind?”
“Aye.”
Royce slammed his hand on the table, causing the jug, mugs and trenchers to leap. “The two of ye are fast friends? Since when? Since last night—when she bathed? What else happened last night?”
Allie gaped at him. He was jealous. Aidan didn’t seem perturbed. “I like the lass. An’ she’s worried for ye, jackal, not for me.”
Allie stood. “Royce, Aidan is my friend,” she said carefully, still stunned and wondering if she was misreading him. “And he is becoming a good friend.”
Aidan smiled and said softly, “I’m her Knight o’Swords.”
Royce’s face hardened so she said quickly, “In my time, men and women are often friends!”
“Now ye’ll tell me men an’ women are friends an’ they dinna sleep in the same bed?”
“Yes, actually, most men and women do not share a bed, just conversation, supper, wine.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aidan leaves today. Yer good friend has his own lands an’ affairs. And, Ailios? He keeps a mistress, one he is fond of.”
Allie said stubbornly, wishing she had something to knock over Royce’s head, “He’s my friend. A friend for conversation, nothing else.”
“Unfortunate as that may be,” Aidan murmured.
By now, Allie had realized he loved being an instigator. She gave him a dirty look.
“But ye wish to share wine with him!” Royce shot. “An’ what else do ye wish to share?”
Allie shook her head in denial—when torment racked her.
She gasped, the flood of pain taking her by surprise, doubling her over. She could not breathe. Pressure crushed her. She was trapped. She could not move.
“Ailios!” Royce crouched beside her, holding her shoulders.
She was breathing without any difficulty, but she knew someone had just been terribly hurt, and whoever that person was, he or she was suffocating under a terrible weight. She looked up into Royce’s wide eyes. And now, she felt the bleeding, inside his or her chest, and she felt sharp, stabbing pains, from the ribs. “Someone is hurt.” She stood. “Really badly hurt. He or she is going to die.” She stepped back from the table, Royce moving in unison with her.
“No!” She warded him off and moved into the center of the room, alone and sweating. She focused intently. So much pain. A lack of air. That awful crushing weight. And fear, gut-wrenching fear.
She opened her eyes. “There’s a village, close by, below us. Take me there!”
Royce took two strides and confronted her. “I’ll go. Ye’ll stay here at Carrick, where it’s safe. Whoever is hurt, I’ll bring him to ye.”
Allie shook her head, trying not to erupt in anger. “There is no time, Royce. Someone has been crushed by stone. He or she will die, soon. I have to go!”
“Ye’ll stay here,” Royce said harshly. “Aidan—let’s go.” He wheeled, Aidan already halfway to the door.
Allie was in
disbelief. “Damn it! I’m coming, too!” She ran after them.
Royce caught her arm. “Ye willna heal in any public manner! Or do ye wish to be accused of witchcraft?”
She tried to free herself from his ruthless grasp. He gave her a dangerous look and followed Aidan outside, slamming the door in her face.
She gasped, reeling. Didn’t he understand? Who cared if the damn villagers thought her a witch? She flung the door open and saw Aidan and Royce galloping through the gatehouse. She ran after them and tripped in her platforms, falling hard. She spit dirt and got to her knees, watching the portcullis closing.
She began to shake wildly. The fear had escalated—and there was so little air!
“My lady, let me help ye,” Ceit whispered.
Allie looked at her. Then she unbuckled her shoes and stood without them. “Help me get out of here.”
Ceit paled. “His lordship—”
“His lordship is just a man—and he is wrong,” Allie cried.
Ceit turned even whiter.
Allie took a deep breath. It did not take a genius to know that Ceit was programmed to believe Royce as flawless as a god. She said, “Ceit, look at me.”
Ceit met her gaze.
“A boy has been hurt in the village. I can help him. I have skills with broken bones! Please help me.”
Ceit nodded. “I can help ye, lady. Come.”
Her heart leapt. Ceit led her past the large, four-towered gatehouse, where both portcullises were closed. A huge circular corner tower was ahead. Allie realized it was another entry point—for through its passageway, she saw a closed portcullis and a second raised drawbridge. “Aye,” Ceit said. “But ye’ll never get out that way.”
Ceit led her into the tower, but not to the passageway leading through both iron gates to the bridge. They passed to the farthest corner, out into the next ward, and Allie saw a wooden door set in the castle’s stone outer walls. It was so small that a man Royce’s size would have to really squeeze himself through.
They darted to the door and leaned close to the wall, in the shadows cast by the still-rising sun. Allie trembled. “What do I do when I get out? Isn’t that a ravine surrounding the castle?”
